Author's Note and Disclaimer: Errr, don't ask me what Mimi and Roger are arguing about in the beginning… Honestly, it was just an easy way to kick off a RENTfic with an unusual couple. =D As always, constructive criticism and reviews are encouraged! The musical RENT and all characters discussed belong to Jonathan Larson. May his memory live on and be celebrated.
Alternative Consoling"You know what, Roger? Fuck you!" I shrieked.
"No, fuck you, Mimi!" he countered, pausing before adding, "Oh, but I suppose everyone's done that in the East Village."
In a boiling fit of rage, I picked up one of the very few glasses I owned and chucked it at him. Hoping it would explode in his face, glass and cuts everywhere, I pitched it with the force of some kind of berserk eighteen-wheeler. He ducked, much like with all his problems. He'd duck, hide, run… Anything to avoid problems. The glass burst into a thousand glittering glass pieces as it struck the wall, littering him with tiny shards.
"You're a jealous, cowardly prick, Roger Davis!" I hoped the words would hurt him more than throwing a glass at him ever would.
"You're an oblivious, unfaithful slut, Mimi Marquez!" he countered, stomping and crunching on the glass pieces as he headed to the door.
He grabbed the doorknob and I shouted at his back, "The so-called guitar player runs again! Back to Mark! Back to heroin, I hope!" They were the worst things I could think of to spit at him. I admit now, that they were just as cowardly as him running. A cheap blow below the emotional belt, you could say, bringing up his current and past best friends.
His spine stiffened when I mentioned Mark and blow. He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes dead and squinted. If looks could kill, I would've been mangled with my heart ripped out and beating in front of my face.
"Forget you."
My heart was ripped out and beating in front of my face.
He was already down the stairs before I could respond.
It hurt more than getting punched ever would. Much more than getting clocked in the jaw with a glass. Suddenly, I was crying, weeping, sobbing. Almost to a point of hyperventilating. We were common in so many ways, Roger and I; one of which was shouting whatever popped into our heads when we bickered.
Not only was my heart ripped out, I felt like I was going to vomit. I needed someone to hold me, tell me it was going to be alright, tell me that Roger would come back around. I needed to believe it.
Normally, I would've ran to Mark. Mark, who I'd used to hurt Roger. I couldn't talk to Mark, not after what I'd said. Collins? No, Collins would probably tell me the truth. I couldn't handle hearing honesty right now. Joanne might've sugar-coated the truth more, but it would still be in her words.
Maureen was the only one left. She was an actress, and even if she did know I deserved everything I got, she wouldn't say it. I think everyone knew by now that Maureen wasn't exactly the most altruistic individual. Following impulse, I tripped down the stairs.
Rubbing my eyes and smudging my mascara, I ran all the way to Joanne and Maureen's apartment. My lungs burning and my feet aching in stiletto boots, I didn't stop to ponder the stupidity of running in December with HIV. I banged desperately on their door with both fists. Crying still, my cheeks stung from sprinting against the wind.
"Maureen!" I choked frantically. "Please!" I pounded on the door before sinking to my knees on their doorstep.
After what seemed like a chilling hour, the door finally squeaked open. Maureen stuck her head through the frame and gasped. "Mimi, sugar!" She quickly tugged me into their apartment.
Joanne and Maureen's apartment had always been better than Mark and Roger's or mine, financially speaking. Not to mention, they had heat and more than one piece of furniture.
Maureen grabbed both of my cold hands and dragged me to the pinstriped couch. "Honey, honey, honey!" she sputtered, brushing cold-sweat-soaked curls off my face. "What's the matter?"
"Roger…" I could only get his name out before I exploded into tears and heaves for breath.
"Sssshhh," Maureen said, knowingly. I was grateful she didn't ask me what happened, because then I'd have to admit what I had said. She took my head and cradled it under her chin. "Honey, you know Roger's an asshole," she whispered, petting my matted hair. "He just says things… In a fit of jealousy, or Roger-ness, I suppose." I sobbed harder into her shirt, trying not to stain it silver with my eye shadow. The problem is, I wanted to tell her, it was my fault this time.
My mind drifted back to the night Joanne and I raged angrily about our respected lovers. We'd connected on the grounds that both Roger and Maureen had taken us for granted. They were both frightened out of their wits to express love or commitment and they were drowning in denial. I wondered now, if Roger and Maureen were all that different. I thought then about how Maureen had defended me when Benny forbade me to speak to Roger, and how she was the one to find me in the park, freezing. It had been Maureen all along.
I glanced at her through blurry, teary eyes. Maureen, petting my head and assuring me that everything would be okay. I sat up and she blinked, surprised. I curled my hand around to the nape of her neck and drew her closer to my face. When our noses almost touched, she closed her eyes, and I pushed my lips to hers.
Maureen's lips were pouty and comforting. They were thicker and softer than Roger's lips, and she was wearing a slick kind of strawberry lipgloss that tasted sweet. She quickly opened her mouth to slip her tongue into my mouth and she started to press closer to me.
I started to get scared as Maureen met my advances. Wasn't this what they called rebounding? I wasn't really in love with Maureen… I just couldn't stand being alone without Roger.
No. That wasn't it. It was Maureen. She's just so much like Roger. Only curvier and warmer and happier and…
And she's got a girlfriend. Joanne is wonderful and Maureen means the world to her. She'd absolutely die if she knew Maureen was…
But Joanne's not here right now.
So, I wrapped my arms around her neck to pull her closer, pressing into the kiss more. I felt safe with Maureen. I know I should've felt guilty, or scared that Joanne might have gotten off the job early. Or maybe I should have thought about Roger. But everything felt too good to worry or think about anything else.
I realized I'd stopped crying. My cheeks didn't sting anymore, and my chest didn't feel as if it would burst from the pain. I pulled from the kiss reluctantly and I stood up.
"Thanks, Maureen," I said casually, "I feel a lot better now."
"No problem, honey," she replied, running a hand though her hair. A little breathless, she added, "Anytime."
I smiled and headed for the door.