Chapter Text
He had told Roger that he was going to go into work today to quit, but he chickened out when he saw Alexi, and once she handed him the entire bottle of the trial drug, he couldn't just quit after that. He shuffled back with his tail between his legs, and with Roger's prompting, the next morning day he called Alexi to quit his job. Without rent payments, the little money he had made from his first couple months would last them a good while.
But without Alexi, his supply dried up. Which lead Mark to sitting in a doctors office a week later after the bottle ran out, using up the last week of his corporate insurance to basically beg for drugs. They gave him Ritalin again, because Adderall was still in trial stages and not approved by the FDA for general use. Mark may have registered that he had a problem when he was doing research into joining drug trials after they'd already begun, but as his search was fruitless, he pushed the concern to the back of his mind, and simply doubled up on his Ritalin dose.
Roger wasn't an idiot though, and with him around again, he was very secretive about his use. Roger would know all the signs of a drug habit, and even if Mark had mentally prepared scripts about how this wasn't a problem and it was a safe drug, he knew Roger would tolerate none of it. He could quit, but he had to finish this film before Christmas so everyone could see it, and as the air got biting, he knew he was running out of time, and despite Roger's doubt, it was helping him. He would take a pill first thing in the morning to have him up and alert, and then when Roger would leave to go wander around in the city in search of Mimi, or hole himself in his room to play guitar and write, Mark would take the second, and spend hours at the table either editing or setting up homemade dark rooms.
The drug worked wonders and after the first prescription ran out, he was able to fake a new one, but it was expensive without insurance, so he considered trying to find something similar but cheaper. On the day he went to the library to photocopy the old prescription, he did some encyclopedia research to see if there was something on the street that was similar and cheaper. Not all street drugs were what the cop that came to your middle school told you they were, weed was a street drug, and so was heroin, they weren't all created equal- he wasn't going down the path Roger went down, he was being economical.
He flipped through the R book quickly, scanning every page until he came across what he was looking for, and his hammering heart screeched to a halt for a moment as he read the generic name- methylphenidate. Meth? Was he on FDA approved meth?? Well he wasn't going to buy fucking meth that was for sure. Well- No. No that was going too far, right?
He closed the book and left, shaking his head as he yelled at himself in his head, fingers flexing in his pockets as he went to the pharmacy to grab new pills. They might run out of food money quicker, but maybe if he finishes his film quickly enough he could send it to festivals, get some money that way. Maybe Roger would even be ready to perform again soon. He took the falsely doubled prescription home with him, a sense of relief passing over that for at least a few weeks, he would be set.
He went upstairs and shoved the bottles underneath his pile of clothes, returning to the living room. Roger looked at him from the kitchen, "hey, you said you'd pick up food today."
"I did? Oh umm.. sorry I can go back out,"
Roger shrugged, "whatever, I still have some of the Ramen I brought back with me. Do you want some?" Mark shook his head. Roger kept offering to make him food and he didn't know why. Well, he supposed he could guess- the medication killed what little appetite he had, and now even his small clothes were starting to hang off of him. "Come on, I literally haven't seen you eat since I got back."
"I had an apple this morning."
"You aren't a horse, you can't live off of apples." Roger turned and grabbed another packet anyway, heating up the hot plate and grabbing a pot, going into the bathroom to fill it up with water from their one sink. When he left the room Mark let out a long sigh, rolling his eyes and hunching back over the table to work.
When Roger was done, he set the bowl of ramen on the table, sitting down in the other chair and watching in amusement as Mark tried to protect his precious film strips from broth droplets. "So how's it going?"
"It's going well, haven't gotten too much done today since I went to the library. I need to go there more often, peace and quite and all that, and it's good to learn how to use computers since they're only becoming more and more commonplace." He forced himself to bite his lip to keep himself from rambling, actually beginning to eat the warm meal.
Roger gave him a skeptical look, "What'd ya go to the library for?"
Mark swallowed, "some research, and I had to print a title screen for the film." An uneasiness settled in his stomach over how often he had to lie to Roger, and how easy it was becoming. Roger nodded, and after a bit of prodding from Mark, began to talk about his song and his search for Mimi.
Thanksgiving passed them by with only a few irritated phone calls from their prospective mothers, and by Christmas, Roger was starting to become extremely suspicious of where some of Mark's paycheck money was going, and was getting more and more interrogative, so Mark finishing his film came at the perfect time. Now he could quit and everything would go back to how it was. The screening had just begun when the power shut off again, and Collins came in at the perfect time with his tales of atm hacking and permanent money flow, which he was correct about them desperately needing.
The following hour felt like a blur, they were joking about the restaurant and then they heard Maureen scream for help from the stairwell, then they were all running over to help carry Mimi over to the couch. Mark covered her with his and Roger's coats, and started searching around the apartment for firewood as he began hearing Roger pluck out his song on his guitar, serenading her in her apparent last moments. By some miracle, she survived, and the whooshing flow of blood in his ears calmed somewhat, now that he wasn't thinking about ambulance payments or hospital visits or police questionings and funeral arrangements. Roger had Mimi again, and all was well.
Maureen got excited after hearing about the impact of her Leap of Faith, and she hugged Mark from behind, her chin on his shoulder, looking at the couple holding each other in tears. He tried to calm down the shaking of his body as she grabbed onto him, but it was an impossible task, "Wait Mark-" she mumbled after her hands grabbed his bicep, frowning at it's skin and bones.
"Go grab more blankets, and make whatever Ramen we have left." Roger ordered anyone who was listening, and they all scattered to try and prevent anymore close calls that night.
By New Years, they all had warm food in their stomachs thanks to Collins' well placed ATM, and didn't have to break into their own apartment again. Everyone was enjoying themselves, but Mark was too focused on his own body reeling from trying to quit the pills cold turkey. He could do it, he had helped Roger, but it was kind of hard to treat it when no one knew or was to know that it was happening at all. He had thrown up all morning after being unable to sleep for two days, and now he was barely able to keep his eyes open.
Maureen smiled at her sleepy ex and stood up, pulling Mark over into another corner of the loft, towards the bathroom and out of sight. "You want to stay up for the new year?" She asked with a smirk, pulling out a small tied off corner of a plastic bag full of condensed white powder.
Mark's eyes widened, "you- you do-?"
"Only on the fun holidays, pinkie promise. I'm not trying to peeeeer pressure you," she wiggled her fingers in his face, doing a mix of a ghost and vampire voice, "you just look like you could use a boost." In yet another situation where he could've, should've, needed to say no, he found himself nodding his head eagerly. Mark watched her take out a short straw and lightly sniff up a small amount from the corner of the bag, and he did the same shortly after. It wasn't even close to the same high he had gotten used to, but it scratched a similar itch, and was way stronger in other ways. The worst part was just trying to hide how fucking high he was, eventually stepping out with Maureen for a cigarette.
"How the fuck are you acting normal right now?" He asked, snorting aggressively to try and get rid of the drip in the back of his throat, failing to restrain himself from moving his jaw around, and resorting to clamping down and grinding his teeth. The fingers around his cigarette were shaking aggressively, as was most of his body, and it was surely not from the cold.
Maureen just laughed, "Dude I don't fucking know! I feel like I'm 15 trying to hide how stoned I am from my parents!"
Mark laughed, "Poor Roger, I'm turning him into me, all concerned. But I deserve to have my fun too."
Maureen nodded sharply in agreement, "yes yes yes yes you do, we all do, now let's go back in before Joanne starts interrogating me." She walked up the stairs with Mark and they were stepping up as incorrectly as possible just to make each other laugh. "Yes yes yes yes yes," Mark said as they climbed, making fun of Maureen but also it was somewhat satisfying to talk as fast as his brain felt.
There were certain moments where he was sure either Collins or Mimi noticed something was up with him, he was being too obvious for people not to pick up on it: his twitching hands and head, the speed at which he was talking, the pin pricks of his pupils, his inability to sit still for 2 seconds, but Collins mentally resolved that he was not his friends father and he didn't have the right to scold him, and Mimi was still too sick and out of it herself from recovery and withdrawal to show her knowledge beyond some questioning looks. The only person Mark was really worried about knowing was Roger, who was thankfully far too absorbed in taking care of and looking over Mimi.
Mark was buzzing the rest of the night, and as midnight came and went, they all began talking calmly, everyone some level of intoxicated, and they reminisced over the last year. The last thing he remembered saying is that he would screen the film for them soon before passing out with his head and arm dangling over the back of the couch.
That morning, everything hit him like a train. All the same symptoms but now worse, with a splitting headache and general hangover on top.
But what Maureen had had fixed it last night.
As everyone was waking up slowly, the half conscious twenty somethings groaning and whining from their chairs, beds or floors, Mark whispered to Maureen, "do you think I could have the rest? I can pay you."
Maureen squinted, "you've never wanted to do anything harder than weed before, what gives?"
Mark rolled his eyes, "well I'm not a teenager anymore, and I have a film to perfect. I deserve to have fun and experiences."
Maureen sighed, "I guess that's true. Fine. Just pay me back in coffees or donut deliveries or something." She handed over the baggie from its place in her bra, and Mark slipped it into his pocket, "thanks. I appreciate it, and you'll always have a place to stay whenever you guys get in a fight."
She scoffed and rolled her eyes, "I'd hope that that's a given." She laughed and rubbed her eyes, going to make coffee for everyone.
The 8-ball had held him over for the next few weeks, it was so much supplemented energy, he was filming more, running around the whole city in the cold, re-editing his film and making copies of it, and spending a few hours cleaning the apartment each day. He was finally free of Roger's questionings now that he had Mimi to keep him busy, and they spent most days in his room helping her regain her strength and get her through the withdrawal. Mark frequently went on runs to the ATM to grab cash for food, firewood, over the counter medication, and both of their AZT prescriptions to keep her alive and well through withdrawal and disease.
He returned one day with his supplies, "The food bags are in the kitchen Roger," he said as he stood over Mimi in his bed, laying a new cheap blanket from the drug store on top of her, fussing about. Roger got up to go make some soup for all of them, leaving Mark to fumble with the plastic bag to get the paper bag that held the pills out, his shaking, twitching hands awkwardly ripping open the bag and setting the pills on the bedside table. His hand was shaking so bad that even between the short distance of the paper bag and the dresser Mimi could hear the pills inside rattle and shake. He leaned over to adjust the blanket and she reached out to grab his hand, needing to use pressure from both of her cold hands to keep it still, and even then she could feel a repressed tremor.
Mark gave her a wide eyed and scared look, and she looked up at him like an observant cat, tilting her head and then looking back down at his hand. "Be careful." Was all she said before letting go and patting the top of his hand. Mark furrowed his brows, somewhat resenting being told what to do by someone several years his junior, who had just gone through a worse drug habit and is currently going through it's withdrawal. She didn't even know what he was doing, judgmental bitch-
Mark caught himself, shaking his head, that was mean, bad thought bad bad bad bad bad bad bad. He shook his head again. “You alright?” He heard Mimi ask. He hadn’t realized he was still in the room. He nodded and gave her his best attempt at a smile around his clamped jaw. She was just trying to help, she’s not judging you. In a week when he would be able to refill his prescription, he would be done with coke.
However, when he went back to another pharmacy with the same forged prescription, he still had a little bit of the baggie left, and he would never be wasteful. He took two pills first thing when he got out of the pharmacy, ripping the bottles out and throwing out the paper bag, shoving the bottles deep in his jacket pocket. He immediately felt so much better, even if it was initially placebo, and jumped his way down the block, filming everything in his path, mumbling narration to himself because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. He tried his best to cease the shaking of the camera by pinning his arms to his sides, absentmindedly telling his camera about his recent escapades like it was a diary. That's what he needed to do, he hasn't written in his journal in forever, that would help him get all of these 100 mph thoughts out of his head.
He rushed home and set his camera on the bed, shoving the pill bottles under his sock drawer next to his dwindling 8-ball.. well, might as well finish it right? There was only a little bit left. Then he’d be done.
So there Mark was, his entire body shaking as his mind sped like an off the tracks train with no brakes, no, a rollercoaster cart flung off into the sky, no, a sprinter so focused on running that they lost the trail. Yes yes yes that was much closer, god he was so smart with this stuff. It worked even better in combination, he wanted to exercise, go on a run, yes! Great idea. He threw his pen on to his desk in his room and began jogging around his small room just to get out some of this buzzing energy, and then he figured that he could probably use this energy productively, and cleaned his room, locating his laundry bag and putting everything in there, and finding a new hiding spot for his pill bottles underneath his pillow.
He went into the kitchen and began scrubbing at the grease stains around the wood burning stove, his mind trying to figure out the thing to do next- oh right, food! That's why he came into the kitchen. He plugged in and turned on the hot plate, filling the pot up with water, with plans to make them all some egg noodles with butter and garlic powder, one of his childhood favorites. He took out the ingredients but got impatient waiting for the water to boil, resolving good get out his typewriter and brainstorm ideas for a new screenplay.
"Mark?" Came a call from Roger, who had wandered into the kitchen to make something to eat, only to find abandoned boiling water.
"Hmm? Oh! Yes, I forgot." Mark leaped up from his seat, tripping over the leg of the chair and half stumbling half running to the pot, throwing in the noodles so aggressively that water splashed over and sizzled on the hot plate. "Sorry, totally forgot. I've been so forgetful lately, but I guess that's me, head in his clouds and his camera. No wait, the clouds, not his clouds, why did I say his clouds that's dumb."
Roger watched as he rambled, wiggling back and forth throughout the kitchen, his hands shaking as he set down the spices he needed, accidentally pouring too much salt into the water, and grabbing a wooden spoon to move around the pasta. Roger knew something was up but was struggling to do the math until Mark snorted in loudly through his nose and coughed into his elbow, weirdly adjusting his jaw afterwards. Roger resolved to be calm, one of the benefits of having gone through this was knowing what would scare him away, and immediately yelling at him and making him feel like shit was only going to push him away and back into the arms of whatever dealer he was running to.
"Coke drip sucks huh?" He asked, but Mark was too distracted with organizing the table of pantry food and spices.
"What? Sorry I didn't catch that."
"Yeah, you're clearly very interested in reorganizing the shelves. I asked about Coke drip."
"What about it?"
Roger leaned back against the counter, tilted his head back and rolled his eyes. "That's what you were doing all that hacking over, right?"
"Did I hack?"
Roger groaned, pinching the space between his eyebrows. "Mark. I'm not dumb. So don't play dumb with me, especially about something like this. Have- have you been using?"
"Using what?"
Roger had reached the end of his admittedly short rope, "Cocaine! You're clearly high as a kite right now!"
At that Mark turned around, and Roger grabbed his face and pulled him in, pulling down his lower lid like he did the night he'd come back. His eyes were bloodshot with pupils the size of sewing needles, and he could feel the tremors from under his hand. "Jesus Christ Mark what were you thinking!"
"I don't know! Maureen offered me some at New Years and I asked for the rest of the bag to get me through some shit, to make my film better, I liked it, but this is the last of it, it's all gone, I won't use it anymore, I'll go cold turkey!" He promised, hands in the air.
Roger gave him a skeptical look, “You have a problem Mark, you can admit that, I of all people understan-”
“I don’t have a problem! I’ve quit things before, and it’s not like I do it that often!”
“Denying that there’s a problem isn’t going to help anyone!”
“Ohhh look at mister NA over here, I’m the one that dragged you to those meetings, I know all the talking points, and I’m not denying! Because it doesn’t exist! You aren’t denying the existence of unicorns, you’re just correct! There’s no problem!”
“Fuck you dude I’m trying to help!”
Both of their faces were red from shouting, Mimi waking up and shuffling to a spot in the hall where she could mostly see them but she was obstructed from their periphery.
“Oh yeah a screaming match is really helping me overcome my non existent addiction! I know you think I’m some dipshit suburbanite who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, but I can handle myself!” Mark barked while angrily stirring the noodles. “I’m not like you!” He spat, the words landing like gasoline on a forest fire, and once Mark realized that they were both the trees burning as a result, his regret came too late.
Roger had been silent for a while and Mark turned to look at him apologetically, the reality of the situation having sobered him up, but Roger was already gone and he jumped at the vicious sound of the door slamming.
A few hours later, Mark braves knocking on the door. A muffled “Fuck Off!” Came through the door, and Mimi was the one to open it for Mark, giving him a stern look and mouthing ‘Apologize’ to which Mark silently replied ‘I am! I am!’.
“Roger, I- I’m sorry, the drugs got to my head and I was needlessly cruel and self righteous. I’m not immune to it, I know that, and I in no way think you’re weak for succumbing to it, I was being defensive and sick and I’m not trying to blame the drugs because even if-”
“Mark stop, please.” Roger sat up, uncurling himself from his blanket ball. “I get it, I did a lot of fucked up stuff to you when I was using, so I guess I’ll consider it even, if you go cold turkey.”
“Yes I promise Roger, I’m sorry.”
Roger landed back exhausted in his bed. Should be be doing more? Is it his responsibility? Mark sure acted like Roger’s addiction was his responsibility, but he placed that burden in himself, Roger would’ve understood if he left him for dead. It’s not Roger’s job to hover and stalk him to make sure he stays clean. Besides, it's not like Mark would brave talking to an actual drug dealer, he had no choice but to quit. "Remind me to yell at Maureen." He huffed before starting to walk back to his room. "Never again Mark!"
"I'll never do it again! I promise!"
Why was he so good at lying to him.