...to reviewer Abby: thank you for pointing out what a problem that was. I tried to fix that issue so it'd be clearer. Thank you!
A/N: After reading the first few chapters of lovablegeek's story "In the Eyes of a Young Girl" (which is absolutely awesome, go read it!) I knew I had to write an April story. So of course I choose the most overused story line, but I think I added some other touches (I hope!). I always imagined April being kind of weak, because that seems to be the type of girl Roger goes for, especially with the Mimi scenario, so it's also different in that sense I guess.
Memories/Flashbacks are in Italics. Character looks aren't movie determined. Everything "he" is Roger unless otherwise stated, and everything "she" is April, even if not explicitly mentioned.
Rated T for angst and language (I figure those in the RENT community can take a little bit more)
(Takes place over the course of one day, but a lot of the memories go back further…)
Alright…that was long…here goes:
….wait! Disclaimer: not mine.
"Ouch," he muttered as the razor blade nicked the side of his face. He leaned into the mirror, examining the cut. He stared at his reflection as he leaned back from the mirror. The toothpaste splattered mirror showed a face he didn't recognize. There were deep dark circles beneath his piercing blue eyes, which were a lot less piercing these days. His skin had developed an almost yellow undertone, and his cheeks looked flushed. He ran his hands over his stubble free chin, he hadn't felt this clean in weeks, but he still felt dirty.
"Will you love me when I'm old and gray?" he asked her jokingly as they walked along the waterfront, their hands intertwined. It was cold, but it didn't matter, he was with the girl of his dreams. He'd met her a week before, but he knew he was in love. She smiled at him, her trademark cheesy smile. He kissed her, that smile was answer enough.
He set down the razor. He'd been staring mindlessly at the dull blade for at least a minute. He took another step back from the mirror, still trying to recognize the image reflecting back at him. The back of his left heel hit the wall as he took another step back. The reflection cut him off mid-stomach. He looked thinner. He'd definitely lost weight. He lifted his arm, examining his bicep. His arms were thin, he looked all bone.
"Come on, I'll push you." She sat down on the swings in the small park. It had been raining, but they were already soaked so a little more water didn't matter. He gave her a push. The raindrops hit her face, forcing her to close her eyes. After a few pushes, she jumped off. She landed on her feet at first, but then fell in a fit of laughter when she couldn't see enough to catch her balance. "Are you okay?" He ran over and helped her up. She wiped the rain away from her eyes, and smiled.
"I'm fine, live a little!" She turned around and headed back for the swing.
His hands ran down his left arm, bruised and abused. He had a circular mark that went all the way around his arm from tying the tourniquet so tight on so many occasions. His left arm was considerably more destroyed than his right. He was right-handed, and maneuvering the needle was always easier with his dominant hand. He shuddered as he moved his hand across a prominent vein on his forearm.
"April? Are you here?" he called to her as he opened the door of the apartment they shared. He'd just played a gig across town, she was supposed to be there. "April, what the hell?" He walked over to the couch where April lay passed out. The needle was on the table. He grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and placed it over her shivering body. "You were supposed to wait for me." He tied the tourniquet and picked up the needle from the table.
He turned the water on and let the cool water rush over his hands, splashing his face a few times. He reached for a towel without looking up, his eyes stung as the droplets of water caused his eyelashes to get in the way of his closing eyes.
"'Cause there's nothing in this world but you," he smiled as he sang the last line, scanning the crowd for that very "you." He found her, across the club. Her long wavy brown hair looked even shinier in the lights. She was facing the other direction, not paying attention. He'd written that song for her, he wrote everything for her now. The band started the intro to the next song, but he just stared at her. That's when she turned around, but she wasn't alone. Some guy in a polo shirt, short brown hair, pushed her up against the wall. She submitted, kissing him on the lips, with only a brief look at her rock star standing thirty feet away, all alone, but all eyes on him.
His hands gripped the sides of the porcelain sink. Words were spinning around his head a mile a minute, his empty stomach churned. He swallowed to try to ease the lump in his throat, but the words seemed caught. He stared intently at his reflection.
She turned around as he walked out of the building. Her hand was intertwined with some other guy's. The same guy from before. Her face was pale, her teeth clenched. The guy she was with whispered something in her ear. He stared at her as he clutched his guitar, and she returned the gaze until her eyes weakened. She looked away and whispered something back to the guy and giggled, kissing him on lips.
"April, we need to break up." He whispered each word, pausing in between. He couldn't say it any louder or any more convincingly. No one was home, but he couldn't even admit the truth in perfect silence.
"Come on baby," she massaged his shoulders as he sat at the table in the kitchen, a cold look on his face. He didn't move. "It didn't mean anything baby, I was just so mad about what you said."
"What the hell April?" He got up, pushing her arms away. "When I told you to pick either me or the drugs I was looking out for you April! I was looking out for you!"
He never imagined it coming to this. He never imagined his first love being 'the one' though either. He was a cynic, and an indecisive one too. He didn't believe in fairytale endings, but he did believe in love.
"What a joke," he muttered. He walked back over to the sink and forcefully grabbed his toothbrush from the holder. He squirted on the toothpaste from the almost empty tube. He shoved the toothbrush in his mouth, and started brushing.
"Looking out for me? You called me a junkie! Real nice Roger, coming from the patron saint of all holy activity, after all! You're such an asshole!" She shouted, walking to the bedroom and slamming the door.
He slammed the toothbrush down on the side of the sink. He swung his arm across the counter, and the soap and a bottle of shampoo flung across the room in one swift motion. "Damn it, April!" He leaned over, his elbows resting on the edge of the sink, his hands covering his eyes.
"April, Stop!" he tried to catch her as she emerged from the bedroom. "Just stop April!" He grabbed her by the wrists, and looked into her eyes. She just blinked and looked away.
"Fuck you," she muttered, pulling her arms away from his grasp and walking towards the door of the apartment. She slammed the door behind her as she left.
He stood up. Still fueled by anger he picked up April's lipstick from the floor. He opened the top and threw it across the room. The plastic top bounced around the tile of the bathroom. He started writing on the mirror.
It's over April.
The words stood out, the bright red lipstick on the metallic surface of the mirror. He let the lipstick drop to the sink as he turned around and left the bathroom. He grabbed his guitar case from the hallway, and made his way to the door of the apartment, slamming it on the way out.
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She woke up on the couch in the apartment. She couldn't remember how she got there. Then he walked toward her with a cup of tea. Not her Roger, that other guy from the club the other night. She couldn't even remember his name. She thought she had explicitly stated that night they met at the club that she was using him to make her boyfriend jealous. Maybe his pathetic self esteem managed to block that out.
"Tea?" he asked in that motherly tone he always used when he talked to her. The last thing she wanted to be reminded was her mother.
"No!" She pushed the cup back, spilling half of it down the front of his shirt. She stood up. Her head was spinning. She headed for the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She leaned against the door and slid down, her hands covering her eyes wiping away tears.
"Are you ok?" He knocked lightly on the door.
"Get out!" she screamed. She almost couldn't breathe now she was crying so hard, and she couldn't stop shaking no matter how much she thought about it. She heard retreating footsteps a few seconds later. She stood up and looked in the mirror trying to compose herself.
That's when she saw it, the angry words etched across mirror. She broke down again, falling to the floor. She pulled a piece of paper from the back pocket of her worn jeans. She read the paper for the eighth time that week. The words were the same every time, even though she wished they would somehow change. She stood up, and grabbed the lipstick from the sink. Her knuckles were white as she tightly gripped the black cylindrical tube. She pressed the soft substance against the mirror so hard it looked like she was trying to etch the words. While the letters may have looked blurry, almost illegible, the message wasn't.
We have AIDS.
The bright red letters stung. Roger's message looked small compared to the large letters. She threw whatever remained of the lipstick down on the floor, and the container rolled towards the wall. She flung everything on the counter to the floor, and she fell to the floor right after it. She was lying balled up on the cold tile when she saw the small plastic razor across the room next to the bathtub.
She crawled over, picked up the razor and examined the blade. She brushed away the tears, and inhaled quickly. The blade was dull, but she couldn't wait for the relief as she lowered it to her skin.
She remembered how soothing the pain was when she sliced the small lines into her skin when she was younger: watching the blood drip, making her feel human, destructible. She wanted more this time. She wanted to feel more than the pain. She wanted relief and she herself wanted to be destruction.
She closed her eyes this time as the metal touched her skin, not like when she was younger, when she watch each line form on her skin. It didn't offer the same pleasure anymore, she was tainted. She was tainted by the drugs and the disease. It didn't take blood to let her know she was destructible anymore. She instead focused on the ultimate goal, not the pain.
As the first few lines formed on her skin, she heard a loud noise from the living room. It was like a lamp hitting the ground, something falling and something breaking. "Who the hell are you?" It was Roger. She heard the sound of bone hitting drywall as he held the poor, skinny, brown haired boy against the wall. All this only fueled her anger. She cut harder, wanting it more.
The razor cut deeper. She felt powerful, strong. She was in control. She could rise above the pain.
"Who the hell are you? Were you the guy making out with her at the club last night?" he screamed again, pushing the skinny boy against the wall even harder. April tried to block out his voice from the other room.
"I'm Mark!" the skinny boygasped trying to overcome Roger's choke hold. "Please, don't hurt me!" he begged. Roger let go, letting Mark's weak frame fall to the floor.
"Where is she?" Roger's voice echoed as Mark scrambled to stand up, but Roger pushed him down, not even letting him answer. "I swear to god, if you ever touch her again, you won't be so lucky!"
She felt the last cut and let the razor fall to the floor. The plastic made a hollow sound as it hit the tile, the blood dripping right after. It didn't hurt, in fact it only felt like release, not pain. She opened her eyes, but felt dizzy. She looked up, reading the words written in the top corner of the mirror in the bright red lipstick.
Her lips parted as she involuntarily closed her eyes, "You're right Roger, it's over."
A/N: I hope that wasn't too confusing. I don't really like to write exactly what's happening, but a lot of the time that can come across as confusing. I thought bringing Mark into the story would kind of add to the sort of complex relationship Mark and Roger have, and that indebtedness Mark kind of feels towards Roger.If it wasn't clear (this is what I had to fix), Mark was the guywho April was kissing in the club that night, to try and make Roger jealous. Roger doesn't know Mark.
Anyway, R&R, love or hate.