Rated: T for cussing, drug use… it may go up to M, not positive.
A/N: My first M/R and my first attempt at slash, so I'm not sure how this will end up honestly. " It's incredibly angst-y so far and for that I apologize. Chapters are named after the evanescence song that inspired them. I hope you enjoy and reviews make my day/week.
And he couldn't help, but feel like hiding behind all the lies he was telling himself would save him.
Lies
"Roger?"
Knock a little harder.
"Roger…do you want to talk about it?"
But Mark already knew the answer.
"No."
No, no, no…
Mark was used to rejection.
A week now. That's the longest Roger had gone without cracking and telling all the gritty details of an argument. Roger and Mimi had had another fight, it seemed like it happened more often lately. Over drugs or jealousy or God knows anything and everything.
An angry tune from Roger's bedroom muffled by the door clearly related how the rocker felt. Mark sighed, he missed Roger. The days Roger spent in the loft now only occurred when he'd fought with Mimi and those days were spent locked in his bedroom with Mark stopping by occasionally to remind him to eat or take his AZT or breathe…
How familiar…
He prepared a bowl of soup, and returned to Roger's room, knocking again before he entered. The rocker sat on his bed, hands cradling the fender the same way Mark often held his camera.
He didn't even bother looking up when Mark entered.
"Do you want some soup?" He held the bowl out, "It's uh, chicken noodle…."
No
"No. I don't want any soup." Roger stood and it became suddenly clear that he was still pissed from a week ago, "I want you to leave me alone."
"Roger…" Mark let the words come out slowly, "You need to eat."
"Don't tell me what I need, Mark."
"You haven't eaten anything in two days!"
Roger took a step towards him, fender abandoned on the bed.
"Yeah, so what? Why does it fucking matter!"
And Roger was baiting him, but Mark was not easy to catch in a fight. He stood his ground as the rocker came closer. He could feel Roger's hot breath on his face as the distance between them disappeared. Roger challenging, wanting a fight, an excuse to let out his pent up anger.
Fuck if I'll give into you.
"…You need food Roger."
The rocker swung hard with his open hand and the bowl of soup flew and the wall was splattered with chicken and noodles.
"I said don't fucking tell me what I need."
Mark froze. Angry Roger he could deal with. Violent Roger was rare, serious, and unpredictable. How the hell did it get this far? But then the rocker let out a hard sigh and sat. A shaky hand ran through his hair.
Don't move too fast.
The filmmaker let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Roger sat on the bed, green eyes staring at the floor. Mimi must've given him one hell of a fight. Mark sat down next to him.
Humor is always a good mask.
He gave a stifled, weak laugh, "I know you don't like soup much, but I think that was a little harsh…"
Okay, so that wasn't funny…
Mark bit his lip nervously. "Guess you've been holding that in for awhile…"
No, no, no…
"Yeah, for a long fucking time." Roger sighed and waved a hand at the broken glass and mess of soup, "I'm… I didn't mean to…"
"Yeah, I know."
They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Roger didn't move; the muscles in his arm were still clenched with anger and stress. His breathing was labored, heavy. Mark watched as one of the noodles lost whatever grip it had managed to claim and slid helplessly down the wall.
Sometimes I know just how you feel noodle.
"She won't give them up. The drugs." Roger swallowed, head in hands, "She won't stop. I've done everything I could think of… I don't know what else to do, I love her and I just don't fucking know anymore…"
"I know it's hard, Rodge, you just have to be patient." Roger shifted a little next to him, annoyed, but Mark continued anyway, "Give her...an ultimatum. Do whatever you have to and try not to get too mad…sometimes it's just the drugs talking."
Roger stood arm twisting around arm across his chest, "And what the fuck do you know, huh?"
Mark looked at him carefully, blue eyes hard.
The rocker sighed, "Okay, yea… all right! You helped me through all my shit! But I was there then too. I remember what happened then so why can't I help her like you helped me?"
If only you really knew…
Mark stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Your roles are reversed. It's different. And this is Mimi who needs to get through withdrawal this time, not you. What she needs is not the same…"
"And you fucking know everything right!"
The filmmaker and rocker stared off, cool blue met firey green.
Who's going to give…who's going to throw the first punch… who's going to make the first cut…. Who wants to keep this shit going?
Fuck, if I'm going to give into you
Mark walked out of the room to the table. He gripped the top with his pale hands, trying to keep from sliding. Don't breathe too deep, right?
"Don't breathe at all." He muttered.
Roger grabbed his shoulder and turned him roughly, green eyes screaming for… something. Mark had a hard time meeting those eyes. The hand remained tight until it lost its will and slid down Mark's pale arm lingering on his hand just a second too long.
Shit.
Don't remember.
Don't think.
"Mark…"
Let out the breath you've been holding before you suffocate.
"Roger, you're… you should go talk to her."
And the rocker let go, nodded.
"Yeah …"
The filmmaker looked away as he left.
I wish I could hide a little while longer.