Disclaimer: It's not mine. Thank you Jonathan Larson. I also ripped off the title from Ralph Waldo Emerson's essay.

Self-Reliance

Summary: Mimi realizes something. slight Mimi/Roger and a little Mark/Roger Oneshot

Roger's mouth is pressed against mine; two soft pink folds of lips fondling me as I try to lock the tears away.

He can't see me cry.

The pain can't be real.

I do my best to respond to the wet kiss, but it's hard. I'm paid to create false pleasure for desperate middle aged men and I can't find it in myself to enjoy my boyfriend's kiss. The sensation of his lips against mine is almost repulsing.

There is nothing there any more, no emotion, no passion. The only thing we share now is spit. We haven't had sex in over two weeks. Every time I try to seduce him he's too tired or too distracted to oblige; so I stop trying. Each rejection is more painful than that first week of withdrawal. The chills, the vomiting, the constant ache are nothing when compared to not being wanted. He doesn't see me any more, he doesn't care. I feel like I'm just another piece of useless furniture locked inside the loft, existing for the sole purpose of gathering dust.

Roger has forgotten all about me. It's hopeless hoping that he will wake up one day and see how far apart we've grown. He's either too dumb to realize it, or just chooses not to. We have been slipping for months and he's still clueless. All I can do is hope that it is just stupidity.

The "immortal bond" is breaking, or maybe it's already broken. I remember a time when the relationship was strong enough to bring me back from the dead. Another resurrection seems unlikely now. Our blaze of glory has been reduced to nothing but a faint glimmer from a dying candle.

Something has been wedged between us. It pushes and prods and pulls Roger and me apart. No matter how hard I struggle to hold on, every morning I wake up with a greater distance between us.

A thin rope of spit ties us together before Roger finally breaks the false kiss.

"How's it going babe?" he asks, grinning as if there's nothing wrong. For all he knows everything is fine.

I do my best to smile. "Fine,"

Communication has all but disappeared. A few months ago I would stand there and tell him all about how we are slipping away from each other and that we need to do something, anything, to fix it. Now I can barely make eye contact with him without flinching. A lot has changed, I've changed. There was a time when I wouldn't hesitate to just end this right now. I would have accepted that we couldn't be saved and moved on without looking back. But that was months ago.

I depend on us too much now.

I'd rather suffer than lose him. If I didn't have Roger it would only be a matter of time before I would end up back on the streets with a needle shoved halfway up my arm.

Sometimes I wish I had died that night. Anything would have been better than this long, slow, mutual, death together.

Roger's changed. He's no longer the man that I fell in love with. He still broods and sings and casts that stupid magic spell that I can't get rip myself away from, but he's lost something. When we first started going out it was an endless cycle of sex and passion and energy. Now, I'm just his safety- his comfort zone. We barely even speak to each other any more. If Roger had been paying attention to his life he would have realized that we were doomed and let it go.

I wonder which would be better, a boyfriend that realizes his relationship is sinking faster than the Titanic, or this clueless moron determined to ignore the water that is flooding the bowels of the structure, dragging it down?

Roger sprawls out onto the couch, pulling me on top of him: a familiar gesture that has gradually become more awkward over the past few months. I sit stiffly on his knee. My body is completely rigid, I can't relax even if I wanted to. His knee reminds me of those pews in church my mother made me sit in every week. I hated the way they were stiff and hard, and how the growing pressure of sitting still bore bruises into my ass cheeks.

Miraculously, Roger senses that something is wrong and speaks up.

"Is everything okay Meems?"

This is it, my chance to fix everything that is wrong between us. All I need to do is tell the truth- something that I used to do so easily.

"Yeah, I guess"

My mind screams in protest at my pathetic reply.

"What is it?" he pushes, not buying my response.

Maybe Roger feels the tension between us too, and is just waiting for me to bring it up. Maybe he wants to fix this. Maybe we can fix this. Admittance is the first step to solving a problem- that's what all those rehabs say. Maybe all our relationship needs is a little bit of rehab.

"It's just… have you noticed how we've sort of, I don't know, drifted-" The loud, hollow, sound of a door slamming open interrupts me. Roger and I both look up to see Mark walk into the loft, his face glowing red from the cold February air.

"Mark!" Roger's face breaks open into a wide smile as he gently pushes me off of him so that he could stand up. I look away so he can't see the hurt expression that has settled onto my face. "How was filming?"

"It was fine," Mark returns the smile. He sets his bag down on the table, and unwinds the scarf from his neck. Roger practically runs to his side and they engage themselves in a private conversation full of inside jokes and boring, mundane, stories that only best friends understand. I've disappeared, vanished completely and nobody knows or cares. I'm invisible.

While I'm sitting there on the couch watching Mark and Roger together, I suddenly realize why we've fallen apart. The reality just slapped me across the face harder than my father after I skipped school the first time. How could it have taken me so long? It's been right there in front of my face since before we were even together.

Mark.

He loves Mark.

I don't even think Roger knows it, but there it is. Every time they're together it's as obvious as sunlight after a storm. Watching them now, tightly holding onto my new revelation, it couldn't be more obvious. I never see Roger smile as much as when he's with Mark, and I never see Mark as engaged as when he's with Roger. They are more animated, more alive whenever the other is nearby.

They need each other. Mark and Roger are just meant to be, and I am the one standing in the way of their destiny.

Tears finally overcome my willpower and flood my vision. The image of Mark and Roger talking together blurs together and they become some shapeless blob. I'm not surprised that neither of them have noticed me. They are lost in their own little world, and I'm stuck here, in a lonely world full of disease, death and darkness.

Minutes slip away and somehow the pain manages to give way to a small warmth that encompasses me from within. I'm all alone, and I've always been alone. The knowledge gives me strength. Until Roger, I've never really depended on anyone else for anything. I was my own provider.

Self-reliance, I had it once, and am going to find it again.

"Roger, we need to talk," I interrupt their quiet conversation. I know Mark will be there for him, and I know that I will be able to pull myself through this.

Life goes on and so will I.

Boy, do I love me some Mimi-angst

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