Mark inner monologue T for language/harsh revelations.
This is probably just going to be a one-shot. It's Mark rambling about everything that's going on after the post RENT death of Mimi. Reviews/suggestions always welcome!
I watch the clock next to my bed. It's every tick and every tock echoes in my brain, driving me insane. Clichéd I know. The sound reminds me of the twang of the strings of the guitar Roger used to play. The way he used to play for me.
Before April. Before the drugs. Before the withdrawal. Before the Numbness.
Now he just sits there, on the couch, staring into oblivion. He's empty. I have to beg him to eat. I beg him to talk to me. Anything. For any sign of life.
Sometimes he cries. Sometimes he shivers. He's lost in his memories. It eats me up inside watching my best friend die. In more ways that one.
When Mimi died, it sent him over the edge.
Before she died, he was living again. He left the loft. He played his guitar. He gave up smack. Then she died. And he gave up again.
I make him take his AZT, forcing it between his teeth when I have to. He doesn't want to, he just wants to die. I don't blame him, after all he's been through. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I don't want him to die. I don't want to be all alone.
Maureen's got Joanne.
Benny's long gone.
Collin's has his classes, but he's slowly dying too. From the AIDS, from losing Angel.
Now Roger's dying.
That leaves me, Mark. Here in this huge loft, alone, with nothing but memories of what was. Me and my camera. Alone. I try not to whine, but I don't want to be alone.