"Hello?"
Collins furrowed his brow at the sound of the voice. Why was he of all people answering the phone, in his condition?
"Roger?" Collins asked, "Is that you?"
"No," the voice meekly answered, "'s Mark."
Collins was greatly surprised and rather worried. How could Mark sound like that?
"Man, no offense, but you sound like shit," Collins told him truthfully, "Roger worn you out?"
Mark sighed, running a hand through his short, white blonde hair. "Like you wouldn't believe."
"Look man, maybe I should come over for a couple of days—"
"No way," Mark protested groggily, "You're our only way of getting money around here now. It'll be better for you to stay over there, better for all of us."
"How's Benny?"
Although he was thoroughly exhausted, Mark's intestines were set on fire at the mention of his former friend's name.
"Does it matter how Benny's doing?"
"Haven't talked to him, huh?"
"No."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
Suddenly, a thought dawned on Collins.
"Where's Maureen?"
"Huh…what?" Mark snapped to attention, almost falling asleep at the phone.
"Stay focused," Collins ordered, "Where's Maureen?"
"Out," Mark answered simply. He didn't really want to think what Maureen was doing right now.
"When she gets back, tell her that I told her to watch out for Roger for a night or two."
"No," Mark protested, "I can do it."
"When was the last time you had sleep?" Collins asked.
"Three nights ago—"
Suddenly, Mark heard the slamming of a door. Roger's door. He turned his head and stared at his best friend. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his dark green eyes glaring daggers at Mark. A wave of dread washed over Mark. This wasn't going to be good.
"Who are you talking to?" Roger demanded, his voice hoarse but threatening.
"Collins," Mark answered immediately.
"Oh, I know what you're doing," Roger seethed, making his way over to Mark, "You two are talking about sending me off to a goddamn rehabilitation center. Well, I'm gonna tell you this: I'M NOT FUCKING GOING!"
"Roger," the filmmaker started out quietly, "That's not what we were talking about—"
"Yes it was," Roger interrupted, scorn dripping from his words, "You're gonna put me there, and you're gonna leave me there!"
"No, I'd never—"
"CUT THE CRAP! YOU JUST WANT TO GET RID OF ME SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO DEAL WITH ME AND MY PROBLEMS ANYMORE!" Roger yelled grabbing Mark's left arm ferociously.
"Collins," Mark squeaked into the phone, "We have a little bit of a problem—"
"SEE! I TOLD YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
"ROGER! LEAVE MARK ALONE!" a female voice shouted.
Both of the men in the room turned towards the sound of the voice and found Maureen Johnson standing helplessly, her brown eyes pleading. Roger immediately let go of Mark.
"Thank you," she acknowledged calmly, "Marky, who's on the phone?"
"Collins," he croaked out.
Maureen squealed, excited by the fact that one of her best friends called. "I want to talk to him! Give me the phone, give me the phone!"
As Mark handed Maureen the phone, she sent a death glare at Roger. "You hurt him while I'm on the phone and your ass is as good as mine."
"Good," Roger mumbled, "At least I'll be getting some action."
"Pig," Mark muttered irritably. He was really sick of Roger's snide comments, though his rage didn't last long at all. In those brief moments, it made him miss Roger's convulsing and helplessness and nausea, which was usually what took up most of Mark's time anyway.
"What was that?" Roger asked him, teeth bared.
"Nothing," Mark yelped. He didn't want to start anything. He knew what Roger could do to him. He had the bruises and scars to prove it.
"Ok, thanks Collins. Bye baby," Maureen finished and hung up the phone.
She grabbed Mark suddenly and pulled him into a small, gentle kiss. A true rarity for Maureen.
"Go to bed," Maureen ordered after pulling away.
"But—"
"Bed."
"Ok."
Maureen watched as her boyfriend's slumping figure limped into their bedroom. When the door shut, she turned to her best friend who had fallen asleep on the floor. She sighed. She hated seeing him like this. She bent down, stuck her arms underneath his armpits and put him on the couch, his head resting on her lap.
She gently stroked his dirty blonde mane of curls and thought about how much he'd been through in his entire life. This was one man who had experienced enough pain. She wanted it to stop for him. But she knew that it wouldn't.
She could feel him beginning to shake and she held him a little closer. Maureen never really saw that much of Roger at night. Whenever she would hear him moaning and groaning, screaming and yelling in the next room over, she'd put her pillow over her head and feel the squeak of the bed moving as Mark got up and went to his best friend.
Suddenly, his shaking turned into harsh convulsing, and he looked like he was having a seizure. Maureen's stomach flopped, and she was just about to get Mark when an ear-shattering scream broke through the silence of the night air.
She squeezed him closer to her and murmured words of comfort.
"Mark," Roger croaked out, in search of the person who always took care of him, "M-Ma-Mark…"
"No baby, no," Maureen cooed, stroking his hair.
Roger's jade green eyes flashed open and Maureen almost recoiled. There was something in his eyes that gave the sense of pure madness. They darted all around the room, confused and anxious.
"April?" Roger questioned, reaching out for Maureen, grabbing at her shirt fiercely, as if he didn't hold on he'd lose her, "April, April! I'm sorry!"
"No, no, no, no, baby, no, it's me, Maureen," she corrected gently, her heart breaking already.
"Reen?" Roger asked again.
Maureen nodded and Roger let out a shuddering breath.
Suddenly, he sat up abruptly and started hacking. It grew louder and louder, reverberating off of the thin walls of the loft. She rubbed small circles on his back while he continued to cough. But soon, with one giant cough, the deep, rich burgundy colored blood sprayed both of them.
"Shit!" Maureen cursed, close to tears, "Where's the phone?"
"M-M….Reen," Roger sighed, wiping his mouth unsuccessfully, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what baby?" she hurriedly asked, looking around for the phone. She wanted to stay by Roger's side, but she figured that an ambulance needed to called soon. Why wouldn't Mark wake up?
"Everything," Roger gasped in a short breath, "I killed her. I killed her."
"No you didn't," Maureen stated firmly, now in full attention, "You did not kill April."
"If…If I hadn't of g-given her A-AIDS," he said breathlessly, tears forming in his eyes, "She would still be a-alive!"
Then he threw himself on Maureen and sobbed.
"I didn't mean to!" he cried out, "I d-didn't know I had it! I-I'm a m-m-murderer!"
"Baby, baby, no you're not!" Maureen bawled along with him, "You didn't know! She was the one who committed suicide!"
"I'M A MURDERER!" he screamed, burying his face on Maureen's shoulder, "I'M A MURDERER!"
"NO, no…P-Pookie, you're not a murderer!"
"I KILLED THE GIRL I LOVE!" he yelled.
"LISTEN TO ME ROGER!" Maureen howled, tears pouring from her eyes, grabbing Roger's face in her hands, "Listen to me! You are not the one who put April in a depression! You're not the one who made her go into the bathtub that day!"
"Shut up, Reen," Roger muttered.
"You're not the one who grabbed a knife or a razor or whatever the hell it was and slit her wrists open and watched as the blood came flowing out!"
"Shut up, Reen!" Roger ordered, his hands grabbing hers to pull them off of his face.
"You're not the one," Maureen cried, "who went and wrote that fucking note that said 'We've got AIDS'! You're not the one who's leaving yourself in heartbreak and hell right now!"
"SHUT UP, REEN!" Roger shouted, and although without very good aim, struck Maureen.
She fell back on the couch and squeezed her eyes shut. She just wanted all of this to fade away. This was a bad dream. This was a nightmare. She was going to wake up in Mark's arms. Or, maybe even better, Joanne's arms. This was all going to end.
She opened her eyes. Roger was shaking furiously, his green eyes bloodshot, his muscles aching, his entire body curled up into a ball.
She closed her eyes.
Maureen stumbled out of the room she shared with Mark. She surveyed the scene in front of her. Mark was at the metal table, reading The Village Voice and sipping on coffee. Weird. She hadn't seen Mark so calm in ages. Suddenly, guilt washed over her. Now she was going to have to break his calmness.
"Hi, Maureen," Mark greeted in a low whisper, getting up from the table to come to her.
"Hey Pookie," she said back and dutifully received a kiss on the cheek, "Why are we whispering?"
Mark pointed, and Maureen spotted Roger splayed all over the couch, snoring loudly.
"He hasn't slept so soundly in weeks, probably a month," Mark remarked, studying his best friend curiously, "What did you do to him last night?"
Maureen sighed, running a hand through her dark brown hair, "You couldn't hear? Mark, you're a fucking log."
"Sorry," Mark apologized sheepishly, "What happened last night?"
A few tears almost came to her eyes at the very thought of it. "Mark, I thought I would have to call an ambulance to come pick him up last night, he was so terrible…"
"What happened? What'd he do?" Mark demanded.
"Well, at first he was ok. Just sleeping. Then he started shaking and woke up. He was coughing up blood…..and he started ranting…"
Maureen hid her face from Mark. She was determined to never let him see her weak.
"That's what he usually does every night," Mark informed her in a grave tone, "You probably just weren't used to it. It's ok."
"Mark….Pookie, I don't know if I can get used to it," Maureen started.
"Well, no one can exactly, but—"
"Let me finish," Maureen commanded and then continued, "I don't think I can handle seeing one of my best friends since freshmen year torturing himself like this."
"Torturing himself?" Mark questioned, "Is he cutting himself?"
"You don't get it, do you?" Maureen asked sarcastically, pushing her way past Mark, "He's torturing himself emotionally."
"Yeah, I get it!" Mark spoke up.
"Good. And since you get it, and I don't, you wouldn't mind if I stay at a friend's house for a little while, would you?" Maureen asked.
Mark's face dropped. He was completely and utterly surprised. He was so caught off guard and he found himself saying, "No, not at all. I understand. Just call if you need anything."
"Of course," Maureen responded, zipping towards the couch, "Same here."
She bent down and gave Roger a small kiss on the forehead and then quickly made her way towards the sliding door of the loft.
"Don't you want to pack your bags?" Mark questioned helplessly as Maureen stepped out of the loft.
"No, no, I'll come for them later," Maureen replied hurriedly, and then leaned over and gave Mark a quick peck on the lips, "Bye, Pookie!"
The sliding door slammed shut in Mark's face while excruciating moaning could be heard from the couch. Mark quickly sat down next to Roger.
"R-Re-Reen?" Roger called out helplessly.
"She's gone, Roger," Mark informed him flatly, "Maureen left."
"I…..I killed her too?"