A/N: Don't think this is my best effort (my creativity seems to have left me), but I've been wanting to write this for awhile, so I thought I would post it anyway.
Mimi studied herself in the mirror, frowning at the reflection. The image had changed over the last six years: she was no longer the svelte girl who had guys hollering at the Cat Scratch Club. Her belly was no longer flat and toned; her arms no longer supple and youthful. In fact, the youthful suppleness had already been replaced with flab.
She grimaced at the flab, studying the track marks that were slowly starting to fade. Rubbing her distended stomach, she turned sideways, sucking it in. "This is how a stomach is supposed to look. Flat." A puff of air escaped her lips. "Not like this. Distended from malnutrition."
She knew she should be thankful for the distended stomach, the flabby arms, the fading track marks. Not many people with AIDS lived to be twenty-five. Or beyond.
Still…there was that pesky distended stomach. "It's hopeless. I'll never be thin again."
"Mimi?"
"In here Rog." She studied her reflection in the mirror again, a slight smile appearing as Roger walked into the bedroom.
"Hey beautiful." He walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"Hey."
"What are you doing?"
"Oh. Just looking at my reflection."
"Why?"
She put a hand to her face, trying to stop the tears. "I'll never be beautiful again. Roger, I'm ugly."
"Hey…" He turned around, putting both hands on the sides of her shoulders. "Mimi, you're not ugly. You're as pretty as the night I first saw you. Sitting on the balcony. The way you were holding your cigarette…"
"The way I looked when I still worked at the Cat Scratch Club…"
"Hey." He turned her toward him. "Meems, you are not ugly."
She stamped her foot, the tears threatening to spill over. "Yes I am!" She held up her arm, jiggling it in front of him. "I have flab. At twenty-five. I have fading track marks, and…I have this!" She pointed to her stomach.
Roger laughed. "Is that what you're worried about? Your stomach? Mimi, the doctor said it will always look that way; you've been through a lot. Drug addiction, AIDS…" He wrapped her in a hug. "Meems, you have come so far. You've cleaned up; you've started eating more and…you're alive."
"But—"
"There is no future, there is no past…" he sang softly into her ear, before pulling away and studying her brown eyes. "No day but today, remember?"
She sighed. "I know, but…it's just so hard. So hard to look at myself and…love myself. For everything that's happened."
"So you've made some mistakes. We all have. But we're coping. And when things get tough, like today, you have me. And Collins and Maureen and Joanne and Mark." He paused. "And if things seem really hopeless and we need a laugh, we can always watch Maureen get drunk."
Mimi giggled. "Roger…"
"Hey, it's true."
"Yeah…"
"Meems, you're alive. That's all anyone could ask for." He lifted up her shirt, gently pressing his lips against her stomach. "And your stomach is beautiful. Distended or not."
She smiled softly, the tears finally subsided. "Thanks Rog."
He kissed her. "It's what I'm here for."