Good News and Brews!|(mark/rog) INACTIVE

[markcohen]

"You know what? Whatever. I don't care." Mark grumbled, putting his camera down and folding his arms over his chest. "Can we please just change the subject now?! I'm tired talking about my sister." He shuddered. "Oh, and just so you know, she is walking death." He added for good measure.

It was quiet for a few minutes, and Mark allowed himself to calm down and think about something else. He meant to bring up when they would all get together at the Life, but it came out like: "So... how's Mimi doing? I haven't seen her in a bit."

[ROGER DAVIS]

Chosing to drop the subject for a moment, Roger felt his smile drop slightly as Mark mentioned Mimi. "Oh, she's...she's good." But Roger knew the simple answer wouldn't satisfy Mark. "She, um..." Roger felt his lips purse slightly before he looked at Mark fully. "She's still using. Off and on. She, uh...she doesn't think I know. At least I don't think she thinks I know, but I found some needles under the bed the other day."

He focused on the neck of his guitar for a moment before he glanced at Mark. "She, uh...I mean, we've fought about it. Alot." Roger lifted a shoulder in a shrug, plucking out a few moments.

"I know she knows that it scares me. I don't want to wake up and see her dead. Really don't think I could handle that again." The memories of April were still fresh, even after two years and Roger figured that if it happened to Mimi, he knew that he wouldn't survive. He couldn't survive putting someone else in the ground. He couldn't survive the heartache.

"But besides that, she's awesome. She's been working a lot, but she's been staying home with me alot, too. It's just--it's been nice. She's wearing my body out, but it's an awesome feeling."

[markcohen]

Mark blew out a breath when Roger said that Mimi was using again. He lifted a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck, his brain going a mile a minute to think of a solution to make the problem stop. "There's the rehab centre she went to when you were gone away. We could always send her there again." But even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew it wouldn't work. She had already dropped out before, so why wouldn't she do it again?

"If you want, I could talk to her." He suggested lamely a few moments later. "I should be a pro at these kind of thing's by now."

Yet he still couldn't help but feel a tiny flicker of jealousy. Let's face it; he hasn't had anyone to be with in what felt like forever. Even when he was with Maureen, she would wear him out in a bad way... not that he was complaining; it was fun.

"Maybe you guys should slow down. It isn't good for either of you to get too... worn out."

[ROGER DAVIS]

When Mark mentioned the rehab centre, Roger knew he was only trying to help. He lit a cigarette in silence and took a drag in, rubbing at his eyes as he exhailed the smoke from his lungs. "Some things...we don't talk about." Roger answered. "And Mimi won't stay there. She's just like me. She thinks she can do it by herself. I've seen her do it by herself."" However, Roger remembered how physically and emotionally draining it had been. Carrying her from the bedroom to the couch because she had screamed that the bed felt like pins and needles. Holding her hair back as she threw up into a bucket by the bed. But he remembered he had never cried, not even when she sobbed and pounded her tiny fists against his chest; he had never shead a single tear.

He did, however, cry in the bathroom when he was sure that she was asleep. Covering his mouth with both hands to stop the sobs, he would sit in the bathtub and cry until he heard Mimi shift again, and instantly, he'd be back to normal, though his eyes had always been a little redder. A little more puffy than before. "She won't stay." Roger said again, shaking his head.

When Mark offered to talk to Mimi, Roger felt a slight, barely there smile come onto his lips. "She doesn't like to talk about it." Mimi was more like Roger than he realised; it was what Roger had done for most of his time in the Loft. At first, he and April had made a pact; they would never get high in the Loft. They'd get high in some dark alley, stay until they were sober enough to walk, and then stumble home. If anyone asked, they were drunk. Or they had taken some pills. But never heroin with his needles and ties and heartache.

Then, April got lax, getting high in the bedroom. Then, Roger did the same. Soon, a few months before she had died, it had spilled out to the living room, sprawled out on the couch with the needle still hanging from her inner arm. Roger would clean up after it, because he had still never wanted anyone to see. Then April had died and he hadn't cared anymore. It was shortly after that, that the hatred and saddness and sharp smell of bile and puke spread into the Loft. Getting clean had been the worst part of his life, next to seeing April dead. Looking back, sometimes he wondered if the positive was wortht he fight. "I'm gonna tear the apartment up tomarrow while she's at work and find her stash. Then..." Then what? WOuld he throw it away? At one point, Roger would have been excited at the chance of a free score.

"I'm gonna get rid of it. I know--I know she wont be happy, but I can't take this shit anymore." Maybe it was selfish. Roger had always had the ability to be a very selfish creature. "I can't take the fact that one day she could use too much and die, and I can't--I can't take the temptation."

Mark offered the suggestion that maybe they should slow down, and Roger scoffed slightly. "There's 86,400 seconds in a day. If I can spend every single one with her, I would. I don't care how fast we go anymore. It's not like I'm going to be around forever." Roger told him honestly. "I mean, I didn't even go slow with April. Remember? I met her on thursday night, she moved in on saturday."