Disclaimer: As much as I wish they were, the characters aren't mine. They belong to the Jonathan Larson estate.

Summary: Mark has AIDS and Roger is going crazy with guilt. Can Mark overcome his own problems and save Roger before it's too late? When you're done with this, please read the sequel "No Day But Today".

I. Prolouge

Roger POV:

            I look around the familiar clinic, feelings of dread filling my stomach as I remember why I'm here...again. Mark. I'm here because of Mark. Well, because of me, really. I'm waiting in this cold, unfriendly place, waiting for Mark to get the results of his HIV test. A month has gone by, four weeks that went by like lifetimes, since he got tested...since I ruined his life. For what seems like the millionth time this week, waves of guilt wash over me as flashbacks from "that night" fill my head.

            I was sitting on my bed writing lyrics to a new song I'd been working on, anxiously waiting for the phone to ring. I'd been waiting for Adam to call all week: He had an uncle who owned a record company who we had sent a demo tape to three weeks ago. The uncle had gotten back to Adam, saying he loved it and promised to look into maybe setting up a record deal. So when the phone rang, needless to say, I was excited. I jumped up to answer the phone but in my hurry I tripped over a pile of clothes on my floor, falling and shattering a glass picture frame right next to it. The phone rang again and Mark answered it but from the silly grin on his face, I knew it was Maureen, and not Adam, on the other end.

            Disappointed, I got up and it was then that I noticed the blood dripping down my arm from where the sharded glass had cut into me. "Shit..." I pressed my other hand to the wounds to stop the bleeding but not before Mark turned his head and rushed towards me.

            "What happened? Oh my God, Roger, are you okay?" He reached his hand out to help me and I yanked my arm away, but not before some of my blood got on his hand...the same hand that he had scratched only two days ago while working on his camera...

            So now here I am, four weeks later, sitting in the same place where three years ago I had gotten my own AIDS test, waiting to see if Mark would have to go through the same hellish nightmare that I had...

Mark POV:

            I can't believe this is actually happening. I can't believe I'm sitting in this room waiting for the man who is about to change my life forever.

            "Mark Cohen?"

            I turn my head and nod, my voice betraying me. He reaches his hand out and I shake it, wondering and fearing why he is being so polite.

            "I'm Dr. Murphy, and...I'm afraid I have some bad news for you..."

            I don't say anything, just close my now tear-filled eyes as he tells me that he’s not completely sure yet, since it will take at least up to 2 more months to know for sure, but that my blood tests are showing many signs that I am HIV positive and that he will start me on AZT as soon as possible, trying to sound positive as he explains that I will still have a fairly normal, though shortened, life and blah blah blah...

            I tune him out, I don't want to hear this anymore. He hands me a small sheet of paper, which I assume is an AZT prescription, and I get the hell out of there. I don't want to be there one second longer.   As I walk, blindly, into the waiting room I see Roger rise quickly and rush over to me. I try to swallow the huge lump rising in my throat but am unsuccessful as the tears spill out onto my cheeks, so I just nod as he holds me, crying silently.  

II. Friendship Is Thicker Than Blood

Roger POV:

                It's been three days since Mark found out he's positive. He hasn't spoken a word to anyone since. He won't even look at me, let alone be in the same room as me and I don't blame him one bit. I wouldn't be in the same room with me either if I had the choice.

                Of course, I'd considered suicide, even came as close as holding a knife to my wrist, but of course, I couldn't go through with it. Don't get me wrong, I'm thoroughly sure I deserve to be dead and would love to be...but that would be taking the easy way out.

                I remember how April killed herself right before I was diagnosed and left me to deal with that and a drug addiction on my own. I can't...won't do that to Mark. I'm not going to take the easy way out, leaving him to clean up my mess once again.

                I don't deserve to die, no, I deserve to live...to suffer and watch what I did to my poor Mark...my best friend, the only person who'd ever understood me, the only person who even tried. And I'd ruined his life! God...it wasn't fair. Why should Mark have to suffer for my own fucking mistakes? Why Mark, who's been nothing but understanding, and caring, and helpful to me throughout my numerous fuck ups? God, it just wasn't fair.

Mark POV:

                For three days I've been living in absolute hell. I've thought about suicide a countless number of times but I know that even if I wanted to do it I never actually would. Roger's a mess too. I know he feels bad, hell, he must apologize every other hour, but I can't bring myself to talk to him. Or anyone else for that matter. It's not that I'm mad, exactly...I'm not. Well, not at him anyway. Just at this whole situation I guess. I know how this must be upsetting Roger, and I know he's thinking about when he went through this himself.

                I'm not stupid, I know I'm not the only one thinking about suicide. I saw him sneak a kitchen knife into his room the other day. I didn't say anything but watched through the crack in his door. If he had done anything I would have been there in a second but, thank God, he didn't, and he put the knife back the next day. I guess he's a lot stronger than we all thought.

                That thought alone is what's helping me through my own suicidal fantasies. Roger found out he had AIDS in April's suicide note. He was the one that found her, wrists slit, in the bathroom. At that point he was a junkie, devoted to heroine, but he quit and went through six hellish months of painful withdrawal. He dealt with his HIV diagnosis, a drug addiction, and the death of his girlfriend all at the same time and me pulled through. He went through this three times worse than I am now and he made it. That's what keeps me going, knowing that if he did it than I can too.

Roger POV

                I hear Mark shuffling around the kitchen, probably looking for something to eat, although I know he won't actually eat it. He hasn't eaten in three days and every time I try to get him to he just turns around and storms into his room, slamming the door behind him. But, not about to give up, I venture into the kitchen to find him absently looking through the cabinets.

                "Are you hungry?"

                He doesn't answer, just goes to the living room and flops down on the couch. Well, this is an improvement at least. I'm about to try again when someone knocks on the door. I look at Mark, hoping he'll take the initiative and answer the door, but he doesn't so when I hear Collins' voice from the hall I get up to answer it myself.

                "Hey Roger!" He gives me a big hug but I keep my arms firmly planted by my side. He releases me and frowns. "How's Mark?" When I don't answer he frowns again and asks "How are you?"

                Me? I'm doing just great, I don't think I've stopped crying for more then ten minutes at a time in the past week, I've been battling the voice screaming at me in the back of my head to kill myself, so overall...I'd say I'm doing pretty damn good. "I'm fine." Yes, that's right. Frantic, Insecure, Neurotic, Emotional: Fine.

                He looks at me skeptically and then motions to the figure sitting sullenly on the couch, staring at the blank tv screen. "How's he dealing with all of this?"

                I sigh, tears threatening to break again. I lower my voice. "God, Collins...he's so miserable..." My voice cracks. "And it's all my fault." I lose the battle with my tears and start crying once again and Collins hugs me, trying to comfort me, though I know I don't deserve to be comforted. I pull away from him, trying to stop the tears but not succeeding very well. "He won't talk to anyone, he's said maybe four words, tops, in the past three days, he won't eat..." My voice trails off, a lump rising in my throat as the screaming voice in my head reminds me that I did this to him.

                Collins pats me on the back. "Why don't you let me talk to him." I start to walk away but he pulls me back. "And Roger? Don't be so hard on yourself, ok?" I don't say anything, I just turn and walk into my room where I curl up in a corner and cry for the next half hour.

Mark POV

                "Mark?" I don't turn around, I don't respond. Collins moves closer to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "I know what you're going through." I drop my head.

                "I know..." My voice sounds strange to me after hardly speaking for the past few days. He sits down next to me and lifts my chin 'til I look at him.

                "So does Roger." I don't say anything and he sighs. "Listen, Mark, out of our group of friends, four out of seven of us have gone through this exact same thing. And, save Angel, we're all still here to talk about it. Having AIDS isn't the worst thing in the world. Don't get me wrong, it totally sucks, but you're still going to have a normal life. Just shorter. It's up to you what you do with the rest of your time here. It's true, you're not going to live as long as say, Maureen or Joanne, I won't lie to you, but do you want to spend the time you have left depressed and mad at your best friend?"

                "I'm not mad..."
                "I know that. But he doesn't." He sighs again. "Listen Mark, I'm not gonna lie to you, he's hanging on by a thread. How long do you think he can keep going on like this? The guilt is killing him, he's a wreck. I'm not saying that you can't or shouldn't be angry and upset about having AIDS, you have every right to be...just don't take it out on him. And, come to think of it, he can probably help you get through this. He went through it too, you know."

                "I know. It's just...God, I mean, everything is happening so fast. I'm not sure I'm ready to deal with this, and, for some reason, I know if I talk to Roger I'll have to deal with it."

                "Well, you're going to have to deal with it sooner or later...And it might as well be sooner, while you still have a best friend to help you deal with it."

                He's right, I know he's right. I know I have to do this, if not for me then for Roger. Because the next time he has that knife he may not have the strength to put it down. I nod and Collins pats me on the back, giving me an encouraging smile.

                "Good. You're doing the right thing." I nod again and start to stand up but my stomach growls and he pulls me back. "And for God sakes, Mark, eat something!" He pokes my stomach and chuckles. "You're skinny enough as it is." I laugh a little and stand up again, knowing what I have to do.

                I knock on Roger's door and at first there's no reply. I get nervous, thinking he may have actually gone through with it. "Roger?" I hear him jump up quickly and open the door.

                "Mark?"

                God, he really is a wreck. He looks worse than me, if that's at all possible. His hair is messy and sticking out in every possible direction, his face is red and streaked with tears, and the clothes that he's been wearing for three days straight are dirty and wrinkled. I walk into his room, taking note, however, that his room is cleaner than I can ever remember.

Roger POV

                I watch Mark walk into my room, sitting down on my bed. He doesn't say anything at first and we sit there for a moment in awkward silence.

                "I'm sorry."

                I look up, shocked. "What?? Why are you apologizing??"

                He looks down. "For the way I acted. I shouldn't have-"

                I cut him off quickly. "Mark, you have every right to..."

                "I know." He shakes his head. "But still, it wasn't right."

                I've apologized to him about twenty times a day since this whole thing started but I feel the need to again. "God, Mark...I'm so sorry, you have no idea how..." I try to hold back the tears forming in my eyes but can't help it as they spill over onto my cheeks. "I'm so sorry! God, you have every right to hate me, I don't blame you one bit."

                "Roger... His voice is soothing. "Roger, I don't hate you, I couldn't. It's not your fault, it's not...don't be sorry...shh..." He rubs my back.

                I have the urge to throw my arms around his neck, so happy that he seems to have forgiven me but I know at the same time that I don't deserve to be forgiven. I don't deserve how he's treating me now.

                He seems to sense my discomfort and stands up, offering me his hand. "How about we get something to eat? I'm starving." He smiles tentatively but I know he's just trying to make me feel better. But I take his hand anyway and let him drag me into the kitchen where Collins is standing over the "stove," boiling water for tea.

                There are three bowls of Captain Crunch on the table and Mark sits down and starts eating hungrily out of one of them. My heart soars to see him eating again but that is followed by another pang of guilt when I remember it was me that made him stop eating in the first place. So looking at the bowl of Captain Crunch on the table, and Mark's tear-stained face which is smiling for my sake, I come up with the perfect way to punish myself for doing this to my Mark, since he obviously isn’t going to do it himself...

III. Close On Roger

Roger POV:

Collins and Mimi have been visiting non-stop, it’s almost like they live here. Maureen and Joanne come by regularly too, though not as often since they live further away. Everyone’s been helping out whenever they can, doing laundry, going shopping…It scares me when I think of how many times we’ve done this. First with Collins, then me, and now Mark. Mimi and Angel already had the virus when we met them so there was no going through this with them…but still, I can’t help but think five down, two to go.

It’s been five days since Mark started speaking again. I told myself I was only going to not eat for three, just to make up for the three days Mark went without eating because of me, but today is my fifth day without food.

It’s strange, I never imagined that pain ad deprivation could comfort me before, but it is. Each time my stomach lurches angrily, every time I feel light headed or get a hunger headache, I feel better, less guilty because I’m in pain and finally getting what I deserve.

It’s crazy, I don’t understand my own logic. It scares me a little but not as much as the fear I experience around food, whenever Mark, Collins, or Mimi try to get me to eat. Which is another thing I just can’t explain. Why am I suddenly terrified of food? I don’t spend too much time thinking about it though, because as long as I have this burning, empty, pain in my stomach, I don’t have to fight the voice that screams at me in the back of my mind to kill myself. So I’m not complaining.

As for Mark, he’s doing better I guess. He’s not as depressed as he was, I think he’s finally starting to accept that he has an incurable disease that will considerably shorten his life. He’s also started to take Collins’ advice to live each day to the fullest while he has the chance. He’s still noticeably depressed, but bouncing back quicker than everyone thought. But that’s Mark for you, full of surprises.

There’s a knock on my door but I don’t have the energy to get up so I shout, “Come in!”

Mark enters my room, looking better than he has in days. His hair looks freshly washed and combed, and for once, his normally pale face isn’t flushed and tear-stained. He looks around my room, probably surprised to find it spotless instead of the junkyard it usually is, before focusing his attention on me. His expression saddens considerably.

“Rog…God, you look awful…”

I sigh and roll over on my mattress, not wanting to listen to another lecture on how disgusting and terrible I look.

“C’mon Roger, please…you have to eat something.” He walks over to the other side of my bed so that I’m looking at him and offers me a breakfast tray. On it are a cup of tea and a bagel. His eyes look so sad as they plead with me to eat. Another wave of guilt washes over me, I would do anything to make those eyes sparkle again. So, with considerable effort, I sit up in bed and grab the tray from him. I sip the tea and take a tiny bite of the bagel, getting used to the feel of having food in my stomach again.

He smiles, really smiles, for the first time since he’s been diagnosed, and despite my racing heart and ragged breathing, I manage a tiny smile too and return to my bagel, food filling my stomach as rapidly as the dread.

Mark watches me throughout this whole torturous process of eating breakfast. When I’m done, he asks, “Do you feel better now?”

Better? Better?? I feel like I’m about to die! But despite the panic rising in my throat I manage to nod and smile slightly.

He looks at me skeptically, like he doesn’t quite believe me, but says nothing as he pats me on the back and leaves my room quietly.

Mark POV:

            I’m really worried about Roger. I saw his face as he ate that bagel, every bite was like torture for him. I’m almost mad at myself for putting him through that but, geez, that was the first he’s eaten in almost a week and I’m not about to let him starve himself to death.

            He’s been acting so strange lately. His room is getting cleaner by the day, which wouldn’t be so weird except that he always teases me for being so neat and organized, while half the time you can’t even see his floor, and my room now looks like a war zone compared to his.

            But I don’t know, maybe I’m just making too much out of this. I really hope so because I already have so much on my mind. I don’t think I have the strength to take care of me and Roger right now. Although, worrying about Roger like this is taking my mind slightly off the whole HIV thing.

            I notice Mimi sitting quietly on the couch by herself, biting her nails. I know she’s worried about Roger too. She’s been spending 90% of her time up here and I know it’s not only to help out with me.

            I go over to her and sit down next to her, trying to give her an encouraging smile. “Hey, guess what?”

            She turns around, startled, but doesn’t say anything. Her dark eyes look frightened and sad. Frightened probably because she doesn’t want to lose Roger.

            “Rog ate breakfast.” A huge grin spreads across her face and her eyes light up again. I decided against telling her that it was more like torture than eating.

            “Oh Mark, really?” I nod and she throws her arms around my neck, nearly choking me. “Thank you,” she squeals and then jumps up, knocking on Roger’s door.

Roger POV:

            I groan and let my head fall back on my understuffed pillow. The thing I hate most about eating is how much I enjoy it. I don’t deserve to enjoy anything.

            I get up with renewed energy and go over to my closet, where I’m about to organize my clothes, when I hear Mimi’s voice from outside my door.

            “Roger?”

            I let her in and she sits on my bed, her painted lips turning upwards in a smile. “Mark told me you ate breakfast.”

            I nod, though what I really want to do is go in the bathroom and…Whoa, where had that thought come from? I push it out of my mind quickly and sit down next to her.

            “That’s great, Rog. I was really starting to worry about you.” She looks up at me and snakes her arm around my waist. “Hey, while you’re at it, do you think you could take a shower too?” She chuckles a little. “We finally got Mark to…”

            I smile at her words, I really do love her. But worry about me? How could she be worried about me with all of this stuff going on with Mark? So, despite how I want nothing more than to just organize my closet to get my anxiety out, I kiss her on the cheek and go into the bathroom, turning on the shower faucet.

            As the cool water rushes down my body (Benny shut off the heat again), Mimi’s words echo in my head. I was really starting to worry about you. Along with the food in my stomach, there are pangs of guilt rushing around in there at the realization that since I stopped eating, everyone has been focusing on me and my problems, when their attention and concern should really be with Mark. I know that I can’t start eating normally again, this thing has almost turned into a sort of mini obsession – like my sudden fixation on keeping my room clean – but I know if I don’t start eating, everyone’s attention will remain on me. And I can’t have that, Mark is the one who needs help right now, not me.

            So, knowing what I have to do, I step out of the shower with the water still running, and kneel in front of the toilet, sticking a finger down my throat. I might as well get used to this now, I have a feeling I’m going to be doing this a lot.

            Again, I am amazed to find that the burning pain in my stomach and throat comfort me and as the food rushes out of my body, so do the nagging feelings of guilt and panic…

            After I’m sure that my face and eyes don’t look quite so red anymore, I step out of the bathroom to find the loft empty for the first time in five days and a note scrawled in sloppy handwriting taped to the refrigerator door.

            Roger-

Me, Mimi, and Collins left for a Life Support meeting. We didn’t want to bother you but meet us there when you get this!

            -Mark

            My eyes cloud over as I read this. On one hand, I’m glad to see Mark getting out of the house again, and especially to go to Life Support, because that means he’s finally starting to accept this. But on the other, I get depressed when I hear he’s started going to meetings because if it weren’t for me he wouldn’t have to go in the first place.

Mark POV:

            “Gordan.”

            “Liz.”

            “Hannah.”

            “Eric.”

            “Tom. Collins.”

            “Mimi.”

            “Hi, I’m Mark…I’m new.” I smile nervously.

            “I’m Paul, let’s begin.” He turns to me. “Hello Mark, I remember you. You came with Roger a few times didn’t you?”

            I nod.

            “By the way, where is Roger? I haven’t seen him in a while…he isn’t sick is he?”

            I shake my head. “No…well…no, just depressed I guess.”

            “Oh? Why is that?”

            My eyes tear up, I hate telling this story. Roger is depressed and won’t eat because he gave me AIDS.

            Mimi notices my discomfort and she reaches for my hand. “Things have been kind of weird…Mark, uh, caught HIV from Roger’s blood and Roger feels really bad about it.”

            I start crying again and Mimi squeezes my hand while Collins puts an arm around me.

            “How do you feel, Mark?”

            I stare at Paul. How do I feel?? “I don’t know…guilty I guess. For being so upset and everything. I mean, I know it’s not Roger’s fault…but for the first few days after I got my results back I was really mean to him. I didn’t talk to him or anything and I wouldn’t even let him in the same room with me.” My voice cracks and I cry harder. “I know it’s not his fault, even then I knew…but he’s taking this so hard and I know it’s my fault for acting like I did.”

            “It’s normal to be depressed and angry about something like this. I’d worry more if you weren’t.”

            “I know, but I didn’t have to take it out on Roger…”

            A short blonde girl, Liz, I think her name is, clears her throat. “Um, that happened to me too. What’s happening to Roger, I mean. Last year my boyfriend got AIDS from me, and he wouldn’t talk to me for months. I was really a wreck, I think I was more depressed than he was.” She smiles sadly. “I felt so guilty, just like I’m sure Roger feels now.” She looks up at Eric and smiles, taking his hand. “But we made it. It took a while but we pulled through, and I’m sure you and Roger will too.”

            Paul nods. “But lets take Roger out of the picture for now. How do you feel?”

            I don’t want to answer this question, but… “I’m trying not to think about it too much. It scares me. I was always the ‘healthy’ one, the one that would outlive all his friends. And now it’s like my whole role has changed, I don’t know who I am anymore.”

            “Mark, having AIDS doesn’t have to change your whole identity. It’s just one of the many things that make up who you are. Before you had HIV, were you just the guy who would live a long life? Or were you more?”

            I smile a little. “Well, I guess I was a little interesting in filming…”

            Mimi and Collins laugh at this.

            “Well, maybe more than a little interested…”

            “How about we take a look at Roger again. You guys have known each other for a while, right?”

            I nod.

            “Before he had AIDS?”

            I nod again. “I’ve known him since high school.”

            “What was he like before he was diagnosed?”

            “Well…before he was a junkie, he was a great guy…he still is. He had his guitar with him all the time, always trying to write songs or get a band together. He was pretty young then though, the only thing he could really play well was Muesetta’s Waltz.”

            “What about after AIDS, what was he like then? What’s he like now?”

            “After he was diagnosed he was a mess for a while. He was addicted to heroine so he went through withdrawal in rehab and at home. He didn’t leave the house for six months. But after all that he really pulled himself together. He started playing his guitar again and wrote a bunch of really great songs, he started a band…they might be getting a record deal actually…and though he still gets depressed sometimes, for the most part, he’s pretty happy with the way things are going.”

            “So basically what you’re saying is that he’s pretty much the same guy he was before he was diagnosed?”

            I nod, not exactly sure where he’s going with this.

            “Mark, would you say that Roger’s identity is his disease?”

            I shake my head quickly. “No, not at all.”

            “Then why should it be yours?”

            I open my mouth a few times to say something but close it. I know he’s right…I just wish I could get myself to actually believe it.

            Paul looks at his watch. “Alright guys, time to wrap things up. Great job today, and remember, no day but today.” He turns towards me, smiling, and shakes my hand. “Great to have you with us, Mark. You’ll be coming back for more of this, I hope?”

            I nod.

            “Great. There’s another meeting tonight at 9:30. Try and get Roger to come along, all right?”

            “I’ll try, but you know Roger…he can be pretty stubborn about things.”

            Paul nods and smiles. “Yeah, I know. Just as long as you try.”

            “I will.” He shakes my hand again and me, Mimi, and Collins walk back to the loft, chatting about the meeting.

            When we get there I can hear Joanne’s voice as I open the door.

            “It’s not your fault, Rog, really…I mean, how long have you two been living together? Seven, eight years? Accidents happen.”

            “Yeah, well most accidents don’t result in the ruining of someone’s life.”

            I close the door quietly and Roger spins around, looking embarrassed.

            I’m about to say something but decide to let the comment slip as I notice the laundry basket and two shopping bags by the door. I grab the bags and start putting away various cans and boxes. “How come you didn’t come to Life Support, Rog?”

            He shrugs, looking away. “Just didn’t feel like it I guess…”

            “Oh…”

            After an awkward silence, Maureen, who was sitting on the couch next to Roger, jumps up and says, “I’m starved. Do you guys want lunch?” Maureen has been doing most of the “cooking” (which usually consists of opening a box or can and pouring its contents in a bowl) these past few days so she knows how little Roger’s been eating. She turns to the figure sitting motionless on the couch. “Roger?” He looks absolutely petrified…

Roger POV:

            I look from Maureen’s anxious face, to Collins’ worried one, and then to Mark, whose expression I can’t quite read. Mimi looks worried again and is biting her lower lip. I was really starting to worry about you.

            I swallow the huge lump rising in my throat. “Sure.”

            Everyone seems to relax, especially Mark, as the battling emotions on his face seem to settle on relief. A wide grin spreads across Mimi’s face as she empties a can of soup into a plastic bowl, heats it up, and sets it down in front of me. “Eat.”

            I pick up the spoon hesitantly, purposely spending more time than I need to blowing on the room-temperature soup. I can feel Mark’s eyes on me as I lift the spoon to my mouth and sip the liquid slowly.

            After that, everyone seems to be satisfied, relieved to see me finally eating again, and they all go back to what they were doing: Joanne still bickering with Maureen in between bites of their tofu dogs, and Mimi and Collins alternately eating Captain Crunch and talking about the previous Life Support meeting. The only one who remains quiet is Mark as he silently chews on his sandwich, keeping his eyes on me the entire time.

            After what seems like an eternity, there is only a little bit of soup left in my bowl. I’ve been planning this out for the past fifteen minutes, as I slowly and hesitantly ate that poison. Everyone else finished their meals long ago, only I remain at the table. When I’m sure no one is looking, I take the little bit of soup left in my bowl and pour it all over myself. I stand up, quickly and loudly, and give an over exaggerated gasp. “Shit!”

            The room turns silent, everyone staring at me and my wet, soup-stained clothes. “I spilled the fucking soup…” I get up and try to act angry that I’m all wet and sticky now, but on the inside I’m laughing, as I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower, pretending to wash off the soup. But in reality I’m kneeling in front of the toilet for the second time that day, with my finger down my throat as the panic and fear and guilt rush out of me once again.

Mark POV:

            I stare as Roger practically runs into the bathroom, wondering what the hell is going on. He didn’t “spill the fucking soup,” he poured the “fucking soup” all over himself.

            No one else seems to notice though, and they all go back to what they were doing. I’m astonished that they don’t seem to notice Roger’s strange behavior. Don’t they see the way he eats, that pained expression on his face after every bite? You could almost actually see the sweat beading down his forehead! Or the way his room is suddenly spotless, when for years, up until last week, you could barely even see the floor, let alone walk in without tripping on something? Something just isn’t right here. This isn’t just typical depressed Roger, this is something more. And it scares me to think about just what that something more might be.

Roger POV:

            A half hour later I come out of the bathroom and find Mark, alone, on the couch, flipping through the fourteen channels on our non-cable tv. I plop down next to him and he turns to look at me.

            “Geez, Roger…are you okay? You look sick.” He presses a hand to my forehead but I pull away quickly.

            “I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” I give him a smile to let him know I’m okay but he frowns.

            “Are you sure? Maybe you should lie down for a while…”

            That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. Five nights without sleep are really starting to catch up with me. I nod. “Yeah, I think I will do that.” I stand up.

            “There’s another Life Support meeting at 9:30. I’ll wake you up at 9:00.”

            I shake my head. “No, don’t bother. I’m not going.”

            “Wait, Roger, why not?”

            I don’t answer, I just walk quickly to my room and fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.

            I don’t know how much later, but it must be pretty late considering how dark it is outside, I awake to someone shaking me and calling my name. I lazily crack one eyelid open but close it again when I realize it’s Maureen.

            “C’mon Roger, get up.”

            I pull the thin blanket over my head, hoping to make her go away, but suddenly I find myself being pushed, my body falling heavily to the floor. I quickly check to make sure I’m not bleeding and haven’t fallen on anything sharp, and when I’m sure I haven’t, I stand up and glare at her.

            “Oops…” She giggles. “Sorry, Rog.”

            I sigh, trying not to get angry. “Maureen, what are you doing here?”

            “Mark called, Honey. He wanted me to make sure you eat dinner.”

            I look at my watch. It’s 9:00, Mark must have already left for Life Support. “At 9:00? Don’t you think that’s a little late for dinner?”

            “I know, I’m sorry. I was working on a new scene and I lost track of the time. But c’mon, I can make it up to you…” She drags me into the kitchen where I see a Chinese take-out bag on the table. She claps her hands. “I got your favorite!”

            I rush through the food, looking at my watch every other minute. I have to finish fast so I’ll have time to throw up before Mark comes home. By the time I’m done it’s 9:15. I figure mark will be home around 9:45 so that still gives me a half hour.

            I quickly say goodbye to Maureen and literally push her out the door and run into the bathroom, forgetting to lock the door in my hurry…

Mark POV:

            I walk home from Life Support with Mimi, thinking about this and the earlier meeting I went to today. Paul really does make a lot of sense, I wish I had gone to more of these meeting with Roger before I was diagnosed.

            I say goodbye to Mimi on her floor and walk the rest of the way up to the loft by myself. I open the door, expecting to see Maureen still here with Roger, but I don’t see either of them. I’m about to call out for Roger but as I open my mouth I hear noises coming from the bathroom.

            I get a panicky feeling in my stomach as I realize what the noises are, and as I open the bathroom door, panic turns to dread as I see Roger kneeling in front of the toilet, his finger down his throat…

IV. I Had A Tea The Other Day

Mark POV:

            I can’t believe this, I honestly can’t believe Roger’s doing this. All this time he was in the bathroom “taking showers,” he was really throwing up. I had know idea, I should have known…I just thought he had a bit of OCD or something, what with his showering all the time and his room being so clean…Tears well up in my eyes and I wipe them away angrily…angry at myself for being so stupid and not realizing sooner…angry for causing this. But again, I stupidly take that anger out on Roger.

            “Roger! What the hell are you doing?!” Stupid question. He looks shocked to find me standing here. But shock soon turns to panic as he stands there, helpless, without an excuse. He looks at his watch.

            “You’re not supposed to be home yet…”

            I grab him by the shoulders, shoving him into the living room, afraid that he might try to push me away and finish what he was doing.

            “Roger…God, I can’t believe…” I sigh and run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Why? Why the hell are you doing this?!”

            He doesn’t answer.

            “I can’t take this, Roger! I can’t, not now! I don’t have the energy to babysit you every second to make sure you’re not throwing up every fucking thing you eat! I have my own problems! I-”

            “You think I don’t fucking know that?! Why the hell do you think I’m even doing this, Mark? I’m doing this for you!” He starts sobbing.

            I’m shocked. What the hell does he mean? Why would he be throwing up for me? I’m about to ask but he gains control of his voice again and explains.

            “If I don’t eat, everyone pays attention to me and my problems. And that’s not fucking fair to you, you’re right! They should be helping you, not me. So I started fucking eating again so they would back the fuck off and focus on you ‘cause you’re the one who needs help right now! Not me!”

            “But, Rog, why-”

            “Because if I don’t throw up I go crazy, and then I won’t be able to help you.” He starts sobbing again, his body shaking as he collapses on the couch.

            I go over to him and touch his shoulder.

            “Roger, I’m sorry, I-”

            “Stop fucking apologizing!” This throws me into shocked silence. He’s screaming, so loud that I’m sure Mimi is about to run in here any second to see what’s wrong. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine! I ruined your life, I’m preventing you from getting help, and I’m the reason you’re upset right now! Mark, I mean this in the best possible way…Mind your own fucking business and let yourself get the help you need! I’m only dragging you down, making you worse, so leave me alone!!” He runs into his room, slamming the door before I even have the chance to react.

            Damn it, why do I always do that? Roger’s obviously sick and in need of help, and there I go getting mad at him, yelling when really I should be helping him. Christ, it’s not even him I’m mad at, it’s me! And just like before I take it all out on him.

            My words ring harshly in my ears. I can’t take this Roger…I don’t have the energy to babysit you every second…I have my own problems…

            I start sobbing heavily. I just want things to be normal again. I want to be healthy and not have this damned disease and I want Roger to be healthy and not have this eating problem. God, this is all my fault! Why the hell did I have to act so fucking mean to him? It’s wasn’t even his fault! It just makes it that much worse knowing that Roger thinks it is. It’s not like he came over to me and purposely dripped his blood on my hand. No, in fact, he tried to pull his arm away! It was me, all me. I should have been more careful, I knew he had HIV, I knew I had that scratch on my hand, I knew and yet I still touched my hand to his bloody arm…God, what the hell is wrong with me?

            I bury my head under a couch cushion and close my eyes, the image of Roger throwing up in the bathroom still burning in my mind.

Roger POV:

            I lie on my bed, staring at a crack in the ceiling, listening to Mark sobbing in the living room. For some reason, I can’t seem to summon up any emotion. He seems to be having trouble catching his breath and I wonder vaguely if he’s choking. I should get up, I know I should, but my legs won’t obey as I lay here, paralyzed on my hard mattress.

            After a few minutes though, he seems to have calmed down, his breathing finally regulating.

            Another five or ten minutes pass and I hear a knock on my door. I don’t move. He knocks again, this time calling out to me anxiously. “Roger!”

            He probably thinks I tried to kill myself or something. After another second or so, I finally will my legs to move and I get up to open the door.

            He walks in with his head down, playing with his watch. I lie down on my bed again, deciding that if he wants to talk, he’ll have to take the initiative. There’s a few minutes of uncomfortable silence and I almost fall asleep again, exhausted from the events of the day.

            But he finally does speak and what he says gets me wide awake.

            “Um…I know you don’t want me apologizing to you, but I’m sorry for saying all that out there, Roger. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just mad.”

            “You have every right to be mad…”

            “No, not at you. At myself. I was just…I mean, God, Rog, how did you expect me to react?”

            I shift uncomfortably. “Well…I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t have to.”

“Yeah…well I’m glad I did. You’re my best friend and I can’t stand to see you hurting yourself like this, Roger! You have to stop, before it gets really out of control.” A guilty look spreads across his face. “I didn’t mean what I said about babysitting you, I’m sorry. I’ll help you however I can.”

            I get slightly annoyed for a second. Mark is always putting other people before himself. Help me? How could I ask him to do that for me? I couldn’t, not now. Not with everything he’s going through himself, it wouldn’t be right. A tiny part of me is scared, and knows that I do have a problem. But I sigh and take a deep breath, not listening to that small part of me that’s saying I’m wrong and that I have to fix this problem now before it gets even more out of control than it is already. “Don’t worry, Mark. I’m okay, it was just weird at first, you know? The whole HIV thing. But I’m fine now, I won’t do it anymore.” I have to get him to believe me. He’s right, he can’t afford to be constantly worrying about me and babysitting me.

            He looks at me skeptically. “You promise? I mean, are you sure you can stop, just like that?”

            I nod vigorously. “Yes, I promise.”

            He looks at me for a long time before finally nodding in return. “Okay…but Roger, please, if you need help…just don’t be afraid to ask for it, okay? You know I’m always here for you.” I don’t answer. “Right?”

            I nod hesitantly. Yes Mark, I know you’d give up your life to help me…actually you already did…but that doesn’t mean I’m about to kill you over my petty problems. You’ve given up so much for me already. Now it’s my turn to help you.

Mark POV:

            It’s been two days since I caught Roger throwing up. I know he swore he’d stop and start eating again but I keep thinking of those few times I actually saw him eat, how terrified he looked. I asked him about it but he told me he’s fine and that it wasn’t a problem, but I know he’s lying. It’s already out of control, whether he’ll admit it or not. I wish I could help, I wish I knew how. But even if I did he wouldn’t let me. He’s made that perfectly clear, so for now, all I can do is sit back and make sure this doesn’t get even more out of control than it already is…

V. Short Careers, Eating Disorders

Roger POV:

            I’ve pretty much been staying in my room ever since Mark found me throwing up. Mimi, Collins, Maureen, and Joanne have stopped visiting so often, though they still call several times a day. Mark’s been doing a lot better, he’s almost back to his normal self. Not completely, but he’s getting there.

            Ever since Mark caught me a few days ago he’s been watching every move I make. I know he’s suspicious, and I guess I can’t blame him, but it’s really starting to get annoying. I don’t say anything though, because I still feel bad about everything that’s happened. But as long as I stay in my room he can’t watch me. I mean, what’s he gonna do, follow me every time I go in my room?

            I go over to my shelf and start rearranging the pictures and books on top. A few days ago I took all the glass covers out of the picture frames but I check once more, just to be sure I’ve gotten them all.

            Once I’m sure that there’s absolutely no glass in sight I pick up the pile of books, consisting of mostly “teach yourself guitar” books or ones that I’ve gotten as gifts which I’ll mostly likely never read, and sit on the floor, placing them in front of me. I glance at the calendar on my wall; it’s Thursday. Every day I arrange them in a different. Thursday is by color, lightest to darkest.

            As I start to rearrange the books again I notice that they’re in a different order that I last left them. Yesterday was Wednesday so they should be in alphabetical order but…I take the top book off the pile: Learn to Play Guitar, and look at the book below it: Guitar music for La Boheme. What the hell? Last I checked “G” came before “L” in the alphabet. I check the next book: Everyone’s Guide for AIDS. And “E” comes before both of those. “MARK!!”

            He comes running into my room, looking worried. “What? What’s wrong?”

            “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong! Why the hell are my books in a different order?” His face goes from surprised, to confused, to a mix between frightened and guilty.

            “How would you know if your books are in a different order anyway, Roger?”

            Damn him. “…I just do, okay? And that’s not the point! Why were you in my room?”

            “I wasn’t-”

            “Save your breath, Mark. Yesterday my books were organized, in alphabetical order and now…” I motion frantically to the pile of books still on the floor, “now they’re a mess! And you were the only other person besides me that was here between yesterday and today, and I certainly didn’t mess them up!” I start shaking at the realization that he messed up my entire order and way of doing things.

            “Whoa, Rog, calm down! Relax, just breathe, okay?” He puts his hand on my shoulder, trying to calm my shaking body, but I pull away violently. He backs away slowly, putting his hand in front of him. “Calm down, Roger…Just calm down. I only wanted to borrow a book. I’m sorry…I had no idea it would upset you this much…”

            He looks terrified and I immediately feel sorry for yelling. I try to calm down and control my tremors but it’s not working very well. He seems to sense that I’ve calmed down slightly and approaches me very slowly. When I don’t back away he guides me over to the bed and sits me down, putting his arms around me, trying to stop my twitching. After a few minutes of rubbing my back, I finally gain control of my body and relax a little in his arms.

            “Rog, what just happened? Please, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong…”

            Oh God, Mark, how I wish I could tell you. I wish I could tell you about all these little obsessions and how out of control everything’s getting, how the mere thought of food nearly sends me into a panic attack…God Mark, I wish I could tell you so bad because I’m getting really scared, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But I can’t because you always put other people before yourself, especially me, and I know that if you knew the full extent of what’s going on you would drop every one of your own problems and focus 100% on me. And that’s not what you need to do right now.

So despite all the warnings going off in my head I just shrug. “It’s nothing really, Mark. It’s just been a really long day, I’m sorry to have upset you.”

            He looks at me long and hard for a full minute before responding. “Roger…” He sighs. “Alright, if you won’t let me help you, at least start going to Life Support again. Talk to Paul, he could help you…”

            I shake my head. I’m not about to tell a group of people I hardly know outside of Life Support that I’m going crazy and can’t look at food without breaking into a sweat, or leave my room without checking everything about half a dozen times to make sure there’s no glass around. “No, I’m alright. I just freaked out a little ‘cause I thought you were going through all my stuff. You know how I hate that.” I smile a little to lighten the mood.

            I know he doesn’t believe me but he doesn’t say anything as he releases me and gets up. He’s about to walk out the door when he turns around again. “You need to talk to someone, Rog. It’s only going to get worse.”

Mark POV:

            I walk out of Roger’s room wondering what the hell just happened in there. That was just scary, I’ve never seen him like that before. I wish he would let me help him for once instead of always trying to act so tough and macho. Since our talk the other night things have only gotten worse. And I’m scared to death because I don’t know what to do.

            He was right when he accused me of going through his stuff. I did, last night when he was “taking a shower.” I was just so damn worried, I was looking for some clue…anything to let me know what’s going on so I could help him. He’s lost weight. Not a whole lot but he’s noticeably thinner. And he’s already so damn thin to begin with…

            I thought he was maybe taking laxatives or something so I searched his room, looking for anything he might have had to hurt himself with. But I didn’t find anything. Well, nothing dangerous anyway. But his room is suspiciously clean.

            When I opened his closet I expected it to be filled half way to the top with bunched up clothes and other various things - ranging from old posters and cd’s to homework he still hasn’t gotten rid of from high school - like it usually is, but not only was it perfectly clean, the clothes on the hangers were actually arranged in color order!

            This is scaring me so much because, since he won’t tell me, I have no idea what’s going on with him. At least when he was a junkie I knew what the problem was. But this…this is taking me to new heights of confusion.

Roger POV:

            Mark is driving me absolutely crazy with his watching me all the time and following me everywhere I go. It reminds me of how he used to act when he found out about my heroine addiction. I hope he doesn’t think I’m using again. I know he’s suspicious but he hasn’t said anything since that night two weeks ago when I freaked out on him about the books.

            I hear him outside my door and pretend to be asleep. It’s the same thing every morning: He comes into my room with a breakfast tray begging me to eat, I pretend to be asleep, he shakes me for a food five minutes or so, and then he finally gives up, leaving the food in my room, hoping I’ll eat it anyway. Even though I never do and he knows that I don’t.

            This morning is a little different though. He comes into my room and doesn’t even bother shaking me to try and wake me.

            “Roger, get up. I know you’re awake.” I don’t move.

            “Roger, get up now, I’m warning you…”

            Warning me? What the hell could he do to me? I don’t have to wonder long though because suddenly I feel myself being drenched in very cold ice water. I jump up, shocked, and mad as hell.

            “Mark!! What the hell?!”

            He seems unfazed by my anger as he crosses his arms and smirks. “Good, you’re awake.” He puts the breakfast tray down in front of me. “Now eat.”

            My stomach feels like it’s being turned inside out and I can hear my heart pounding in my chest as I realize there’s no way I can escape this situation. I panic and start to beg. “No! Mark, please…please don’t do this to me! Please, you can’t…you don’t understand!” His face softens slightly and I know I’m getting through. He sits down next to me.

            “Then help me understand, Rog. Tell me what’s going on. Admit that everything’s not fine or I’ll assume they are and you’ll have to eat. If things really are as you say then eating breakfast shouldn’t be a big deal at all.”

            Oh God, oh God, what do I do?? I try to calm myself down by telling myself that it’s only one meal. I only have to do this once and then he’ll believe me and back off. But even though a small part of me knows that’s not true, I raise a spoonful of cereal to my lips anyway as icy tears roll down my cheeks.

            Mark seems to sense how hard this is for me because he moves closer to me and takes my free hand is his, rubbing my back, and whispering words of encouragement to me. But his soft whispers are drowned out by the screaming inside my head and my heart pounding like a hammer in my chest.

            It takes me over an hour to finish the whole thing and, much to my dismay, Mark stays by my side the entire time, trying to make this less terrifying (because he knows it is) but not succeeding very well.

            Finally after the last torturous bite he congratulates me and tells me what a great job I did. It surprises me that Mark seems to know how horrifying this is and what a big deal it is just to make it through one meal. I don’t even try to hide how I feel this time, I just sit there in my bed, letting my tears fall freely down my cheeks.

Mark POV:

            “Are you ok, Rog?” He looks like he’s about to pass out. This isn’t the Roger I know. The Roger who tries to act so tough and macho all the time, pretending that he never gets scared when I know, really, that he’s terrified.

            As usual, he doesn’t answer me but at least this time he’s not trying to pretend that he’s ok when obviously he’s not. I hate myself for doing this to him, for putting him through this but, geez, all I did was make him eat breakfast!

            He’s getting so fuckin’ skinny, he must have lost about twenty pounds in these past four weeks. He never eats anymore, never. But every time I try to talk to him about it he yells at me and tells me to mind my own business. I would say he’s anorexic except that he doesn’t seem to be concerned about his weight. Every morning I try to get him to eat but he always pretends to be asleep. I know the only reason he actually ate this morning was because he didn’t want to tell me what’s wrong.

            I suddenly feel the weight in my arms relax and I notice that Roger’s asleep. I lay him down gently, a sadness tugging at my throat because he’s so light.

            As I go to walk out of his room I turn around and look at the near emaciated figure looking half dead on his bed, and decide that this has grown too big for me to handle on my own. I walk out, quietly closing the door behind me, and pick up the phone to call Collins, Maureen, Joanne, and Mimi.

Roger POV:

            As soon as I’m sure Mark is gone I sit up again in bed. Why did he have to do that? Damn it, he knows how hard this is for me! I know he knows, if he didn’t he wouldn’t have acted the way he did.

            I try to stand up but am quickly pulled back down by a sharp pain in my stomach. Only this pain isn’t from hunger, it’s the pain from having a decent amount of food in my stomach for the first time in weeks.

            At this realization I start shaking again, my body trembling as the guilt and panic quickly take over my stomach. I know I can’t throw up, even if I tried, which is impossible since my trembling body is paralyzed with guilt and fear. So instead of even attempting to move off my hard mattress, I give in to the sickening blackness that is enveloping my body quickly.

Mark POV:

            It’s a half hour later and me, Mimi, and Collins are sitting in the living room, waiting for Maureen and Joanne to arrive. We sit pretty much in silence for a while, all of us sensing the tension in the room. Finally Mimi breaks the silence.

            “How’s Roger doing?”

            Collins looks surprised. “Did you two break up again?”

            She shakes her head, her long curls nearly hitting me in the face. “No…well, I don’t think so. I just haven’t seen him in a while, he never visits anymore or returns my phone calls…”

            I try to comfort her and am about to say something when the door bursts open and Maureen and Joanne enter, bickering as usual. They stop when they notice me and Mimi sitting solemnly on the couch, and Collins looking very confused.

            Maureen rushes over to me. “Pookie, what’s wrong?”

            Joanne joins her and she, Maureen, Mimi, and Collins all look at me anxiously, wondering what’s going on and why they’ve all been called over here.

            Joanne speaks first. “Mark, what’s going on?”

            I clear my throat, really to keep myself from crying more than anything else. “Um…I’m really worried about Roger. I just…he’s acting so weird and I have no idea what’s going on with him.”

            Collins looks worried. “How is he acting weird?”

            I take a deep breath, not sure if I’m doing the right thing by telling everyone. Roger would kill me if he found out. But then the thought that he might kill himself first flashes through my mind and I decide I’m doing the right thing. “He doesn’t eat…maybe like, a cracker a day at the most. Today was the first time in three weeks that he’s eaten a real meal and that was only because I made him. And God, you should have seen his face…he looked like he was about to have a heart attack. He cried throughout the whole thing.”

            Maureen doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t know, Mark…maybe he’s just depressed. I mean, you know how Roger gets when he’s depressed. Maybe it’s just a stage and he’ll be fine in a few weeks.”

            I shake my head. “No, that’s not all of it.” I stop, taking a deep breath. “A few weeks ago I caught him throwing up in the bathroom. I made him promise he’d stop but he hasn’t. I know that for a fact.” The tears that have been forming in Mimi’s eyes for the past ten minutes spill down her cheeks as Collins pulls her closer to him. I know I shouldn’t go on, I’ve already upset them so much, but… “And his room is so…so clean. Not even clean, perfect! His clothes are all arranged in color order, his books are alphabetized, and there’s no glass in his room whatsoever. I mean, he even went as far as to taking all the glass covers out of his picture frames. He never leaves the loft anymore, he spends all his time in his room, cleaning I’m sure. It’s really scary. And it’s just been getting worse and worse.”

            Mimi nods, her tears still flowing freely. “It’s true. He used to come see me every day and I haven’t seen him in weeks. He never returns any of my calls either.”

            Everyone remains silent for a moment, probably too shocked to respond. But Collins finally says something.

            “Have you tried talking to him, Mark?”

            “Yeah. All the time, but he either doesn’t respond or he tells me to mind my own business.”

            I hear a sort of sob sound coming from Maureen and it is then that I notice her tears. “What are we gonna do, Pookie?”

            I shake my head. “I have no idea, I’ve tried everything. That’s why I called all of you here. I’m afraid if I waited any longer we might lose him.”

            Joanne speaks up. “How do you know he’s still throwing up, Mark?”

            I wipe my own tears away. “It’s just the way he looks after he’s eaten something. It’s like he’s being tortured, he looks…terrified. And then he always goes in the bathroom and takes these long ‘showers.’ But I know he’s not really showering because half the time I can hear him throwing up. And I can’t stop him either. I can’t be with him every time after he eats something to stop him from throwing up. Most of the time he waits until I leave the loft anyway, and then eats so he can get away with it.”

            Joanne speaks again. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Mark, you’re only one person, you can’t be expected to save Roger by yourself. But if all of us were to stay here, say for a week, I’m sure we can prevent Roger from doing any more harm to himself.” Everyone nods, agreeing that that sounds like a good plan for now.

            Mimi, who has been silent this whole time says, “I can tell Roger there’s not enough sleeping space for all of us out here so I need to stay in his room. That way I can keep track of what he’s doing in there, you know, make sure he doesn’t go out of control with his cleaning and stuff. Then there’d be someone to watch him at all times.”

            Collins nods. “That’s a good idea, Mimi. We have to make sure he’s never alone, except for when he’s in the bathroom, and only then only for short periods of time. Never let him go in the bathroom for at least an hour after he’s eaten something.”

            I nod. “And I’ll make sure he eats. I’ll help him with that.”

            We all hug and Maureen, Joanne, and Collins leave, promising to be back in a half hour. Mimi stays with me since she only lives downstairs and she can bring up the few things she needs later. Right now, she says, she just wants to see Roger.

Mimi POV:

            I knock once on Roger’s door but don’t really expect an answer since Mark told me he was asleep. So I open the door quietly, my breath catching in my throat when I see Roger for the first time in three weeks. I cover my mouth with my hand and try my hardest not to cry again. But I can’t help it as I stare at Roger, sprawled out on his bed, his breathing so shallow that I think at first he might be dead. Oh God, Mark wasn’t exaggerating at all, he must weigh less than me now! I can see every one of his ribs through his thin shirt as he inhales ever so slightly.

            I run over to him and start shaking him, needing the assurance that he actually is still alive. He opens his eyes slightly and then more, wide awake now, as he realizes that it's me instead of Mark standing over his bed.

            I start crying again, I can't help it, and I crawl into bed next to him, throwing my arms around him and sobbing into his frail chest.

            He looks shocked, and then worried, as he hugs me tightly and tries to comfort me, obviously not understanding why I'm so upset.

            "Mimi...what's wrong? What happened?" He gathers me up close to his chest and starts rocking me gently until I calm down enough to respond.

            "Oh God, Roger...don't you...can't you see?"

            His confused expression confirms that, no, he doesn't see what's so obvious to everyone else. I don't want to start a fight with him, I've missed him so much and just want to be with him, so I decide not to tell him what has me and everyone else so upset. "Just...just hold me okay?" I whisper.

            He complies and we sit there, cuddled together, for what seems like the first time in ages.

Roger POV:

            I strove Mimi's hair as she cries silently, and after a long while she finally relaxes and I realize she's asleep.

            I can't remember the last time I've seen her this upset, something must really be wrong. I lay her down gently on my bed and cover her with the thin blanket, trying to make her as comfortable as I can on my hard mattress, and walk out the door to see if Mark knows what's wrong with Mimi.

            "Mark-" I stop short when I see Collins, Maureen, Joanne, and Mark all sitting on the couch talking quietly. They immediately stop speaking when they notice me. Everyone except Mark stares at me with wide eyes and I can literally see their mouths hanging open. "What??"

            Maureen looks away and starts crying as Joanne hugs her, obviously trying not to cry herself.

            "What's with everyone? Will someone please tell me what's going on here??" I'm starting to get really worried. What if something happened?

            Mark, who has had his head down this whole time finally looks up. "You, Rog."

            "Huh?" I'm really confused now.

            "Roger, do you know what you look like?" He gets up and leads me to the full length mirror. I stare at my reflection, trying to see what has everyone so upset. I don't get it, I look the same as I always do, except maybe a little wet from Mimi's tears.'

            I turn to Mark, confused. "What do you mean?"

            He shakes his head sadly and stares at the floor again. "Nothing, Rog, never mind. Um...Mimi, Maureen, Joanne, and Collins are going to be staying here for a few days. I hope that's okay with you." I shrug. I don't care, as long as they stay out of my business.

            "Yeah, sure, whatever." I have the impulse to organize my closet and drawers again but then I remember that Mimi's in my room. So I go into the kitchen instead and start taking things out of the refrigerator. The thing's a mess, it's been bugging me for weeks.

Mark POV:

            I can't believe Roger doesn't notice the drastic change in his appearance. I wonder if he really doesn't or he's just trying to throw us off. Maureen, Joanne, and Collins all look at me and I know we're thinking the same thing: Time for plan A.

            I walk over to Roger who's sitting in front of the refrigerator, organizing the food shelf by shelf by its category.

            "Hungry?"

            He nearly drops the eggs he's holding. "No, I just had a huge breakfast, remember?" He glares at me. I know he's still mad about that. Well, he's about to get furious...

            I sigh. "First of all, Roger, that wasn't a huge breakfast, it was a bowl of cereal. And second, you didn't just have it. It's been four hours since you last ate, you must be starving."

            His face gets that panicky look I know all too well by now and his eyes dart around the room, probably looking for some way to escape. "No, I-"

            "You're eating, even if it means tying you up and force feeding you."

            He looks so terrified that I think he might be about to cry. God, I can't stand seeing him like this! His eating isn't only torture for him. I take him aside and lower my voice, not wanting to make him uncomfortable in front of Maureen, Joanne, and Collins.

            "Look, I know this is hard for you. You don't have to eat in front of everyone, just as long as you do eat."

            His face brightens considerably. "Okay, I'll eat alone..."

            I shake my head. "No. Someone has to be there to make sure you actually do eat."

            His face clouds over and he lets himself cry, obviously not trying to pretend he's fine anymore.

            "Mark, please, please don't do this to me! Come on, breakfast was enough! You can't do this, you can't Mark! Please..." His voice trails off and he looks like a little kid, frightened and scared as he wipes his tears with the back of his hand, begging to be held. I can't believe I'm the one doing this to him.

            "I swear, Mark, just let me build up to this slowly, okay? It's just too fast...breakfast was enough...I swear, just leave me alone today and tomorrow I'll start eating again, okay? I swear!"

            I can feel myself breaking down but I know I have to be tough with him. I can't let him manipulate me.

            Just one more fix, I swear, that's all I need...Just once more and then I'll stop...

            No, it's gone too far already. The longer it goes...the longer he puts it off, the wore it's gonna get.

            I shake my head firmly, trying to look strong, but on the inside I'm trembling. I speak gently but firmly. "No Rog, it has to be today...now."

            He grabs a carrot stick from his pile on the floor and chews it slowly. "There. Happy now?"

            "No way, Rog."
            He glares at me but when he sees I'm not backing down he stands up, throwing the apples he was holding at me, and starts going through cabinets, muttering something I can't quite hear, but I can make out my name and a few angry curse words.

            Finally he sits at the table with half of a left over sandwich and a cup of coffee. Not exactly a sufficient meal but...I'll give him a break this time. He sits there for a while, just staring at the food, every now and then shifting his eyes neurotically from Collins to Maureen to Joanne, who are still in the living room watching all of this.

            After about ten minutes of this I decide maybe it would be a better idea if he did this alone...well, almost alone. "Roger, do you want to go in my room?"

            He moves his head slightly and I interpret that as a "yes" so I pick up his lunch, bringing it with me into my room, Roger trudging slowly behind me. As I reach the doorway I nod slightly to Maureen who nods in return and quickly dashes into the bathroom, turning on the water faucets.

            Roger plops down on my floor, sitting with his hands covering his face for a few seconds before finally facing his lunch again. I notice that his hands are trembling as he picks up the sandwich and takes a miniscule bite. He swallows like it's poison and tears weave down his cheeks. He raises the sandwich again but drops it as he cries silently to himself.

            I slide closer to him and help him calm down enough to eat and help him through the process which takes over an hour to complete. He's shaking and crying but he ate. And I'm gonna make sure the food stays in his stomach this time. I hold him for a few minutes, trying to calm him down, and then head out of my room to make sure Maureen is still in the bathroom. I hear the water running so I'm assuming she is. I turn to Collins.

            "Has she been in there this whole time?"

            "Sort of. She comes out every other minute though. What's taking you guys so long? He only took half a sandwich!"

            I shrug. "I know. It's his new thing, he takes a bite, like every five minutes and that's on a good day. But he's done now.”
            As if on cue, Maureen storms out of the bathroom, looking cranky. "Mark! What the hell? I've been in there for an hour already!"

            "I know, I'm really sorry. He just finished so it'll only be another hour..."

            She shakes her head. "Uh uh, no way. I've been in there long enough!"

            Joanne jumps up from the couch and walks over to me. "Don't worry Mark, I'll take over from here."

            "Thanks, Joanne." I smile and run back to Roger, just in time to see him pour the remainder of his coffee on himself. I walk in and pretend I didn't just see that.

            He looks up, startled for a split second, but then his face turns to fake angry. "The fucking coffee spilled!"

            I decide to go along with his little charade. "Yeah, I can see that."

            He storms out of my room and is about to walk into the bathroom when he notices the water running. "Who's in there?"

            "Joanne. She's taking a shower."

            He starts getting desperate. "Since when does she take showers in our apartment?"

            "I told you, Rog. She, Maureen, Collins, and Mimi are going to be staying here for a while."

            He gestures to his wet, coffee-stained clothes. "Well what the hell am I supposed to do then??"

            I shrug. "Maybe next time you could not pour it all over yourself."

Roger POV:

            I stare at him in shock. I had no idea he knew about that. I'm surprised and then angry at how much he seems to know about my problem. Aren't I allowed to have any secrets anymore? I hate how he's always digging into my business like this!

            He's doing this on purpose, I know he sent Joanne to the bathroom to keep me from going in. Damn it, he knows how hard this is for me! He knows and yet he's still trying to torture me! My head starts spinning, my body is paralyzed with pain and terror. Mark is doing this to me on purpose, he's torturing me on purpose, and I'm going to kill him for it.

            "Mark, you son of a bitch, I can't believe you! Why the hell are you doing this to me? Why?! I'm not three anymore! I'm fucking twenty-eight years old, I don't have to be spoon fed and locked out of my own bathroom! Stop treating me like I'm a little kid!"

            "I wouldn't have to 'spoon feed' you if you ate by yourself. So until you do, you can expect to be treated like a little kid until you can take care of yourself."

            "I do eat, I do take care of myself!"

            "Roger, you do not eat. Today was the first time you've eaten a real meal in over three weeks, and that was only because I made you, I practically had to shove it down your throat! You're obviously incapable of eating normally right now, you're emaciated as it is and I'm not going to let you starve yourself to death. You're sick, Rog, the only reason I'm...we're doing this is because we care about you and don't want to lose you."

            "You bastard, you fucking bastard!" I realize I'm not getting anywhere with him so instead of wasting time arguing over this, I turn around and make a run for the door, hoping that maybe if I can't throw up here, at least I can do it somewhere else.

            But just as I'm about to reach the door I feel Collins' strong arms around me, constricting my arms so that I can't move. I try to struggle free but can't. Since when is Collins stronger than me?

            Then Maureen jumps in front of the door, blocking it so that even if Collins wasn't holding me down, I still wouldn't be able to make it outside. So defeated, I start crying and feel guilt and fear and terror wash over my entire body with the satisfaction and pain I now feel in my stomach. I'm shaking now, and not just from my sobs. Collins releases me and the three of them form a circle around me, making escape impossible.

            I try to shove my way through the small space between Maureen and Collins but Mark jumps forward, grabbing me again, but not nearly as hard or desperate as Collins had.

            "It'll be over soon, Rog...you'll be okay."

            I try to struggle away from him but am surprised to discover how strong Mark has grown these past few weeks.

            I realize that the only way to get them off my back will be to fake cooperation so I stop struggling and gently step away from Mark. I'll play by their rules for now, despite the terror that I know will follow. I'll cooperate for now and eventually they'll back off. Then I'll go back to my old routine and they'll never know, and I'll be able to live again without the constant fear and panic lurking in the pit of my stomach...

Mark POV:

            I knock on Roger's door and walk in without waiting for a reply, knowing that him and Mimi are probably still asleep. I'm surprised to find Roger wide awake in bed, seemingly waiting for me to come in with breakfast, as I do every morning. I look around his room and don't see Mimi.

            "Good morning." I put his breakfast down in front of him. "Where's Mimi?"

            "She just left for work." He picks up the plastic fork and starts eating his eggs without a fuss.

            Maureen, Joanne, Mimi, and Collins have been here for two weeks already, and during their stay Roger seems to have gotten a lot better. He eats almost normally now, although still much too slow for my liking, usually without making a fuss and he's gained a lot of his weight back. But he still looks terrified when he eats, though he tries to hide it, and he has become much more depressed and withdrawn. I know it's because of the extra food in his stomach and I wish there was something I could do to help him with that, but he still won't talk to me about it I know it haunts him though. Twice this past week I've woken up in the middle of the night to him sobbing in the next room, and Mimi tells me he cries almost every night now but never lets her help him. But...the goal was to get him out of immediate danger, and that's what we did, so we decided that everyone will be going back to their own homes today.

            I watch Roger eat and pretend not to notice the pained expression on his face. When he's done he pushes the tray away violently and crosses his arms, trying to look angry instead of scared, which is what I know he's really feeling. I decide to say something that I know will cheer him up.

            "Hey, guess what Rog?" He doesn't answer but I go on anyway. "Everyone's gonna be going home today." He seems to brighten considerably.

            "You mean it'll just be me and you again? I get to have my room back?"

            I have to laugh at how excited he is to see all his friends and girlfriend leave. I nod. "Yup. Just as long as you stay at a healthy weight." He scowls. "I mean it. You're really not fat at all, Rog, I don't see why you're so worried about it." I actually don't think it's about weight at all but I said it anyway to see what his reaction would be, and with the hope that maybe he'd tell me what it is about.

            He looks surprised for a second. "I know I'm not fat. I never thought I was. And anyway, Mark, I'm not stupid and I know you're not either. You know it's not about that, and I already told you, I'm not saying anything  more than that. Besides, it's over anyway. I eat three meals a day, I don't know why you're still dwelling on this."

            "Just because you eat doesn't mean that it's still not a problem..."

            "Mark, God, just leave it alone already! I eat, my room's a mess, you got what you want so just leave me alone!"

            I look around his room and wonder what "mess" he's talking about. Mimi's been staying in here pretty much for the whole time she was here, except to go to work, so he hasn't been obsessive about cleaning ...but it's still spotless and it worries me knowing that he still thinks it's a mess. But I decide to let the comment slip anyway as I pat him on the back and pick up the remains of his breakfast.

            "You've done a great job, Rog. I just want to make sure you keep doing good."

Roger POV:

            After everyone has packed their stuff and left, I look around the empty loft and feel relieved. Finally I can live my life again without terror digging into me every second of the day.

            Mark went out filming and I know he's probably going to send someone over to make sure I eat lunch. I set to work opening packages of food, dropping crumbs all over, and then hiding it in my room so Mark will notice that food's missing. I dirty a few plates and a glass and then sit down at the table, placing the dirty dishes in front of me, and wait for someone to come in, demanding that I eat lunch.

            After about ten minutes or so of waiting, there is a knock on the door and I shove a cracker (my meal for the day) in my mouth, opening the door with my mouth full. Collins walks in, looking surprised to find me actually eating something without being forced to.

            "Uh...I just stopped by to make sure you eat lunch..." He surveys the crumbs and dirty dishes on the table and raises an eyebrow.

            I swallow the cracker. "I just did. Do you want me to make you something? A sandwich, salad?"

            "No thanks, I'm good...I think I'll hang out for a while though."

            I know he's staying to make sure I don't throw up. And I won't. What he doesn't know is that there isn't anything in my stomach to throw up in the first place. I have to fight the urge to laugh as I plop down on the couch next to him, chatting and watching tv for the next half hour until Mark comes back.

            I hear the door open behind me and see Mark walk in, Collins getting up to talk to him in private. I see Collins gesture to the table where the dishes still are, and Mark raise an eyebrow suspiciously. He says something else and Collins shrugs, as he grabs his coat and then turns towards me again. "See ya, Roger." And he walks out the door.

            I hear Mark come up behind me.

            "Roger?"

            I turn around, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Hey Mark..."

            "Collins told me you ate lunch?" I can tell from his voice that he doesn't believe that.

            I nod, trying not to act too suspicious. "Yeah, I had some leftover pizza."

            "Okaaaay...maybe you should have something else..."

            "Mark, I swear, I really did eat it! You can even check in the fridge."

            He does, starting on the shelf I organized for pasta, and then checking every other corner of it. Finally, he seems satisfied and doesn't push the issue anymore.

****2 DAYS LATER****

Roger POV:

            Now that Mimi's finally gone I've been spending a lot of time in my room, trying to clean and get things organized again. My stomach growls loudly and I put my hand to it, praying that Mark didn't hear, but then laugh at myself for being so paranoid.

            I go back to my cd collection, reorganizing them and trying to group all 115 of them by genre. I stare at the title of the one I'm holding in my hand but can't make out what it says because it has gone blurry all of a sudden. I feel a little dizzy but figure it's from lack of nutrients since I've been throwing up everything Mark tries to shove down my throat. Maybe I should start taking a vitamin or something.

            My throat has been hurting more than usual and I'm getting a little worried about it since I haven't exactly been singing as well as I used to. Adam even commented on it last week, saying my voice sounded hoarse and scratchy. I keep promising I'll give myself a rest and stop throwing up to give my throat a chance to recuperate but I can't since Mark now insists on watching every bite that goes into my mouth. And that's a lot so, of course, I have to be sure that it all goes out of my mouth also.

            I go back to the cd's but all of a sudden the room starts spinning and a dizzying blackness begins to cloud over my mind as I feel my body hit the floor with a dull thud before everything goes black...

Mark POV:

            After that whole lunch incident with Collins I decided it would be best if I stay here and see for myself that Roger eats. God, I hope he does because I can already tell that he's losing weight again. It's only been two days since everyone left but he's so thin already that every pound really makes a difference.

            I go over to his room and knock on the door, carrying his lunch. "Roger?" There's no reply and I try again, louder this time. He still doesn't answer so I figure he must have fallen asleep or something so I walk in, only to find him lying, face down, on the floor...

Roger POV:
            Somewhere in the back of my mind I can hear someone calling my name very softly. This same voice now sounds desperate, as it yells for me to wake up. I try to open my eyelids but it's like they're made out of lead, as does every other part of my body. I finally succeed in opening one halfway and am now able to place the voice with a name. Mark. I open my eyes all the way but the bright light that rushes in is blinding and I quickly shut them again.

            "Roger? Come on, please open your eyes..."

            I feel him shaking me and as much as I would love to keep floating in this blackness I crack my eyes open slowly, letting them get readjusted to the light again.

            I feel something soft under me. Well, not soft exactly but softer than I remember my floor to be. I also feel my head propped up against something soft and I realize I'm lying on my bed. How did I get on my bed?

            My mind takes in the image of Mark, standing over me looking anxious and frightened, and it is then that my brain is able to perceive what happened. Oh shit.

            "Oh my God, Roger, you nearly scared me half to death! What the hell happened?"

            "Mmm..." I try to talk but can't exactly get my voice to work.

            "Never mind, don't talk if you don't have the energy, I'm sorry for yelling..." He touches my shoulder sadly and then leaves, promising to bring back some water.

            When he returns, I sip the liquid slowly, putting off talking for as long as possible.

            "Rog?" I put the glass down and sigh, knowing I'll have to explain sooner or later. "Roger, you haven't been eating have you?"

            I start getting angry again. "Yes I have, you know I have since you monitor everything that goes in my mouth."

            He sighs. "Okay, let me rephrase that. You haven't been digesting have you?"

            Damn him. "If you're implying that I'm still throwing up, I'm not. I know better than that, I can't afford to ruin my voice now, right before we're about to get a record deal." I feel bad for lying to him like this, and even worse as the reality of my words hit me, but that doesn't even compare to how bad it feels keeping food in my stomach so I don't take it back. And it's a good thing too because he looks like he believes me. "I was just really exhausted, I haven't been sleeping well and...yeah...I got kind of dizzy and that's it."

            "Rog, you can't pass out from lack of sleep. Though you can pass out from lack of food."

            "Please Mark, just leave me alone now. I'm so exhausted, I just want to sleep, okay?" My voice must have just been desperate enough because he nods slowly, and hesitantly leaves my room.

Mark POV:

            I don't know what to do. I know he's lying but I have no arguement, nothing to prove my case. It's just little things, and the burning ache in the pit of my stomach that let me know something's wrong.

            He's losing weight, but I can't tell how much or if he's in danger because he always wears layers now. He never leaves the loft anymore, let alone his room, and I haven't heard him play his guitar since he passed out last week.

            Every time he drops a pound or skips a meal I'm reminded that this is all my fault. If only I hadn't been so mean to him, if only I hadn't not eaten for those three days...my mind is full of "if only's" that could have saved Roger from this pain.

            Everyone is amazed at how fast I bounced back from my AIDS depression. With everyone else it took almost a year and with me it only lasted a few weeks. But that's only because I've been so focused on Roger that I haven't even had time to think about my own problems. Roger always accuses me of putting other people before myself, and this is no exception, but I think in this case I have a right to put him first. If I don't, he'll die. It's as simple as that.

            I keep thinking about what he told me right after he passed out last week. About how he didn't throw up anymore because he needed to sing for his band. But he hasn't been going to rehersal for a while now. He never even leaves the loft. I'm starting to wonder why he never goes to rehersal anymore so I knock on his door, deciding it's time to confront him about this.

Roger POV:

            I put the down the clothes I was folding when I hear Mark outside my door. I look at my watch. It's 11:30, too early for lunch, so I get up and let him in, hoping this isn't one of his tricks. He walks in and, thank God, he doesn't have any food with him.

            "Hey, Rog." He looks around my room, his eyes settling on my guitar in the corner with cobwebs forming around it. Uh oh. I have a feeling what this lecture will be about.

            "How come you never play your guitar or go to rehersal anymore?"

            I knew it. I shrug, trying to think of an excuse. "Uh...the band broke up." He looks at me suspiciously and I know he doesn't believe me. And he shouldn't. Because in reality, I had to quit because my damaged vocal chords couldn't take the strain of singing anymore.

VI. No Day But Today

Mark POV:

            I look around at the circle of faces around me, from Maureen and Joanne who are looking up at me anxiously, to Mimi who seems to be lost in her own world of thoughts, to Collins, who says nothing as he quietly stares down at the floor. Mimi speaks first.

            “Mark, did you call us here because of Roger again?”

            I nod and watch as everyone’s faces fall. “He’s like a stick again. He wears layers and layers of clothes and I can still see all of his bones.”

            Maureen’s eyes fill with tears. “I thought he was getting better though…he seemed almost normal when we left…”

            “He went right back to starving himself and throwing up when he wasn’t being watched constantly. It’s just not possible to watch him every single second of the day to make sure he eats unless all of us stay here to watch him and that’s not possible either. This thing has gotten so out of control…I don’t think we can handle it by ourselves anymore. I’ve run out of ideas and unless anyone else can think of something, I think it might be a good idea to bring it up to Paul at the Life Support meeting tonight.”

            Collins and Mimi nod but Maureen looks confused. “Who’s Paul?”

            “He’s the group leader. I haven’t really mention what’s going on with Roger since my first meeting when he told me to focus on myself. But I think tonight we should all go together and tell him about this because I don’t know what else to do, and I’m afraid if we wait any longer we’re going to lose Roger.”

            Mimi looks scared. “Has it really gotten that bad, Mark?”

            I nod as my eyes fill with tears. “Yeah. He’s about half the size he was when you guys saw him that first time. And he’s passed out twice during these past two weeks. He’s in really bad shape…”

            I lose the battle with my tears as they spill over onto my cheeks and Collins puts an arm around me. “I think that would be the best thing to do, Mark. Paul could tell us where to go from here.”

            Everyone nods and Maureen and Mimi cling to each other, both overcome by sobs.

Roger POV:

            From my room I can hear people crying in the living room and I crack my door open slightly to see what’s going on. I see Mark, Maureen, and Mimi sitting together and sobbing, while Collins and Joanne hold hands, trying their hardest not to cry too. I wonder why everyone is so upset and I slide down to the floor and crack my door open a little more so I can hear what’s going on.

            “…I don’t know how much more of this I can take, I can’t just stand by and watch him do this to himself anymore. Every time I look at him I want to cry because he’s so fucking skinny…”

            I close my door, I don’t want to hear anymore of this. God, I can’t believe what I’m doing to Mark…I’ve taken over his whole life, making him miserable and depressed…Mark’s words ring harshly in my ears and I think back to how this whole thing started. I started not eating to help Mark. I don’t exactly remember my logic there but I know I did it to help him. And now all I’ve ended up doing is making him even more depressed than he was to begin with. Plus, now I’m stuck with this intense fear of food that’s left me without a career and half dead from starvation. And still I can’t seem to find the courage to just start eating again.

  So now I’ve not only ruined Mark’s life, but now my own, and all the rest of my friend lives as well. I’m just a burden to all of them and I refuse to this to my friends anymore.

I open my bottom drawer where I put all the glass from my picture frames, including the shattered glass that started this whole mess. I pick out the sharpest piece I can find and place it on the floor next to me, then pull out a notepad and a pencil. I took Mark’s life with that broken piece of glass and now it’s time to take my own the same way…

Mark POV:

            “Gordan.”

            “Hannah.”

            “Liz.”

            “Eric.”

            “Tom. Collins.”

            “Mark.”

            “Mimi.”

            “Maureen.”

            “Joanne.”

            “I’m Paul, let’s begin.” He looks around the group of faces and stops when he sees Maureen and Joanne. “I see we have a few newcomers tonight. Would you like to tell us a little about yourselves?”

            Maureen smiles nervously. “Oh, uh…we don’t have AIDS.” Joanne smacks her. “I mean, we’re just here with them.” She nods towards me, Collins, and Mimi.

            Joanne rolls her eyes. “We came with Mark, Mimi, and Collins because we’re very concerned about our friend and we thought maybe you could help us.” She looks at me.

            I nod. “Yeah…um, Roger’s…I don’t know, he’s acting really weird and we don’t know what to do.”

            Paul nods, looking concerned. “I remember you mentioning that a few months ago. How is he acting weird?”

            “Well, it’s long story. I told you about how he got really depressed after I got AIDS?” Paul nods. “Well ever since then he just…stopped eating. At first I didn’t really think it was that big of a problem but then I caught him throwing up in the bathroom. We kind of had a fight after that but then we talked about it and he promised me he’d stop throwing up and start eating again. But he didn’t. He pretty much stopped eating altogether after that, and the few times I was actually able to get him to eat, he…well, basically he had a panic attack. I don’t know, it’s like eating is torture for him. He looks absolutely terrified, he cries and begs me to stop making him eat, he starts shaking…But I don’t think he’s concerned about his weight. It’s more like this huge phobia he has with food and eating.

            “And another thing is the way he keeps his room. Before everything happened with me getting HIV, his room was a wreck. Half the time you couldn’t even see his floor. But now it’s not only spotless, but every single thing in there is in some kind of order. His clothes are in color order, his books are alphabetized, his cd’s are arranged by genre…and he also got rid of everything glass in his room. He took the glass out of his picture frames, he took out his mirror, and he always cleans and organizes things obsessively. Our refrigerator is now arranged by food category.

            “Anyway, the thing that’s got me the most worried is his weight. He’s completely emaciated, he looks like he’s about to drop dead any second. I’ve tried everything to try to get him to eat and gain weight but nothing works and I don’t know what to do anymore. I was hoping you could help us, because I’ve run out of ideas, and we’re losing him.”

I take a deep breath and look anxiously at Paul, who doesn’t say anything for a moment as he takes this all in. “It sounds like he has a lot of very serious problems that he’s going to need professional help to fix…”

            “Do you know what’s wrong with him? I mean, I have no idea even what the problem is. I don’t think he’s anorexic because he’s not concerned about his weight…”

            “Someone doesn’t have to be obsessed over their weight to be considered anorexic. Basically, anorexia is just a symptom, a way for a person to not deal with their problems, so they deal with them by starving themselves. They turn all their problems into just one: ‘I’m too fat.’ Or in Roger’s case, ‘Food is too scary.’ Then the one simple solution is to not eat. They think, since that’s what they’ve turned all their problems into, that starving themselves will solve everything. So you see, it’s just a way of covering up their problems so they don’t have to deal with them.”

            “Like heroine…”

            Paul nods. “I’m not qualified to diagnose him, but it sounds like Roger is anorexic and needs to be seen by a counselor, and probably by his regular physician too to see how much damage he’s done to himself, who can diagnose him and get him the help he needs. And the sooner the better. It sounds like Roger’s eating problems are stemming from his guilt about giving you HIV, so I would suggest that he not only go alone, but with you too every once in a while, so he can deal with that guilt instead of covering it up by not eating.” He scribbles down the name and phone number of a therapist on a sheet of paper and hands it to me. “But Mark, he has to do this for himself. Don’t make the call for him. It has to be his decision, he has to want to get help before he can get better. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try and convince him to get the help, but the initial decision has to come from him.”

            I nod. “Yeah, but knowing Roger it’s gonna take a hell of a lot of convincing to get him to agree to this,” I motion to the paper in my hand.

            “You never know, he’s a lot stronger than he seems. He may just surprise you.”

            After discussing it for a few more minutes, the group splits up and me, Mimi, Collins, Maureen, and Joanne head home together, relieved if nothing else to finally know what’s wrong with Roger and why he’s doing this. We decide that it would be best if I talked to Roger alone, since anything else might seem like a confrontation, and I say goodbye to the gang and head upstairs to the loft, planning out in my head what to say to Roger.

            I walk in and sit on the couch for a few minutes before finally gathering up my courage and knocking on his door. He doesn’t answer and I get worried that he might have passed out again, so I walk in anyway and nearly pass out myself to find Roger on the floor with a piece of glass, covered it blood.

VII. Leap Of Faith

Roger POV:

            I wait until I know for sure that Mark is out of the loft before finishing my suicide note. I don’t want him to get all nosy and barge in on me writing this. Then he would try to stop me, and I’m determined to make this work. Mark and everyone else has had to put up with me long enough. I’ve been nothing but a burden to them since they’ve known me, and what I overheard them saying before was just a confirmation of that. I’ve punished them long enough with my presence, they’ll all be much better off without me.

            It takes me a while to finish my note. I have a lot to apologize for and I want to make sure I get it all in there. Once I’m finally satisfied with it, I put it off to the side so Mark will be able to read it without bloodstains. Then I pick up the piece of glass I selected before and cut into my wrist with all the strength I have, which isn’t much considering how little I’ve been eating lately.

            At first I think it’s not deep enough since I’m not very strong anymore, but I guess the glass was sharper that I thought because it’s bleeding a lot more and faster than I thought I would. I do another deep cut though, just in case, and am about to do the other wrist when suddenly I see Mark standing in my doorway.

            He looks shocked for a split second but then his face is taken over by anxiety and fear as he rushes to my side and tries to get the glass away from me.

            “Roger! What the hell are you doing?!”

            I drop the glass, not wanting him to actually have to witness me killing myself, and he kicks it away from my reach as he tries to grab for my wrist. Suddenly, flashbacks from the last time I found myself in this position fill my head and I completely go crazy on him, screaming, and trying to kick his hand away.

            “Get away from me, don’t touch me!! I’ll kill you, get away, don’t touch me, you’ll die if you touch me!” He ignores my desperate pleas though, and tries again to grab my arm so I kick him as hard as I can, desperately trying to save his life.

            He grimaces in pain. “Shit, Roger, let me help you! You’ll die if you don’t let me help you!”

            “No! You’ll die, you’ll die if you touch me! Get the hell away from me, GO AWAY!!”

            He grabs my shoulders, hard, to keep me still and forces me to look in his eyes. “Roger, I already have AIDS. The only person that will die is you if you don’t let me help you.”

            As the reality of his words sink in I’m brought back to the present again and stop struggling, and collapse, sobbing in his arms as he grips my wrist tightly to stop the bleeding. We just sit there, shaking and holding each other, both of us drowning in a pool of blood and tears.

            After a long while of being wrapped in each other’s arms, with him still squeezing my wrist, the bleeding stops, as do our sobs, though icy tears mixed with red blood stains still weave down our faces.

            He finally releases me and looks down at my crimson colored arm. “Why would you do this to yourself, Rog, why? Why are you trying to kill yourself?” His eyes look so sad, and I’m so sick of lying. So sick of pretend to be okay when I know really that I’m not. I know I’m sick, I know I have a problem and need help. So, for once, I swallow my pride and decide to tell the truth because I just can’t go on living like this anymore.

            I pull my arm away, still not comfortable with him holding it like that. “Because…because I’m ruining your life. I’m nothing but a burden to you and to everyone else. I killed you and now I’m killing myself the same way.”

            He looks shocked. “I…Roger, you didn’t kill me. And you’re not ruining my life. I don’t know how that notion got into your head because it’s not true. I just can’t stand to see you hurting yourself like this because I care about you.” He pauses. “And anyway, I didn’t just mean tonight.”

            “What?”

            “Roger, you don’t eat…and on the rare occasion that you do, you throw up. That’s not trying to kill yourself?”

            I sigh, fresh tears forming in my eyes. “I’m…I’m not doing it on purpose, I just…” I let my voice trail off, afraid I won’t be able to continue without breaking into a sob.

            Mark puts his arms around me and holds me. “Sh…I know, it’s ok.”

            I look up, surprised. “You know?”

            “Well…kind of. But I still don’t know why…”

            He looks at me, his eyes begging me to tell him, begging me to let him help. “I don’t know, I really don’t know why. I just get so fucking scared when I eat, I just…go crazy. I know it doesn’t make any sense, I’m sorry. I just can’t function normally with food in my stomach.”

            He rubs my back. “And your room?”

            I pause, not sure if I’m comfortable telling him about this. There are quite a few things and I’m not exactly sure which he’s referring to. “What about my room? There’s a lot…”

            “How did it start?”

            Leave it to Mark to find the one thing I don’t want to talk about. I sigh. “Okay, it’s kind of a long story. Do you know how…how I cut my arm…that night?” He shakes his head, staring down at my blood soaked floor. I take a deep breath before going on. “I tripped over a pile of clothes on my floor and fell on a picture frame…that broke. And…well, you know the rest. So anyway, after that I just got really conscious about keeping my room clean, I didn’t want anything like that to happen ever again.”

            A look of realization flashes across his face. “So that’s why…with that glass?”

            I nod. “And then it just grew and grew. I didn’t just clean to prevent accidents from happening. I arranged stuff, my books…well you already know about that. Now I just do that whenever I’m really anxious, or I’ll have a specific time or day that I have to do something and if I don’t, I feel like I do when I eat something. It’s like a compulsion.”

            “God, Rog, you should’ve told me, I could have helped you! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

            “Because you have your own problems, you shouldn’t have to constantly be taking care of me, always cleaning up my messes! Geez Mark, you just found out you were HIV positive, I didn’t want you to focus on me when you had all that stuff going on with you. And I knew you would have, Mark, because that’s what you always do.”

            “But you needed the help. Look at yourself Roger.” He motions to the blood that is still pooled around us. “Will you let me help you now?” I can barely hear him, he speaks so softly.

            “I…it’s not that I don’t want the help, I do…it’s just that I don’t think I can be helped. I just can’t go back to eating normally again, you don’t understand how scary it is for me, how horrible I feel…”

            He takes my hand and gently leads me to the full length mirror in the hall that I had three weeks ago taken out of my room. The man staring back at me is not me, I’m sure of it. His bleached blonde hair is thin and dull with red patches of blood all over, and even though he seems to be wearing at least two sweaters, you could almost count every one of his ribs. I move my hand and touch it to my face and so does the mirror man and it then that I realize it is me. I haven’t looked at a full length mirror in three weeks either and I’m shocked to see how much my appearance has changed.

            “Look at yourself,” Mark says again. “If you don’t let us help you’ll die.”

            I start crying again. “You can’t help me Mark, no one can. You don’t think I’ve tried to stop? I did try…and I just can’t. I’m destined to die, this is my fate. I’ve accepted it and now you have to also because you know as well as I do that I’m not going to be here for much longer.
            He grabs my shoulders, fire burning in those deep blue eyes. “Don’t you ever say that again Roger! I won’t let you die, you’ve been through so much, I won’t let you give up now!” He lowers his voice, the rage seeming to die away as he stares at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes. “I, uh…talked to Paul tonight…at Life Support…”

            “You talked to Paul about me?!”

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do! You said so yourself, you’re dying. And I’m not about to let that happen.

            I cross my arms. I have no argument and he knows it.

            “Anyway…” He reaches in his pocket and hands me a small, folded piece of paper with a name and phone number written on it. “He said you should consider maybe seeing a therapist…”

            “No way! There’s no way I’ll-”

            “Roger, please…she can help you. There’s nothing more any of us can do for you here. You can’t handle this by yourself anymore. And anyway, you went to rehab to get off heroine, so why should going to a therapist for anorexia be any different?”

            “Wait, who the hell said I was anorexic?? I’m not some sixteen year old girl obsessed with getting fat!” (a/n: no offense to anyone, those words aren’t mine, that’s just Roger in his fury)

            “Okay, okay, so go and prove me wrong then!” I start to protest but he looks at me with those sad, blue eyes again. “Please Rog, if not for you then for me?”

            I’m suddenly reminded of why I started doing this in the first place and I sigh in defeat. “Fine…but I’m just going once and if I don’t like it, I’m not going back.”

            “Fair enough.” He surveys me again and I detect the slightest tinge of sadness in his voice. “Come on, lets get you cleaned up.”

            He drags me into the bathroom with him as he bandages my wrist and helps me wash the crimson stains off my body.

            The scars on my wrist will fade soon. But what about my soul? You can’t just cover those scars with a band-aid and forget about them, hoping they’ll go away on their own. That’s what I’ve been trying to do my whole life. But tonight I took that bandage off, revealing my wounds for the first time in almost a year. Can I even hope that these scars will heal eventually too?

VIII. Food Of Love

Roger POV:

            It’s been two weeks since I tried to kill myself, two weeks since I started therapy with Dr. Gomez. I now have three more diagnoses to add to the ever growing list: atypical anorexia, OCD, and sitophobia, which is an intense fear of food and eating. I’m actually not even sure if that last one’s even a diagnosis, but it sounds a hell of a lot nicer than anorexic, which is what she keeps insisting I am, even though the sitophobia caused it.

            I haven’t really tried that hard to go back to a normal pattern of eating. I just don’t think that I can yet. Dr. Gomez says that’s because I won’t talk about why I stopped eating in the first place. Which is why I’m sitting here in this office right now next to Mark, who I refuse to talk to since he’s the one that called Dr. Gomez last week to inform her that I still wasn’t eating. I know he must have told her something about how this whole thing started too because at our next session, Dr. Gomez said she thought it would be a good idea if Mark started coming with me to therapy once a week. And that’s what I’ve been trying to avoid from day one. The last thing I want to do is talk about with Mark how I stopped eating because of my guilt from giving him AIDS. I know he’d just turn everything around and blame himself for it, even though it’s really my fault.

            I can hear heels clicking rapidly down the hall and the door opening. She walks in, apologizing for being late, and sits down behind her big desk, waiting for me to say something. This is what she does every week. She comes in, says hello, and then waits for me to speak, which I never do. I know this is a control game she’s playing with me and I won’t give in. I refuse to relinquish my control over to some woman I barely know.

            After 104 seconds of sitting in silence (I count the seconds to make the silences go by faster), Mark starts to look a little uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, looking from me, to Dr. Gomez, and back again. I have to snicker at this, despite my anger at him.

            Dr. Gomez immediately turns her head towards me, her eyes digging into me like a hawk’s. Damn, wrong thing to do. I lost that round. “Is something funny?”

            I shake my head. “No.”

            She sighs. “Alright Roger, why don’t you tell me how you’re doing this week?”

            I shrug. “Okay.”

            She looks at me inquisitively. “Have you been eating?”

            I nod and Mark shakes his head at the same time.

            She raises an eyebrow. “Well, now you’re both giving me two different answers…and from the looks of you, Roger, I’d say I believe Mark.”

            I glare at him.

            “Roger, you look angry. What’s going on?”

            “He knows what’s going on.”

            Mark shakes his head. “No I don’t. How could I know if every time I ask you just ignore me?”

            I sigh. “Yeah you do. I’m pissed because you called her last week and told her I wasn’t eating, and how this started.”

            “I only told her you weren’t eating because you weren’t, and I knew you were lying about it. I was just worried. And I didn’t tell her how it started.”

            Dr. Gomez looks at him. “Actually Mark, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to meet with the both of you today. I can’t help Roger unless I know some of the underlying issues that caused him to stop eating. And since he won’t talk about it himself, I was hoping maybe you could tell me a little about it?”

            “Mark, no don’t-”

            “Actually, I don’t even really know myself. But I can tell you what I think if that helps.”

            Dr. Gomez nods and I just glare at him.

            “Okay…Well, I caught HIV from Roger’s blood and for a few days after I got my test results back I was really depressed and just angry at the whole situation, not at him…but I took it out on him anyway, and God, I could kill myself for it now because that’s the reason Roger’s having all these problems now.”

            Dr. Gomez tilts her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

            “Well, I was so mean to him and I shouldn’t have been…he felt so guilty as it was…” He stops for a second and I think I see tears forming in his eyes, but those could be the tears forming in my own eyes instead. “Anyway, I wouldn’t talk to him or look at him and…and I didn’t eat…and that’s when Roger stopped eating too. He was probably so mad about what I did to him and wanted to show me how it felt…and God, I don’t blame him…but then it just got worse and worse and he couldn’t stop until it was out of control and there was nothing I could do to help him anymore. I should have noticed sooner, I could have helped before it got this big if I had realized…if I wasn’t so damn ignorant.”

            I have to interrupt him here. “No, that’s not how it happened at all!”

            “Why don’t you tell us your version then, Roger?” Dr. Gomez says gently.

            I figure I was as well, to straighten out Mark and to clear his guilt if nothing else.

            “Fine…Well, like Mark said I gave him AIDS, and he was depressed when he got his results, and understandably, he was mad about it and me since I’m the one who gave him the virus…I’m the one who killed him. So anyway, he didn’t really talk or eat for about three days, but then out other friend, Collins, talked to him, and I don’t know what he said but Mark started talking and eating, and being nice to me again. But having him forgive me only made me feel worse because I felt like I needed to be punished more than just getting a few days of the silent treatment, because I was the one who ruined his life, and caused him to starve himself for those three days. So I decided to punish myself by not eating for three days to make up for the time Mark went without eating because of me. Only by the time those three days were up, I couldn’t stop and went another two days without food . And I know this is going to sound so sick but the pain from not eating felt so good. I felt like I was finally getting what I deserved, I was being punished adequately  for doing that to Mark.” I stop when I notice Mark’s red face and the tears streaming down his cheeks. God, I’m so stupid sometimes, look what I always wind up doing to him!

            Dr Gomez hands him a box of tissues. “Go on, Roger.”

            I shake my head and start to protest but Mark cuts me off. “Please Rog, I want to know the rest.”

            I sigh, not wanting to go on for fear of upsetting him even more but I figure, I’ve gone this far already, I might as well finish. “Okay…So anyway, on my fifth day without eating, Mark made me eat breakfast. And I guess that’s when it stopped being about trying to punish myself and more about my fear of food. After that I didn’t eat because I was terrified to, not because I felt guilty. Although I still did then and do now. That’s when things got really out of hand with my cleaning too. Then everything just started getting so out of control until it eventually led up to me trying to kill myself. And I guess you know the rest.”

            “Roger…” Mark’s voice is tiny and scared, I have to strain to hear it because he’s talking into the carpet. “I’m so sorry about all of this…this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have been so mean to you, I should have realized sooner…”

            “Mark, geez, it’s not your fault! Listen, when I was first diagnosed I didn’t talk to anyone for almost six months! I was a whole fucking lot worse to you then you were to me and you didn’t go starving yourself ‘til you were half dead and anorexic. It’s just me, I was the one who was stupid enough to stop eating in the first place…it’s my fault, not yours.”

            Dr. Gomez interrupts us. “You see, this is where your problem is. You both just assume you know how the other feels and take all the blame on yourselves. Mark, it’s not your fault Roger developed anorexia, and Roger, it’s not your fault that Mark got AIDS.” She looks at both of us. “Isn’t that right?” We both nod vigorously. She looks at her watch. “Okay, we’re almost out of time, is there anything else either of you wanted to say?”

            “Um…yeah, actually I just had one thing,” Mark says as he turns to look at me. “It’s just that you’re still not eating…” His voice trails off.

            “It’s so hard, it’s scary…”
            “Roger, I’ve treated many, many patients with phobias, including anorexics with the same fear of food as yours. And let me just tell you, the ones that make it, the ones that overcome their illness and go on to leave healthy, normal lives are the ones who stare their fear right in the face…and also the ones who suffer the most trying to reach their goal. Are you going to let your fear of food ruin your life, kill you?”

            My voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t want to do it alone…”

            Mark jumps up and moves closer to me. “Hello? You’re not alone! Rog, I’ve been trying to help from the beginning, from the very first time I saw how scared you got eating breakfast. I’ve always been there for you, I always will be there for you, but you never want to accept my help.”
            “I don’t want to hurt you, I’ve put you through enough already…”

            “Roger, you don’t think it’s not hurting me watching you do this to yourself, knowing there’s nothing I can do to help ‘cause you won’t let me? You’re hurting me so much more by not letting me do anything, by just making me sit back and watch you kill yourself then you would be if you would just let me help you for once!”

            I feel tears fill my eyes again but try to hold them back. He doesn’t know how hard it is for me to accept help from people, to admit that I’m weak and can’t do it on my own.

            Dr. Gomez seems to sense my discomfort. “How about you think about it Roger, and then we can talk about it with Mark at our next session? Or privately at home, if and when you think you’re ready to accept his help.”

            I nod, grateful that she saved me from making that decision right on the spot. Me and Mark schedule our next appointment and walk back to the loft in silence, each of us replaying the session in our heads.

            When we get to the loft I head straight to my room but before I can even make it five steps, Mark calls me back and drags me into the kitchen.

            “Lunch time, you’re eating.” He heats up a bowl of soup for me and places it in front of me, then heads over to the living room to read a book, knowing I have to do this on my own. The familiar feelings of dread and panic race through my body and my hand start to shake, making it impossible to get the warm liquid to my mouth even if I tried. My heart is pounding so loudly that it drowns out every other noise around me and I wonder if I’m having a heart attack Though I know it’s probably just a panic attack.

            I stare at Mark sitting on the couch, holding his upside down book and pretending to be very interested in what the backwards print has to say. Looking down at my trembling hands, and feeling the sweat begin to bead down my forehead, I know that there’s no way I’ll be able to beat this on my own.

            “Mark?” My voice is hoarse and shaky, and he nearly jumps off the couch, dropping the book on the floor.

            “Yeah?” He tries not to sound too anxious.

            “Could…could you help me?”

            A huge grin spreads across his face and he rushes to my side, taking my hands in his until the trembling stops so that I can get the soup to stay in the spoon.

            “Of course.”