Given Up

Chapter 1:

"Roger honey, come on, open the door," Maureen pleaded. Roger had been locked in his room for two straight days now. Maureen felt someone tap her on the shoulder.

"Here, take this," Benny said, handing the diva the key to unlock the door. Maureen snatched the key out of Benny's hand.

"Thanks," she snapped. She inserted the key into the lock, and unlocked Roger's bedroom door.

The door swung open easily. Roger was sprawled out in the center of the bed. Lying next to him was a needle, and his belt. Maureen gasped.

"Did, did he over dose?' she asked quietly. Benny went over, picked up the needle, and shook his head. There was still a fair amount of smack left in the needle.

"No, he's asleep. The needle would be in his arm and the belt around his arm if he ODed. He's probably sleeping off a high," replied Benny. Maureen let out a breath of relief. Benny took her arm. "Come on Mo, let's let him sleep." Maureen broke free of his grip, and stalked out of the room. Sighing, Benny followed her.

The loft door slid open, and Mark came inside with his camera bag slung over his shoulder. Right away, Maureen wrapped her arms around his neck, and gave him a quick kiss.

"Hey Pookie, how was filming?" she asked. Mark returned the kiss, and wrapped his arms around Maureen's small waist.

"Okay, how's Roger doing?"

"He's sleeping off a high," Benny replied. This time, Mark was the one that sighed.

"Great. At least he's getting some sleep." Maureen broke free of Mark's grip, and lay down on the couch.

"Come lie down with me Pookie," she begged. Mark sat down on the couch. Maureen rested her head in his lap, and held his hand. "What if we take Roger down to the Life tonight?"

"I don't know, Mo. He's always high or drunk," Benny replied. Maureen rolled her eyes.

"I'm just trying to help."

"I know baby," said Mark. "We'll see how he's doing when he gets up." Maureen got up, and went to go work on her protest.

Several hours later, Roger stumbled out of his room. Mark, Maureen, Collins, and Benny were all sitting around doing their own thing.

"Hey man, how you doing?" Collins asked. The only reply he got was a grunt. Roger dug around in the refrigerator, and produced a bottle of Stoli. Mark got up off the floor to talk to his best friend.

"We were thinking about going down to the Life, you want to come?" he asked. Without replying, Roger closed his door in Mark's face. "Come on Rog; don't shut us out. Please talk to us." Roger yanked the door open.

"What?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

"Why won't you come down to the Life with us for dinner or something? It might do you some good."

"So I pretend that it's all fucking good in my life, even though it's not? No thanks. You guys go out, I'm fine." Roger took a long swig of his alcohol.

"Will you please stop drinking for two seconds?" When Mark tried to take the vodka, Roger shoved him. In a flash, Collins stood up. "I'm fine Collins." Mark turned to Roger. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You guys go ahead." The Bohemians reluctantly left Roger lying on his bed playing Muzetta's Waltz over and over again while drinking the Stoli.

The second Roger was sure that his friends were truly gone; he climbed off his bed, and snuck into Collins' room. He was on a mission, and nothing was going to get in his way. After some searching, Roger found the handgun Collins kept in his dresser. The gun was for in case someone tried to break it, but who'd want to break in to a dump like the loft? Roger took the gun, and stood in the front room by the kitchen. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Roger held the gun to his temple with his finger on the trigger.

A/N: CLIFFIE! You all know part of what happens…or do you? This is a two-shot. You want a withdrawal story…check out Help Me, Please. I'll be typing up the last chapter of that, and working on Off-Set tomorrow. I'm getting a headache, so I'm going to sleep. Much love!