Warnings: just about anything dark you can think up will be in this story. It's not happy.
Disclaimer: RENT is the brainchild of Jonathan Larson and is now probably "owned" by some film studio. "Fix You" belongs to Coldplay.
When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
Mark was too bitterly angry to look at Roger after they found him with the spoon in his hand. It had been a week. The fever had passed, the shaking. Roger had ceased sweating, crying out in pain, vomiting. The worst of it was over, and yet he sat on his bedroom floor, holding the spoon over a small candle, watching so intently his eyes watered as the powder melted into liquid.
Mark could not bring himself to speak. He shook his head, turned and walked away. It was Collins who knelt beside Roger. "Put it down," he said gently.
Roger refused.
"Give it to me," in a warning tone. Roger surrendered the spoon and extinguished the candle with his thumb. "That's all of it?" Roger nodded. Collins watched him, unable to believe that Roger would lie because his body language spoke an irrefutable truth. He was cross-legged, arms dangling, shoulders slumping towards the floor. Roger didn't care any more. He didn't care enough to fight for the drugs, and he didn't care enough to lie.
Collins sighed. He wanted to be angry, but what good was anger? He could shout, but there would be no satisfaction in watching Roger flinch and cry. "Come on." Collins stood and hauled Roger to his feet. "Try to get some sleep, man."
"I just couldn't do it anymore," Roger murmured. "I really tried."
"I know you did, Roger. And you'll keep trying until you get there."
TBC
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