Ok, so, no, I don't own RENT, we must thanks a wondrous Jonathan Larson for that. I do not, unfortunately, own Roger. I do not own April. I don't own emotion, I rent ;). Um. wow. Rentheads at their finest. Well, I hope you enjoy this story, there will be more chapters. I'd love reviews and such! Enjoy...

"Please don't," he begged. He pleaded with his every power. The helplessness was dripping from his hypocritical words. He pleaded hard, but his words were soft.

I looked up through my fallen bangs and was pierced by his blue eyes. "I have to."

"No, you don't. You – we – have to stop. Look." He pulled his leather sleeve up and all I saw were the tracks. The marks of the needle. They were etched into his arm like a map to hell. They traced lines of addiction and self pity. Such an arm can't tell me to stop when it's living it every moment. These scars framed greed. They traced the greed. They led to an unnatural high. To an escape that I was dying to take.

I was already ready; the needle was full, my arm was cut off by the band on my bicep. The sight of the blue vein was bleeding through my skin. My fist was clenched. My greed was hungry. I needed my escape.

"You don't need this," he said – like he read my mind – trying to rip the needle from my hand. His efforts were in vain. In every sense of the word; he failed in his endeavors, my greed too strong, and he was doing it for himself. He couldn't stand me high when he wasn't and I saw in his eyes, the way he looked at the needle, he needed this too. Hell, I think when he looked at me – all hungry, all self-destructing, all self-pitying, all addicted – that he was just gazing frightfully into a mirror. A mirror that could not lie. The truth is why we live a lie. We guard ourselves from the truth. The truth that we all created. We live in fear of our own creations. We slowly destroy ourselves with everything we do.

"You want this," I whispered angrily as he grabbed the needle from my hand when his sorrowed eyes distracted me.

"That doesn't make it better," he retorted.

"What? Your desire?"

"Yes! What? No; you doing it." I caught him in his own trap. He cried from behind the bars. Those God damned bars of truth. "Please, don't do this."

"It's too late to stop." I shook my head softly and picked at the hem of my shirt, pulling at frayed strings.

"No, it's not." He pulled my hands into his, setting the needle by me. His touch was only like a flickering candle when a burning fire was just a needle prick away. I could only remember when his touch was a fire.

"Yes, it is. You know it is." I yanked one hand from his and he grabbed the needle, but that wasn't my target, not yet. I reached into the pocket on the chest of his jacket. My fingers pinched the packet and slid it ever so slowly out. His face was utter surprise. I shook the small thing in front of his face. "And why the fuck are you telling me to stop?"

"Don't do this."

"You goddamn hypocrite." I sneered, clenching the powder in my fist.

"April, it's not mine, it's yours." My white knuckles went to neutral as I released my fist. I looked into my hand and gazed at it.

"You took my smack? For yourself?"

"No, to throw it away; this is done." He rose from his knees, the needle still in his hand. He towered over me where I sat on the steps. I looked up at him, feeling betrayed.

"It's too late!" I barked, reminding him. He shook his head and stumbled angrily in a circle before stepping to me again. He gazed with pleading anger into my eyes.

"No, we can stop. We have to stop."

"There are a lot of things we have to do, like pay rent. And we don't do that too often, do we?" I looked back into his eyes, challenging him.

"I'm so sorry," he muttered.

"What?"

"I'm sorry I did this to you. I introduced you to the drug. I was the one who instituted it all." His eyes softened and went distant as though he were trying to steal back a forgotten memory.

"Don't guilt trip me," I demanded, forcing back any nagging tears with anger.

"You're so fucking insane when you feel the need to shoot up " he cried, throwing his hands up in fury. "I'm apologizing out of sincerity."

"Well, don't," I roared. He shook his head and laughed half-heartedly to himself. I glared up, anger bubbling inside of me as my eyes flew to the needle he clenched. I needed it. I wanted to get away for even just a little. Away from the truth.

"This is hopeless," he stammered as he pivoted around and paced back and forth. He was distraught. He was straddling a blurry boundary between addiction and moral. I was far too past the thin line and it didn't look like I was coming back. I was hungering to get even further away.

"Do you love me?" he asked suddenly. I looked up to his eyes in curiosity. The hunger had already possessed me past the point of no return.

"No."

"You don't mean that, April."

"Then what's your problem?" I whimpered, the tears coming back. One slid down my cheek and I hurriedly wiped it, hating my weaknesses.

"Why can't you stop? For me?" he begged, his eyes a pit of fire that now tried to simply warm.

"Because, I couldn't stop even for myself," I yelled suddenly. I had caught sight of the needle again.

"You need help," he bellowed back, and that fire went ablaze again.

"No shit. Just give me the fucking needle."

He whispered his words of plead; "Please, April, try to stop."

"When will you stop, Roger?" I hissed back. My words were all regret. Everything I did was something for me to regret later, something to make me do even more regretful things.

"Shut up, at least I'm trying." he growled in return. How did his words of love turn to words of hate? Right; me. I was his regret. He'd never say it because he loved me too much, but somewhere deep down he had a screaming hate for me.

"As long as I'm doing it you won't stop."

"God, you're crazy. Why do you say things you don't mean?" he questioned. There was the hate. I lusted for the needle so maybe he would love me when the anger subsided, but it kept me in his prison cell. Something he kept locked in because if he lost it he would fall to pieces, but it slowly ripped him apart. I was ripping him apart. I was ripping me apart.

"Just give me the needle," I requested again, a little softer and little more needing it to cover up my raw emotions.

"What can I do to get through to you?" he asked, shaking his head at me.

"Nothing."

"Please try!" he lost it. His top was blown. I finally did it.

"It's the only thing keeping me sane," I told him, "Don't deny the fact that you know that all too well."

"It's a temporary suicide." he countered. "And I'm sick of dying and watching you fade away."

"Please, let me have it," I groaned, there was no turning back. He was trying to pull a moth from a light. I knew what I was doing, but I needed it too badly.

"You have to stop." He could say whatever he wanted; it wasn't going to bring me back. Like I said, not even I could bring me back.

"When you completely stop, then we'll talk," was my only snide.

"You know what? Whatever, it's not worth it. I've lost you," he told me. His eyes were fallen from a lost battle. I had won. No, I hadn't won. Addiction won. Insanity won. He shoved the needle into my hand; outwardly I looked just as exhausted as him, but inside a possessive greed grinned. "Throw your life away."

"Don't be like this. You know exactly what you'll be awake, in the middle of the night, yearning for. And I'll be there, but that won't be enough for you then." I was only voicing my darkest thoughts. Maybe my fears. I wanted him, but this me was pushing him away. Just another regret.

"Whatever, April," he said. He turned around, ready to walk away, and as he sulked away his surrendered voice whisper, "Happy Anniversary."

Tears trickled down my cheeks and I didn't bother to wipe them. I hurled the powder packet across the alley way and it smacked into the side of a trashcan, sliding down. I didn't do anything right. I felt like I was being slowly sucked into a black hole. A hole that I created. Was I really that far gone?

I slipped the needle into my skin; I no longer flinched at its pinch. I looked down the alley, watched him shove his hands into his pocket as he sauntered away. I turned away from the sight and took a deep breath, pushing my chosen poison into my hungry body. I made my escape and it wasn't like fleeing Alcatraz; it took no work. All I had to do was slowly throw my life away. And for some unknown reason that was enough for me.

So, there that was. Chapter one. I hope you liked it and continue to read the story, it will be a short one though. Thanks so much. Love, Aly :)