Disclaimer- I don't own the stuff in italics. It belongs to whoever owns RENT. But I do own the rest.
A/N- this is just a little something I wrote at midnight on a long car ride, that I felt like I had to share with someone. It has nothing to do with Harry Potter or anything else on fanfic. It's just…I don't really know how to describe it. It's a one-shot, obviously, and comments are always appreciated.
December 21st, 6 pm, Eastern Standard Time. I lie alone in the sterile white hospital bed that has been my home for the past month and a half. I glance down at the oddly beautiful contrast my arm makes against the bleached white sheet. Even though I haven't been in the sun for over two months now, my skin has managed to retain some of its coloring. The rosy tan of my arm is the complete opposite of the pallid sheet, still smelling of Lysol. I wonder if this is what it will look like in heaven. Will I be the same 15-year-old I am now? 5'4", dark brown curly hair, deep chocolate eyes. I couldn't tell you how much I weigh even if I wanted to. I've lost so much weight since I've been here, it's scary. Or will I be someone else? 21, maybe, the adulthood I'll never get to live? Or maybe 32, still young, but beginning to settle down with a family? Or maybe somewhere in the middle. 26, free as a bird, and not a care in the world. Someone once told me that if you have no problems, you're dead. It couldn't be more true. Everyone I know has a problem. Cary her parents' pressure to be perfect. Marc his panic attacks, Sara with her obsessive-compulsiveness. Mine used to be my weight. But about six months ago, I got to see how good I had had it. Let me start at the beginning.
When a friend is in trouble, you don't hesitate to act. You do anything and everything you can to make sure that they're okay. And if they're bleeding profusely, you act even quicker. One day, I think it was a Saturday, six months ago; my friend and I were walking in the woods. We were talking and not watching where exactly we were walking. She slipped on a wet rock in the path, and went down hard. She fell onto a sharp rock, and cut her hand up. Luckily, it wasn't that bad of a cut, but she bled. I got some tissues out of my pocket and tried to clean up her hand, but I didn't realize I was making the biggest mistake of my life. She had a disease, and when I got the blood into the cut in my finger, the disease was transmitted to me. And that's why I'm here now. I've thought up hundreds of different ways I could have gotten this death sentence, and this is one of the stupidest ones I could think of.
I sigh and roll over to lie on my back. I'm all alone til 6:30, when Mom told me I'm having a "surprise visitor" come. Probably another therapist trying to get me to talk about my "condition". I reach up to my night table and pull down the silver iPod mini I still proud myself in owning. It's two years old, and looks about five, but I love it. It hasn't died yet and neither have I. Scroll, click. I lie back against my pillows and let the voices wash over me. I envy them sometimes. Their ability to slip in and out of a life at will, from a diseased one to healthy one and back again. But then at others, I pity them. Never knowing who they truly are. Is this me, or just a role I'm playing? I must've fallen asleep because the next thing I know I've gone from Maureen mooing her way to saving the lot, to the soft opening guitar chords of Mimi's depression.
Without you
The ground thaws
The rain falls
The grass grows
I keep my eyes closed, and think of my own lost love.
Without you
The seeds root
The flowers bloom
The children play
A year older than me, brown hair, blue eyes, the most adorable smile. The sweetest boy alive and he had been sick just like me.
The stars gleam
The poets dream
The eagles fly
Without you
I fell in love with him the first time I saw him. He was walking down the hall of the hospital singing "Life Support" with his friend Chris as they walked to our version.
The earth turns
The sun burns
But I die
Without you
A tear leaks out of the corner of my eye and rolls down my cheek. I keep my eyes closed, and watch our first kiss projected onto the backs of my eyelids, as if by Mark's camera.
Without you
The breeze warms
The girl smiles
The cloud moves
We sang our favorite Broadway songs together, even up until the night he died. He had been with me til the very end.
Without you
The tides change
The boys run
The oceans crash
Two more tears follow the path of the first one, then two more.
The crowds roar
The days soar
The babies cry
Without you
I see his dark wooden coffin, watch myself lay a deep pink rose on top and whisper "I love you, my Roger."
The moon glows
The river flows
But I die
Without you
More tears join the first ones, as I cry at the injustice of him being stolen from me. Roger isn't the one who's supposed to die. Least of all my Roger.
The world revives
Colors renew
But I know blue
Only blue
Lonely blue
Within me blue
Without you
At this point, I am singing softly with the music. I sit up and turn to face the window, knees to my chest, and continue singing. For a moment I think I hear him singing with me, but, as it brings more tears to my closed eyes, I try to ignore it.
Without you
The hand gropes
The ear hears
The pulse beats
Without you
The eyes gaze
The legs walk
The lungs breathe
Now there's another voice singing Roger's part. It is so strong I can't ignore it. As we keep singing, I give in to the tears threatening to spill over at the sound of his voice. Or, at least, what I think is his voice.
The mind churns
The mind churns
The heart yearns
The heart yearns
The tears dry
Without you
I can barely sing through my tears, but I focus all my awful feelings of loss and abandonment and loneliness into just finishing the song. Our last song together.
Life goes on
But I'm gone
Cause I die
Without you
By now I have forgotten he is dead. Forgotten he couldn't possibly be singing with me. Forgotten.
Without you
Without you
Without
You
I sit, my back to the room, shaking with tears, until I feel an arm encircle my shoulders. I just, for a moment believing it's him. But it's just my mom. "Shh, it's okay honey." But she doesn't understand. It will never be okay.
"I heard him. In my head. He was singing with me." I sob.
My mom shifts, uncomfortable. "That, wasn't him honey."
I'm mortified. "Who, who was it then?" I ask slowly, cautiously. I'm not sure if I want to know.
"Me." A voice answers from behind me.
My breath catches in my throat. I'd recognize that voice anywhere. I turn slowly to face my visitor.
Roger. No, not my Roger.
The Roger.