Please rate and review, viva la RENT! This is rated M due to ya know.. peeps getting some action. And cuz its Rent, folks. Rent. Yup. Set in the magical time period AFTER Maureen and Joanne's breakup after the engagement party (TAKKEE ME OR LEAVEE ME!) but before everything else falls apart (AKA, Angel getting really sick [tear], Mimi and Roger havin' issues, ect, ect… things are fluffy except for MoJo… bum bum bum) ENJOY my beautiful RENTHEADS!
It had been one week, exactly.
Mark hadn't tried to count the days, but he found himself drawing tallies on the dusty floor.
"Mark," Roger asked. "Where IS Maureen?" Roger was usually at Mimi's, but today he had finally come back to talk to Mark and apparently check in on Maureen.
"No idea." Came the mumbled response. "I don't care, she can do what she want, right?" Silence.
"Uh, yeah, I guess so." Roger turned from Mark, who was seated on the floor, gazing at the 7 tally marks.
"I do care." Mark said quietly. Roger pivoted from his point in front of the empty fridge and seated himself down on a couch near his best friend.
"Really?" He said in a playful, mocking tone. But he made an effort to make the comment just quiet enough that it wouldn't be considered offensive.
"It's only been a week though. I keep telling myself I'm over reacting. Whenever I get worried, I'll ask around and someone always jumps up and says that she was at the Catscratch last night, or that she's been sleeping around and hanging out at the Life Café, or that she's out of town for a bit- but I don't know if she's really around. You haven't seen her, I take it?" Mark finally looked up, and Roger was taken back a little. He looked years older- dark circles under his eyes, the stench of alcohol in his morning breath, and stubble running wild across his chin.
"No, no I haven't," Roger began. "But Mimi was the reason I came. She couldn't decide if we should do anything or not. Do you… do you think Maureen could have taken the breakup that hard?"
"She doesn't care about what others think Roger. As long as she's got her performance space, she's good."
"Everyone care's about what others think. Maureen just chooses to hide it," Roger whispered. Mark stood at that comment, his eyes wild.
"Then we have to find her! If you were a drama queen and someone you really liked just broke up with you, where would you go?" Before Roger could attempt to answer, there was a frantic knock at the door.
"HELP!" It was Mimi.
Roger ran to the door, throwing it open and then quickly taking a few steps back.
The only thing Mark could see around Roger was feet. Dangling in Mimi's arms. Attached were legs, then his view was blocked, and on the other side- an arm, lifeless, hanging. And of course, the blood. Everywhere.
Roger ran up and grabbed the body out of Mimi's hands, carrying it as gingerly as he could to the table. Mark gaped at the huge amount of blood that was all over the body, Mimi, Roger, and the pools of it around the apartment.
"Jesus," Was the only thing anyone said for a while. A while only lasted a second though, since Mark strode over to them and began examining the body while Mimi called 911 and Roger grabbed anything they had around the house to help.
The red lips, the curly brown hair, the closed eyes, pale skin, leather pants, blue leather jacket, strong cheekbones- Mark stopped breathing.
"Maureen, Maureen, wake up…" He shook her, then quickly found the source of the blood- her wrists. There was a clean slit in each of them.
"Suicide?" Mark yelled out. Roger came racing over and stared in disbelief.
"Don't… call… 911…" Maureen coughed out. Mimi was so terrified at her speaking she dropped the phone, granting Maureen's wish. "Pookie… can't… know…"
"Maureen!" Mark said. "Of course we're going to tell Joanne, this is HER fault."
"No, it's not." Maureen moved to sit up now, her voice strained and her skin so white it was almost translucent. "It's my fault. I was a terrible girlfriend. I'm a terrible person."
No one said a word. And Maureen knew why.
It was because she was right. For once, Maureen was right. It was all her fault
It had been two weeks.
Maureen was staying with Mark, though she flitted in and out of the apartment so much you wouldn't have guessed she did. After much persuading, they had taken her to the free clinic where she got a blood transfusion. It was horrifying for the three of them to watch Maureen be so helpless and so broken. She didn't even try to pretend to be strong. She cried as soon as the needle entered her arm.
"Marky, what are you most afraid of?" Maureen asked, her dark curls framing her beautiful face. She leaned into Mark's shoulder, cuddling up to his side and allowing her legs to entangle with his. She traced little shapes on his shoulder with one of her slender fingers; green eyes locking on his when he didn't answer.
"Being alone." He said, finally. "You?"
"Easy. Hospitals. Needles. Pain. I hate it so much, it just- I…" She actually got choked up for a moment. Mark was terrified. The image of the ever strong Maureen shattered for a second, and Maureen took a deep breath. She almost continued. She almost said why she hated it- why it was so terrible. She could hide from emotion behind thousands of facades, but you can't hide when you're in horrible pain.
"As long as my pookie is there, I'll be fine though," She had finished after a while. "Goodnight, Marky. Oh, and don't ever take me to a Hospital. Ever."
Now Maureen was there, 'pookie-less', and being forced through her worst fear. Mark didn't feel so hot about it. But when he opened his eyes again, it was over. Maureen had passed out, as expected, and looked so peaceful. Mark wondered if Joanne ever watched her in the morning, as her blissful face smiled silently. Maureen had an adorable habit of humming in her sleep, or sighing. Once in a while she would let out a quiet and blissful squeak before cuddling against her current lover. Did Joanne see all that in her?
Back at home, Maureen left. She sat on the roof. She did was Joanne hated- she cut and threw up. She had been Bulimic since high school, and it never bothered anyone until Mark found out, though he was too caught up in caring for Roger to help her. Joanne found out a flipped out, trying to help her and breaking down whenever she found her doing it.
Now Maureen ate little, and disappeared every fifteen minutes to head to the roof and throw up her life into the trash cans.
She had never cut, but there was a shard of glass on the roof she'd seen. For a day she stared at it before she grabbed it, feeling power surge through her as she did. Maureen didn't want to die, but she wanted to suffer. Any pain to ease the suffering of a broken heart.
The glass reflected the beautiful red color, which contrasted perfectly against her pale white skin. The blood didn't flow, but simply bubbled up. She kept cutting until she couldn't stop, sometimes even forgetting to throw up. She loved the feeling of knowing she was hurting herself- it was so exciting, so new, so fun! It was her special little secret.
To everyone else, it was like she had suddenly gotten better. Sure, she was cutting, but they didn't know. She spoke more. Even talked about getting together to throw a riot, but it didn't work out in the end.
One morning, Maureen got up very early. She hadn't been able to sleep. Feeling a little ill, she headed up to the roof. She threw up until she couldn't wait any longer. Running for her shard of glass, she lifted up her shirt. She had thought about it all night and, upon realizing that no one would ever touch her again after Joanne, she cut herself. A long, beautiful line across her abdomen. She continued there, like a tortured artist, forming each line of blood with care. She then returned to her arms until she felt dizzy and threw up again. Once she could move, she returned to her stomach. Before she could cut again, her wild eyes and crazy smile were dampened by the loss of light. Something- someone- was standing in the way of the morning sun. Turning slowly, Maureen dropped the glass when she saw who was there. The figure cried very softly. Maureen wished to get up and comfort her, but her darker side took over.
So she laughed. Louder, and louder, until the other stopped crying.
"Don't you see?" Maureen rasped out. "Don't you see!" She shouted now, pushing herself up and dancing around. Her head was fuzzy and the world was spinning, but she didn't care.
"Honey, don't!" But Maureen was already falling, laughter still coming from deep within, her screams still echoing through the building.
Don't you see? Don't you see? Don't you see?