Like a bad movie, I'm trouble
(Years before, high point of April, heaviest point of addiction/use, pre withdrawal, pre April's suicide/depression, one and a half years post chapter 2)
"Maureen you need to stop with this shit, Mark doesn't deserve to get fucking treated this way! How many guys have you slept with in the last week you little slut? What the fuck did Mark ever do to deserve this? Nothing. You need to fucking stop playing with him" He was sober for once. Not for long, he was already beginning to shake
"Well Marky doesn't really seem to care, I don't see him out there fighting for me! He knows what's going on, why the hell doesn't he do anything?"
"Is that what this is all about ? Jesus Maureen, he doesn't get pissed because he doesn't want to fucking lose you. And yeah, he does know. Do you know how this hurts him? He'll never admit it, but It absolutely kills him when you come home from another late night with your shirt cut down to your fucking belly button, looking like a slut, smelling of sex and smoke and whatever the fuck else." She scoffs
"Ha, funny because you know what hurts him more ? You know what I can tell absolutely nags the back of his mind constantly ,and what fucking breaks his heart every time? What hurts him the most? It KILLS him. When YOU come home high every fucking day!"
Silence
"Get out"
"Fucking make me"
"GET THE FUCK OUT"
The loft door slides open and Mark enters, he deposits his belongings on the sofa and makes his way toward the now silent pair standing in the main room. His smile quickly wavers upon sensing the heavy tension of the room. Before he has a chance to speak, however, he is quickly interrupted by Maureen, who wastes no time in pouncing on him and capturing him in a deep kiss. As he returns the favor, his eyes shut in bliss, while Maureen's remain open and rest upon Roger. She gives the musician a daring, devilish look, one that said 'see he's all mine, what the fuck are you going to do about it' before looking back at the filmmaker. She shifts slightly, now fully enticed with the little game she's decided to play, and grabs him through his pants. She is satisfied when the moan she was intending on erected from the other, and she smiles into his kiss, because this would kill Roger she knew, and she couldn't wait to see the look on his face.
The sight of the loft door left ajar was the only thing that met her as she looked up
He was vaguely aware through the mist of heroin clouding his mind, he was doing something wrong. That what or whom ever was screaming and fighting under him meant something and/or everything. He was aware that he had used more of the drug than he conventionally did, a desperate attempt to dull the pain. He almost knew he really wanted this, but that fact was debatable.
Maybe the drug made him want it.
Want HIM.
And yet, whom else was the reason he fled for the drug in the first place?
He didn't care
He forcefully entered the being below him, despite his unawareness of exactly when his erection had sprung nor when clothing had been discarded. The figure below him screamed and yelled and begged, yet Roger had a feeling it wasn't for his own sake. That he was begging for Roger not to fuck himself up more.
He didn't care
All he knew was this felt a thousand times better than it had ever before. He should, and if the drug were absent would, probably have been hurt that the figure below him was lacking an erection of their own.
But he didn't feel anything
He didn't care
That's why he took the drug in the first place
And then his fingers were wrapping in blonde hair as he began to climax
The other sat limply
He almost remembered giving the other that bruise on his jaw, and that swollen eye a few minutes ago.
Almost knew that cut on the others thin arm and the blood was due to him
Almost knew how this would seriously fuck with him
Hurt him
Already was hurting HIM
Would fuck both of them up
He didn't care.