I was eating a bowl of Cheerios and looking over the frames of my glasses, reading the news section of the Village Voice. Collins was behind me, tinkering away in the kitchen trying to make a cup of coffee. The coffee maker was old and decrepit and usually didn't work.

Just as Collins started to say something that sounded like it should have ended as "We need to get a new coffee maker", we both heard a violent crash from within Roger's room. We both looked up; Collins from his cup of coffee and me from my bowl of Cheerios. The crash was shortly followed by a string of obscenities.

"Uh oh." I muttered. "Here comes trouble."

Roger had been going through withdrawal for a few weeks now, and it was a trying time, for all of us. It was a terribly grueling process, mostly on Roger. He would sometimes be complacent enough to deal with it; moments later would be violent and angry. He had broken a few coffee mugs but it was so far the extent of the damage. He hadn't hit Collins yet, which seemed to be something we were all waiting for. Why I never really expected him to hit me, I was never sure. Maybe I figured we were too good of friends for him to even consider it.

The door to Roger's room opened and he staggered through, yelling for a fix. I groaned. The times when he started screaming for a hit were the worst.

"Calm down, Roger." Collins said, approaching him and holding his hands out like a peacemaker. "You can't have one."

"Fuck you! You gotta let me out of this fucking house, I need a fix. I need a fix."

"You can go without." Collins said.

I was always grateful that when things like this happened, Collins was there. He was a big man and knew how to talk the rage out of Roger leagues better than I could. Besides which I always felt intimidated by Roger when these things happened; so I would coach from the sidelines.

"Sit down, Roger. Have some breakfast with us." I said, rising from my chair. I slid my bowl of cereal forward so he could see what I was eating. "There's still some Lucky Charms left." Tempting Roger with sugary foods sometimes worked. Most of the time, it didn't.

Hope springs eternal.

"Shut up, Mark. Fuck you. And you too, Collins." Roger yelled. He was sweating and breathing rapidly.

Watching this escapade made my soul hurt. I hated seeing him like this. The violence, the angry words…sometimes he would say things to both of us that I could never imagine coming out of his mouth. But it was, I had to keep reminding myself, for the better. It would get better. It was certainly better than coming home to see him stoned and depressed all the time.

"Come on, Collins!" he begged. "Just one hit. Just one little fix, man, come on. Let me go, just this once, I won't ask again."

"You can go without." Collins repeated.

I approached them both and stood by the couch, closer to Collins than Roger.

Roger gave a snarl. "What do you know, fucking queerbag? Get out of my way."

I hated, hated it when Roger used such nasty words, especially aimed at Collins. I knew it wasn't his fault, but that didn't keep me from being pissed off about it.

"Hey. Watch your mouth." I interjected. Roger didn't even look at me.

Collins always remained calm, calmer than I could ever be. He just pressed on. "Go sit down before I make you sit down. I'm not letting you out of this loft so don't even try."

Roger growled and tried to shove his way past Collins, who shoved him back. I bit my lip hesitantly. Roger stumbled backwards awkwardly and barely avoided falling over the coffee table. It shuffled across the floor with a loud squeal of protest. I flinched.

"Fuck you, Collins." Roger snapped. He started moving towards the big man. His intent was clear: get to the door.

I quickly started to close the distance between myself and Collins so as to keep Roger from getting closer to the door. In doing so, I put myself directly in between the two.

I should have seen it coming. As I turned to Roger to tell him to sit down, I vaguely saw his fist come flying towards me: it was aimed for Collins, but I had inadvertently put myself in the line of fire. As best I could, I shrank down, but his fist collided roughly with my left temple. I briefly caught the glimmer of the wide silvery ring he wore before it contacted with my head.

As I staggered backwards and into Collins, I could hear him shouting at Roger. I fell against Collins' legs and collapsed to the floor, hitting my head against the cement. I dimly saw Collins jump at Roger and could hear the sounds of a quick scuffle before I blacked out briefly.

The next thing I knew, I could see the blurry outline of Collins standing above me. He was gently slapping my cheek and calling my name.

"Mark. Hey, Mark."

I groaned and rolled my head to the side. Ow. The back of my head was aching. So was my face.

"Holy shit, Mark. You're lucky he didn't break your fucking ocular bone."

Good ol' Collins, knowing way more than he should have. I didn't even know where the ocular bone was. But hell if my face didn't hurt like it had been broken.

"You sure he didn't?" I mumbled. I heard Collins chuckle.

"Come on." I felt him grab my hand and my shoulder. He pulled me into a sitting position. The room started to spin.

He pressed my glasses into my hand. I squinted down at them. One of the lenses was smeared with a stain of blood. I groaned again and put a hand to my forehead. I felt a tiny gash over my left eye.

"He got you pretty good." I heard Collins say as he examined the cut. As he did so, I tried to look around the room as best I could without the use of my glasses. I turned my head to look behind me, towards Roger's room. The door was shut. Collins sensed my thought. "He just locked himself in there. Probably better for him, anyway."

"Fuck."

I sighed and slumped my shoulders in resignation. I could sense that more incidents like this would not be long to follow.

The following morning when I shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast I sported a dark bruise blossoming over my temple and a band-aid displayed prominently above my eye. The first thing I noticed as I arrived in the kitchen was that Collins was not alone. Roger was also sitting at the table, hunched over a bowl of Lucky Charms. He didn't look up as I entered. I looked briefly at Collins and bit my lip, and he only shrugged casually, then continued reading his paper.

I went about my business silently, searching for the box of Cheerios and ignoring all the thoughts that were rampaging through my brain. It wasn't his fault, it's the withdrawal, cut him a break. He wouldn't have done it under normal circumstances. Yet somehow part of me expected him to apologize.

But apologizing wasn't Roger. It never was and may as well never be.

I sat down between them and poured my breakfast, then reached for the milk on Roger's side of the table.

I said nothing about what had occurred yesterday.

There was nothing to say.