Maureen had gotten far too used to the fact that Roger was the only person here from her world that she hadn't really thought twice about keeping herself in check. Granted it had been Famine that had started it, but she couldn't really stop. That was what always got her in trouble, not being able to stop herself. That's why she needed Joanne, someone who could actually stand up to her when she threw a fit. Maureen knew she should've stopped herself, she wasn't so dumb that she didn't think that. But she had no self-control, and quite frankly, she didn't give a damn. What was the point when they were in the fucking end of the world? She knew she'd be going to Hell, so why not live it up on the way there?
But Roger had somehow managed to get through to her. Maureen would never admit as much to anyone else, and even if she did who would believe it? She was still drinking and going out, but she wasn't doing it as much as she had been. She did have spans of hours strung together when she was actually sober. Though those hours were the hardest because her head was full of thoughts she didn't want to think or face. So when she wasn't going out, she mostly just laid on the couch staring at the ceiling or the TV. Maureen couldn't tell if Famine had been the actual catalyst for this downward spiral, or if it had started long before then.
The truth was, she'd lost herself. This world was so full of danger and the constant threat of death loomed over them all. There had been times when she couldn't go outside the complex because she didn't know how to defend herself against the supernatural. And the current state she was in, she couldn't take any of the classes being offered. God knew she was a horrible learner when she was in her right state of mind. So instead she'd just continue her monotonous pattern of feeling lost until she found something better to do with herself.
When the knock came at her door, she initially thought she was hallucinating. Though she decided to get up and check anyways, just on the off chance someone was actually wanting to talk to her. Pulling herself off the couch, she went over to the door to answer it, not caring that she was wearing pajama pants and a tanktop that could possibly use a trip through the wash, and her hair was pulled into a ponytail. When she opened the door, she blinked, startled at seeing Mark standing there. The normally well-put-together Maureen was nowhere to be seen. There wasn't a stitch of make-up on her face and the black nail polish on her fingers was badly chipped.
"Hi," she managed to say. Maureen wouldn't ask why he was there, she had a feeling it was about the drinking and such lately. While a large part of her just wanted to slam the door on him, she couldn't actually find the energy to do it.