FicWad

It's been a while, so this is nice and long.
For Izzy :]

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Mark sat at the table, the kitchen dark. Streetlights made the room glow, brilliantly lighting up the kitchen every time a car would pass through the sleeping neighborhood. Mark wore boxers, nothing else. He couldn't sleep. He had his head in his hands, and worry pulsed through his veins. He didn't move; he was hardly breathing. All he could think of was his sister, his baby sister, lying in bed downstairs with one of his best friends, fast asleep. She's so selfish. She doesn't realize what she's doing to us, Mark thought grudgingly, hell, she doesn't realize what she's doing to herself.
Mark looked up; soft footsteps were making their way towards the kitchen. He watched as Patrick appeared in the kitchen, his sandy hair tousled and unfamiliar without a hat placed overtop of it. He didn't notice Mark; he went straight to the fridge, and pulled a carton of milk out. Without bothering to find a glass, he tipped the carton to his lips and took several sips.
"You know, I give Pete shit for doing that." Mark said solemnly.
Patrick jumped, and spun around. A little bit of milk slopped down the front of the 504Plan tee shirt he wore.
"Mark! I didn't realize anyone else was awake..."
Mark grinned.
"...ah, what are you doing up, anyways?"
Mark studied Patrick for a moment.
"I'm worried about her."
Patrick didn't have to ask who 'her' was; there was only one 'her' in their lives right now. Patrick placed the carton back in the fridge and sat down at the kitchen table with Mark.
"So you heard about earlier today..."
Mark nodded.
"It's not the first time I've seen that."
Patrick licked his lips and looked down at his lap; he didn't know what to say.
"Ah...what exactly...what exactly is the deal with her? Pete never seems surprised, neither do you. You two know something I don't."
Mark looked at Patrick in a way he never had before; Patrick watched with bewilderment. Mark's eyes were soft and kind; he was looking at Patrick, not with disapproval or pity, as usual, but like Patrick was his equal. Patrick was taken aback to see tears brimming in Mark's eye; they looked out of place on big, blonde, burly Mark.
"Something...happened to her as a kid. I don't know what. She got into that...lifestyle. Booze, drugs, parties."
"Well, I already figured that much." Patrick mumbled.
"It's not just that," Mark continued, "She started to get out of control. My parents found out about her partying, they tried to get her to stop, but she'd just sneak out. She started cutting herself around this point."
Patrick's words stopped dead in his throat. It's like...like starving yourself or...cutting yourself. It's a disease. You know you have to stop, every bone in your body is against it, but you have to. He shivered, but Mark didn't seem to notice his apparent distress in the darkness of the kitchen. He continued;
"She was out of control; violent. She wouldn't eat. She yelled at everyone and everything. She wanted drugs; she needed drugs, that was all that mattered to her anymore. She ran away a couple of times, too."
Patrick was speechless.
"Eventually she just...stopped. She was under control. She started eating again, she quit cutting herself, she was...almost sober. I know she never gave up drugs entirely. But the addiction wasn't as violent anymore."
Patrick nodded.
"Wow. I knew she was into drugs and stuff but...I never realized it was that bad."
Mark turned away, staring blankly out the window.
"So you see why I'm worried. She's been slipping into her old ways lately."
Patrick gave Mark a sad half-smile.
"I haven't known her that long. But I'm worried, too."
Mark returned the sad smile, then glanced down at Patrick's cast.
"How come you and Hannah were...?"
Patrick shook his head.
"Don't ask."

Hannah ran a blue comb through her blonde hair. She studied the black roots and sighed. She arranged her short hair so that the sooty roots were barely visible. Someone knocked on the bathroom door;
"C'min." she called.
Pete stepped inside the bathroom, and shut the door behind him. He kissed Hannah's cheek gently, and she smiled. Pete got busy shaving, and Hannah felt annoyed; she hated the whole couple bathroom routine. Why couldn't she brush her hair alone? Why couldn't Pete wait five more minutes to shave? She grabbed her toothbrush out of the holder with a bit too much venom, and Pete gave her a funny look in the mirror. She squeezed some toothpaste onto the brush and stuck it in her mouth, scrubbing her teeth and determinedly avoiding Pete's gaze in the mirror. He set down his razor and washed some foam off his hands, then turned to her;
"I wanna talk to you about something."
"'M broofing mah teef." She said through the foaming toothpaste.
"I can see that." Pete replied, looking amused.
Hannah spit into the sink.
"You understood that?"
"I'm not stupid."
Hannah smiled in spite of herself. She was hoping he'd give her a moment to finish, and then she could make a quick excuse and escape. But she wasn't so lucky; Pete continued.
"I've decided to go straight edge."
"You've...whatnow?"
"I'm going straight edge."
Hannah stared blankly at him. Frustrated, Pete explained;
"It means I won't smoke, drink, use..."
"Oh. You mean 'square'."
"No!"
"At my school, kids like that were called 'square'."
"Well, it's a healthy choice."
"Mmm. Whatever. No cancer for you. You have fun with that."
"And you know what would make it easier for me?"
Hannah didn't like the sounds of this. She crossed her arms and glared at him.
"What." She said, putting emphasis on the 't'.
"If you went straight edge, too."
"No way, uh-uh, forget it." Hannah cried, shaking her head.
"Hannah, why not?" Pete asked, a plea in his voice.
"Because I like beer, okay? I like cigarettes, I /like/..."
"Drugs?" Pete asked quietly.
Hannah made a noise of disgust, and stormed out of the room.

Joe awoke that morning to music coming from the next bed. He rolled over and saw Patrick, strumming absently on an acoustic guitar. Joe glanced at the clock; it was only 8:00.
"Hey, Trick, can't you do that somewhere else?" he snapped irritably.
"Good morning to you, too." Patrick replied, ignoring Joe's remark.
Joe let out a sigh of disgust, then threw back the covers.
"You're goddamn lucky I said I'd go shopping with Mackena today."

Joe stepped into the living room, fully dressed and searching for his wallet. Hannah was spread out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. She looked up as Joe entered the room.
"It's 8:30, where are you off to?"
"I said I'd go shopping with Mackena. There's some sort of sale going on."
"Can I come?"
Joe hesitated.
"Aww, c'mon, Joey! I like Mackena."
Joe sighed.
"Yeah, sure. Get dressed."
"I am." She replied, jumping up.
Joe frowned; she was wearing baggy, ripped jeans and a black hoodie that must've been Pete's.
"That's what you're wearing to the mall?"
"Yup." She replied brightly; but there was something in her eyes that Joe noticed; he couldn't put his fingers on it. She didn't seem as bubbly and bold; she seemed tired. Joe sighed.
"Alright. Let's go."

"Ooh, look at these jeans!" Mackena squealed. She grabbed them off the rack and held them up to her waist. She looked him in the eyes, reading his opinion.
"Too tight." He said.
Mackena glared at him. Her short, black hair now had bright purple streaks.
"Uh...did I say too tight? I meant just right." He corrected himself.
Hannah, who had been quiet most of the morning, giggled. Joe and Mackena turned to look at her; she was leaning against a shelf full of tee shirts.
"You're afraid of her." Hannah said matter-of-factly to Joe.
Now it was Mackena's turn to laugh, and she flashed Joe a triumphant smile.
"Hey! I'm not afraid of my own girlfriend!" Joe cried indignantly.
"Yes, you are."
"I-"
"Aw, Joey, don't hurt yourself," Mackena laughed, shaking her head, "Now I'm gonna go try these on." She stuck her tongue out at Joe, and skipped off towards the dressing room. She paused, and turned around;
"Hannah, come with me."
Hannah didn't seem at all surprised by this, and she followed Mackena. Joe shook his head; chicks are weird.

Hannah watched as Mackena pulled off her dark wash skinny jeans, and pulled on the new pair; light-wash flares with black sequins lining the pockets. Mackena turned her back to Hannah, studying herself in the floor length mirror. Hannah watched dully, and Mackena caught her eye in the mirror.
"So how come you came along?"
"'Cause I felt like it."
Mackena smirked.
"That's not the real reason, Honey."
"What do you mean?" Hannah asked indignantly.
Mackena ran her hands over her butt, studying every inch of the jeans.
"Well, no offense, but you don't seem like the shopping type. You complain more than Joe; I've never seen anyone protest more than him in shoe stores."
Hannah shrugged.
"I like my Converse. Ripped jeans, band shirts. Shopping is boring."
"So why did you come?"
Hannah hesitated, then gave in.
"Girl to girl? I wanted to get away from Pete."
Mackena raised her eyebrows.
"Dude...didn't you two just start going out? You're sick of him already?"
"No, no, it's not that, it's just...he wants me to go straight edge."
"And that's a bad thing why? I'm straight edge."
"Because I like partying and stuff."
Mackena sighed, and slipped out of the jeans, pulling hers back on.
"Look, Joe's talked to me a bit about you. I know what you're like. You're gonna wind up killing yourself, Hon."
Hannah did not reply.
"And, you're forgetting, I'm a girl, too. Some of the guys might now notice, but you're way too skinny. They might now realize how skinny is too skinny."
Hannah was still silent. Mackena folded up the flares;
"I'm buying these."
She turned to Hannah, and placed one hand on her shoulder;
"Stop, Hannah, stop. Before it's too late."