Roger sighed as he walked into the loft, his shoulders sagging. He was exhausted from his long day of working with his band, fights erupting and disagreements being prominent. Sometimes Roger regretted joining a band in the first place, didn't think it was worth it. He loved his bandmates deep down, but they had been fighting more and more lately and the fear of splitting up was becoming a real possibility.

Roger shook his head, closing the door behind him. "April, I'm home!" He called into the loft, knowing that she would be the only one home. He was met with only silence and he frowned deeply, used to her coming to greet him. "April?" He looked around, walking further inside. He spotted a folded piece of paper on the coffee table with his name on it. He picked it up and flipped it open, all of the color draining from his face as he read the words written on it. Three words. We have AIDS. He put the paper down and looked around, feeling his heart beating wildly in his chest. "April! April, this isn't funny!" He called, taking deep breaths. He knew that the two of them were in danger of having HIV due to their drug problems, but he had been so hopeful that they'd be clean. The silence was becoming deafening. "April?"

He walked further into the loft, pushing the door open to the bedroom he shared with his girlfriend. "April?" He pulled the blanket off of the bed, finding it empty. He walked further in and was hit by a foul, metallic smell. He immediately stepped back, overwhelmed by the scent. It seemed to be coming from the bathroom attached to their room. "April?" He whispered, slowly opening the door to the bathroom.

Roger completely froze as he stared at the scene before him, unable to move. Everything was red. The floor, the walls, the sink, the tub, everything was stained red. Laying in the tub, eyes closed, was April, head tilted back and looking almost peaceful. "No." Roger was shaking, unable to process what he was seeing. His legs were moving before his brain told them to, kneeling beside the tub and pulling April into his arms. "Fuck. No. April. April, wake up. Wake up." He begged, tears falling onto his cheeks. He quickly dug into his pocket, grabbing his phone with trembling hands and calling 911. He didn't even process what he was saying, just begging for them to send help. He cradled April in his arms, whispering calming words that she couldn't hear, kissing her forehead. Time whirled past before he could catch what was going on, everything turning into flashes of colors and sounds in his muddled mind. There were people marching in, April was taken from his arms, there were bright lights and sirens, everything went by so fast.

He was at the hospital when everything caught up with him, sitting in one of the uncomfortable, plastic chairs. He blinked repeatedly, having no idea how long he'd been sitting or how he'd gotten there. He took deep breaths, looking down at his shaking hands, wiping them on his blood-splattered jeans. He had no way of knowing if April was okay or if she was even alive. God, she had to be alive. He wrung his hands together, trying desperately to calm himself, without much success. He couldn't just keep sitting there, so he stood up and started pacing, hands trembling at his sides. He was certain that he had never been that scared in his life.

"April Ericson?" A doctor came into the room, a small, fragile-looking man with a clipboard.

"Yes. Yes, that's me. That's- She's my girlfriend." Roger said quickly, walking up to the doctor with pure and frantic worry in his eyes. "Is she okay? Please, she better fucking be okay."

"Hey, calm down." The doctor said in that disgusting, childish voice that doctors always used as if Roger was a fucking baby. How could he be expected to calm down when he didn't know if his girlfriend was fucking dead? He wanted to punch that calm expression right off of the doctor's face and see how calm he could be then. That didn't seem to be the wisest course of action, however, so Roger held his tongue and his fist. "She is going to be alright." The doctor continued and Roger felt relief flood through every inch of his being.

"Oh, thank God." He sighed deeply, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She was alive. She was okay. "Can I see her?"

"Yes, but you need to be careful." The doctor said, still in that frustrating voice. "She's still recovering from a suicide attempt. Any anger, disappointment, frustration, anything of the sort can be extremely damaging. She needs gentleness and care, support. She needs you to be there for her and you must be calm."

Roger rolled his eyes, mildly annoyed that this doctor thought that he knew his girlfriend better than he did. Of course, he wasn't going to fucking yell at her, what kind of person did this doctor think he was? "Yeah. Yeah, I get it. Can I see her now, please?"

The doctor nodded slowly and led him through a hallway, pushing a door open to a small hospital room, where April was laying on the bed. She looked so small, so tired even as she slept. Roger felt his heart shatter as he approached her, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles. This was his fault and he knew it. She had never touched heroin before he entered her life, she had gotten sick from him. He poisoned her, corrupted her, hurt her. He'd broken her and he couldn't fix it. He closed his eyes as he started to cry, tears hitting the smooth, dark skin of her hand.

"I'm sorry." He choked out, pressing her hand to his forehead. "I'm so, so sorry." He found it difficult to breathe as it sunk in, how close he had been to losing her. "God, I'm sorry." He whispered, squeezing her hand tightly. "I'm here. I'm here, baby." He pressed soft kisses to her cold skin. She'd always had such cold hands. "I'm gonna be here for you, okay?" He pushed one of her braids out of her face. "I'm gonna be right here when you need me. I'm not going anywhere." He forced a cracked and broken smile. "I'm gonna be right here." He pulled up a chair, placing it beside her bed so he could sit as he held her hand, clutching her as tightly as he dared until he cried himself to sleep.