Title: The Things That Matter
Author: Lind-Say
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Rent
Pairing: Roger/Mimi
Warnings: Drug use, cursing. Nothing too heavy, but worth putting up just in case anyway. Oh, & it's unBeta-ed.
Notes: Written for a "sacrifice" challenge, but I couldn't post it to the actual community as it's not slash (I know, you're shocked). Done in 48 minutes. Feedback is greatly appreciated (hint hint...I know you guys are reading this stuff). Oh, & forgive me for any inaccuracies w/the drug stuff...as I've never done drugs, I wasn't 100% sure about it.


The walk down the sidewalk seems to take a lifetime as I stumble back to my apartment. Has it always taken this long, or has my desperation made time expand around me? At the moment, I don't fucking care - I just want to get back. I clutch the paper bag in my hand a little tighter & curse the distance.

I guess I could shoot up in the alleys, like so many do. The poor bastards are so deep in that they can't even wait once they get their shit. Well, I can. Look at me. I'm bursting with self-control. Now if only my legs would carry me a little faster.

Maybe I don't want to be associated with them. A common fucking junkie. That's not me. Never was. I don't want to be the one that causes people to pull their coats a little tighter around their chests, quicken their pace, turn a blind eye to what they don't want to see or know. No. I don't want to be them. Couldn't be them. That would mean that this habit, this...substance controls my life. And it doesn't. Maybe I can't control destiny, but I can control my own day-to-day life, & that's exactly what I'm fucking doing.

I finally reach my building. My hands shake & I fumble as I try to unlock the door. Nearly drop the paper bag. Panic & drop the keys instead. If only I could make the trembling stop. Just the cold, right? Exactly. That's what it is.

If the walk took a lifetime, getting into the building is taking a fucking eternity.

I finally make my way into my apartment & check to make sure I'm alone. Solitude; the silence is a little unsettling. That'll be taken care of soon, I think, smiling grimly.

I go into the bathroom & shut the door part way behind me. I seat myself in that small, damp spot between the toilet & the bathtub, shuddering as my arm rubs against the condensation & touching my skin through the thin sleeve of my shirt.

My hands still tremble as I lay the contents of the paper bag on the tile in front of me.

"Fucking hell," I mutter, balling my hands into fists & forcing myself to take a few even breaths before relaxing. The shaking hasn't stopped, but it seems to have lessened enough for me to complete my task. Slowly - too slowly - I shake the powder into the silver spoon. I take a moment to marvel at the difference in color - the deceptively clean-looking white powder sitting against the dull gleam of the unpolished piece of silverware - before holding the lighter underneath & flicking it on. My gaze is drawn to the flame & I stare, temporarily transfixed, at the flickering & the shift in color. The powder melts & I pour the liquid into the needle waiting for me.

I position the tip of the needle over the skin of my upturned arm, & as I do so, the bathroom doors swings the rest of the way open. That wasn't supposed to happen. Roger steps in & pauses as he sees me, surrounded by drug paraphanalia, ready to plunge the needle in.

No words are spoken. None are needed. I see his face - his eyes - & I see a hundred different emotions flicker through them. Confusion, anger, hurt, betrayal...All at once. And beyond all that, I see a sort of grim certainty. Without using words, he's told me that if I continue to use, he won't be there anymore. If I don't give it up, he'll be out of my life. He turns & leaves abruptly, leaving the only the same awkward silence he brought in with him.

I can't do this & keep him. If I continue to use, I'll lose him. And this time, it will be for good.

Some things have to be sacrificed...

I make my decision, & without another moment of hesitation, plunge the needle under my skin.