Disclaimer: It's Jonathan's

MARK

January 23, 1988. 8:00pm EST. The rain caught me while filming outside and I ran all the way home. I'm dripping wet, shivering. No one seems to be home, the loft is dark and quiet. I take out my camera from where I had safely nestled it between me and my coat, and set it down. I shrug off my coat and turn to hang it on a hook on the wall. There's a strong yank on my scarf and I turn around, following the length of my scarf to see who's on the other end.

"Roger." It sounds more like an exhalation than a statement and Roger's only response is a cocky, sexy smirk. He pulls on the scarf, bringing me closer and closer until I'm standing right in front of him, still cold, but no longer trembling from it. I'm trembling from building excitement and he knows it. Our lips meet in small kisses and once or twice he tries to slip in a little tongue, but I refuse. There's something… there's something I'm supposed to ask... "What about the drugs?"

"They're right here, baby," he whispers in my ear and I know he's slipping them out of his back pocket as he speaks. "We can do it together…" and I'm nodding. "You'll love it," he assures me and I moan. His voice is driving me mad and I just want to do anything to get him to kiss me, touch me, to fuck me—

It's a muffled, pained moan that wakes me. I'm lying in bed, sweating and tangled in my sheets. There are faint images still floating in my mind, but they're fleeting and in a minute, all I can remember is the goosebumps they gave me. I'm semi-erect and that bothers me. I touch my shoulder where Roger's hand rested not a moment earlier. No, I remind myself. Roger's hand never rested there. It was a dream, only a dream. It was a good dream. It was a very bad dream.

I cannot sort through what I feel. I cannot make it make sense. Taking deep breaths, I try to calm myself, I review the facts. Roger kissed me. It was a nice kiss, one I enjoyed. At the fact I am carried into the memory of his lips, how solid he felt in my arms, the drop in my stomach as I realized that he had to make himself high to kiss me. And it had been a good kiss, but it was not Roger kissing me.

I shook my head. I would never do drugs. I would never do that.

I hear Roger moan again. Roger is no stranger to nightmares and, though he hates to bother anyone with them (or perhaps is simply embarrassed), I dislike leaving him alone. I'm afraid of what it will do to him. So I push myself out of bed and stumble into the cold.

ROGER

There's a point in sex, good sex anyway, just before orgasm when you need it so bad it hurts. You think you'll vomit because your stomach hardens and it feels so good. Without that good feeling, it's withdrawal. Only worse. Running three miles without stretching. Eating rancid meat. Skating in skivvies in midwinter. All at once, and...

"Oh, G-d!" I've tried to do this lying down but, ugh, I sit up, form a little tent with my knees and hug myself, trembling. My stomach is cramping so bad I want to run to the bathroom but I'm scared if I move the muscles will just burst and tear...

"Ooh." Ouch. It's dark. It's... can it really only have been one day? One day since I promised Mark no more, and now he needs his rest so I'm trying not to bother him. I don't want him to look at me right now. I'm disgusting. I'm weak. I'm a mess. I want to be his boyfriend, not his little brother, so I try to keep quiet.

"Roger?"

It's my name in his voice, worried, that makes me whimper.

I know Mark's looking at me, I can hear him saying my name, but I don't look at him because if I can't see him he can't see me and if he can't see me he won't know because if he sees this he'll think, he'll think I was an addict and I am an addict and he'll oh G-d no I'm doing this for him what will I do if he leaves me oh G-d no I've started I've started I can't go through this again and stop looking at me make him stop looking make it stop hurting!

But, G-d, don't leave. Don't leave, Mark, don't leave me, don't you leave me here now like this at all please don't Mark please tell me you're here tell me you'll stay tell me with your voice and your arms please--no! Stop, stop seeing, don't remember me like this…

He pulls me into him and embraces me tightly. He holds me against his chest and rocks me slowly and whispers, "Hey, baby, I'm here for you." Baby. It's not an endearment I would accept from most, but from Mark I like it. It's not condescending, it's an offer of protection, a promise, dedication. It's what I need right now. "I'm not going to leave you. You're not going to face this alone. I'm here, I'm here, I'm here…" and it's his warm voice filling my head and… I… smile…

What Mark doesn't know, what I don't know until that moment, is, I have to face this alone. I have, ultimately, to be the one strong enough, the one to say again and again, no. I don't need drugs. I don't need smack. Because if I wanted it, I could get it, Mark couldn't stop me, and I do want it, want it so bad. That's all this is, this pain, this is desire and it's me saying no. Mark can't face that. He can't take it. I'm glad for that, I wouldn't want him like this, don't want him like this.

But I'm not physically alone. In that sense, he's right. He's here. He's holding me. I can feel him, hear his voice and maybe I'm just not as frustrated and lonely anymore but the pain ebbs, a little. "Thank you." There aren't words for what I want to tell Mark, nor, at the moment, are there deeds. It's just he gets it or he doesn't and I hope he does.

TO BE CONTINUED!

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