| "What...what?" Roger stuttered, softly. Mark took a deep breath, but did not look nor change his tone or posture. He was going to handle this. With ease. He was going to get these answers and get through this and not cry and sob and scream like he wanted to. "It was a cry for help, Roger," he murmured quietly. "An obvious cry for help. Everyone else saw it. Producers, financial aids, friends, workers, even the fucking copy boy. Everyone saw it and inquired about it and let it go and silently prayed that you'd get the hint and before I did something drastic. And I'm not sure if you did. So, either you're thick or heartless. Take your pick." It has come out more harshly than he had hoped. It made him sound mean and hate consumed, when the opposite was really true. When all he wanted to do was pick up where they had left off so many years before, hug and kiss and make up and resume their life. He blinked his eyes of the tears that started to rise at the realization that this could never happen. He nearly started up again as he felt Roger's hand timidly cover his own, which was clenched into a fist on the tabletop. "I never, ever stopped loving you, Mark," he whispered. "I never will." Mark took another steadying breath, trying his hardest not to react physically to Roger's gesture. He still loved Roger. He always had. From the day they met to the day they parted, he never wanted to be with anyone else but him. Whether it was a deep friendship or an unrequited lust or a mind-numbing mutual love, his emotions had always kept him more attached to Roger than anyone else. "I know you love me, Roger," he finally said slowly. "It's not your love I've questioned. It's your ego and your intentions and your real feelings." There was another pause as Roger tried to process that information. His fingers ran slowly over Mark's hand in that comforting, warming way they used to in year's past, the way that used to send Mark into a content glee that nearly melted him into an emotional goo. He tried to ignore the way Roger's fingers were tracing patterns over his pale, chilly skin, warming his hands and his heart at the same time. He suddenly realized that this was their first contact. It was the first time in ten years that Roger had actually touched him. "I never meant to hurt you," Roger said timidly. Mark didn't move. "Well, you did. You knew that you would and you did. You ruined my life, left me in ten years of hell. Ten years of dealing with everything on my own. You forced me into ten years of prayers and tears and self-loathing. Ten years of trying my hardest to muster up a hate for the one person who I knew loved me unconditionally for years. Ten years of self-rejection as I realized just how impossible it was for me to hate you, even after what you had done to me. Ten years of life by myself after you promised you'd never leave me." There was another lengthy pause as Roger's hand tightened around Mark's. Mark held his breath, waiting for his response, hoping that he wouldn't get very angry, praying that he saw that the hate and loathing and resentment and Mark was pouring out was really just to mask the fear and hurt and pain and hopelessness that he was really feeling. His pulse quickened as Roger lifted his hand from the table and raised it to his lips. "I know. I hated myself for it. I watched those actors in your film and I...I knew they were us. And I could finally see how much damage I had caused...Christ, I was so afraid that you had hurt yourself...and then when I saw that you...that you had tried..." He took a sharp breath and brushed his lips across the back of Mark's hand. "I love you. I do, I love you so much." *God...it's so true...please let him believe it...please let him realize I didn't mean any of that to happen...* Roger's breath caught in his throat as Mark's hand, which had finally relaxed in his own, stiffened again. He should have known this was coming. He *did* know it was coming, he just didn't want to believe it was really going to happen. He wanted a happy ending, to ignore the years of pain and focus on the happiness and love they once shared. He wanted to start all over again. Obviously, Mark wasn�t going to let that happen. �Oh,� he said very quietly, his body trembling. �So just because you love me, this is all alright. The abandonment, the betrayal, the departure...it�s all okay. Because you love me. None of what happened to me...what I did to myself over this...none of it is important, because you loved me. Of course.� He felt his insides start to twist as he fought to hold back sobs and tears which had been threatening to spill all night. *Why am I being so cruel? Why won�t I just let him apologize so I can love him again?* he thought helplessly as Roger gaped at him. *Because you know he�s going to leave you again. You know after he says goodnight you�ll never see him again.* He felt Roger clutch at him like there was no tomorrow, his fingers lightly digging into his skin. �Mark,� he whispered. �I�m sorry! I don�t know what else to say! I�m so sorry for leaving you...I can�t even put it in words...I still love you...I still need you...� he murmured desperately, repeating it over and over again until Mark felt the need to scream. He pulled his hand away from Roger and snapped his head up, trying to ignore the tears that were forming on his face. �WHY?!� Roger froze. Roger froze, Lyric froze, all of the tables surrounding them froze. It was the first time he had raised his voice that entire evening. He realized it. But it was overtaking him. These apologies and pleas, he just couldn�t stand them anymore. He wanted answers. �If you cared so much, if you needed me so much, if you still fucking LOVED ME than why did you leave?!� he shouted. The tables around them were cautiously returning to their meals and conversations. He was glad. He didn�t want to make this a show, he just wanted to get it over with. �God...do you have any idea what I�ve been through?! What you�ve done to me? Do you know the therapy I�ve been through and the hospitalization? Even worse, there were the tears and the anger and the HATRED. Not for you. God, it would have been so much easier if I hated you...but I didn�t. I hated myself.� It was said. It was out in the open, and he was crying. Roger was crying too. Crying, and gaping at Mark, blinking off the words that had stung him. �Mark...but...you shouldn�t have...� he said dumbly, realizing how stupid he sounded the minute the words left his mouth.�I fucking know that!� �But...god, I didn�t know! I swear, I�m so sorry for making you do that! You don�t understand how badly I feel, Mark!! You can�t! I just...I never wanted to...I never meant to...� He trailed off, looking at the man in front of him, as if for the first time. The filmmaker was so shaken and worn. Everything about him seemed hurt...broken...followed by a dark cloud that he hadn�t lost in ten years of struggle. It was sending tears down his cheeks...shaking his arms and hands...tearing his soul out. It was all because of him. �Mark...I�m so sorry...� Roger�s voice changed from a plea to a solemn confession. He took a step forward. Mark didn�t move. Another step...another. He gently wrapped his arms around the filmmaker without protest. It took a few moments for Mark to relax but as soon as he did, it was as if no time had passed at all. Soon Roger was sitting down again, leaning against the window and letting the sobbing Mark�s sweater absorb his tears as he rocked the exhausted man back and forth on his lap. When he closed his eyes, he could even pretend that it was still a decade beforehand and he and Mark were only reconciling after a silly tiff at the restaurant. �I missed holding you.� His choked confession broke the silence surrounding them. Mark moved his head slightly, looking up at Roger with regret and hurt and longing in his eyes. �I missed being held.� It took all of Roger�s will power not to kiss him right there. Mark wiped listlessly at his eyes, sitting up, but still leaning heavily against Roger. �God...it hurt so much...because...because I remembered.� Roger gave him a curious look. �What do you mean, love?� he asked gently, slipping back into old habits without even realizing it. The way he was holding Mark...the way he interlocked their fingers...the way he stroked his hair and called him �love� without even noticing it. He was falling all over again... Page 6 |