Her fingers gripped the railing of the fire escape tightly. Her other hand slowly brought a cigarette to her lips, shaking slightly on the way up due to her struggle to lift it; it felt heavy. Twilight was beginning to settle on the city. By Mimi's standards, it was early. She should have been getting ready for a night out; she wasn't needed at the Catscratch Club tonight. Lea and Dionne, some friends from work, offered to meet up with her at the Life Cafe and head off from there. If she wanted, she could skip out on seeing them and figure out where Angel could be; he (she?) always loved company while playing his (her?) plastic pickle tub in the evenings. Hell, if she was truly in the mood, she could go catch up with The Man. She was sure that he must have been wondering about her whereabouts. It'd been almost three days and she hadn't seen him. It was a new record.

"Fuck..." she whispered. The Man. Why was she even torturing herself letting him crawl back into her mind? So, he had what she wanted. What she needed. Big deal. Just because her body was craving the sweet rush of heroin certainly didn't mean that she had to give into the invading thoughts. Thoughts of shooting up in her apartment, decked out in the ratty tank top and shorts that only Roger had seen her wear when he slept over. Thoughts of relieving herself of this hellish life without it. Every now and again, she became well aware of the fact that because of that same rush, she now had to resign to her daily AZT breaks. That's why she had stopped. For Roger. And it was Roger who had suggested she try smoking more, not because he truly wanted her inhaling burning tobacco, but because he claimed that he'd rather she have a few cigarettes a day than inject their "reason for death" into her arm every time he saw her. She paused, glancing at what was left of her cigarette.

Fuck AIDS. She wanted smack.

She dropped the cigarette butt over the side of the fire escape, watching it for a moment before taking a step back. The distance from her loft to the sidewalk was too inviting for too many reasons. Her tongue swept across her dry lips as she tried to ignore the sudden cramping in her arm. Her right hand clenched into a fist, opened, and closed again. No relief. Brown eyes took in the buildings across the street, darting from window to window. Her gaze dropped to the street. The usual, crowded hullabuloo that was New York City. People slipped in and out of her line of vision, the faces she could make out mixing together with those she couldn't see clearly. It was messy. It was cluttered. It was chaotic. And something about it calmed her. She the Queen of Chaos; it was where she made her home.

Mimi narrowed her eyes. Black jacket. Wavy dark brown hair. Hands shoved deep in the coat pockets. Besides a smirk, an otherwise stoic expression on his face. She tried to swallow, but her already dry mouth would not allow it.

She'd be damned if she was imagining The Man randomly showing his face there.

She wanted to hold onto the railing again, to make sure that she wouldn't hurry off and do something that she may or may not regret, but her fingers were preoccupied trying to alleviate the itch that she just could not seem to control. Her breath became short, getting caught in her throat, bringing tears to her already watery eyes. Her head hurt and her leg was beginning to cramp up and she was so thirsty and why wouldn't the itching just stop and where the hell was The Man and would Roger even let her out of the loft without interrogating her and, damn, what was the deal with this constant itching? Her mind raced.

"...Mimi? You okay?"

Her limbs were heavy and her skin felt like it was on fire. She shuddered slightly as she somehow managed to slide her fingertips along the cool railing with what appeared to be complete ease. Nonchalance was the name of the game now. Knowing the wonders of withdrawal, Roger was probably catching on to her odd behavior. He would worry. If Roger worried, she would be stuck in the apartment for the evening. And if she was stuck in the apartment, she would have to suffer in the presence of Roger in that stuffy excuse of a bedroom under his watchful green eyes and there would be no escape for her then.

Freedom. Intravenous freedom. Freedom flowing through her veins. It was calling to her.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You were just scratching like a damn dog. You don't have fleas." Roger strode over to her, his rough hands resting on her shoulders. She felt his thumbs and forefingers press into her, following deep, circular paths across her skin. "You're tense." He spoke an obvious truth, but his voice held a slight curiosity.

She couldn't keep cool. Not while he was so close. Mimi switched to tapping her fingers lightly against the railing. The sound of her rings making contact with the metal soothed her, filled her ears with something raw, something more harsh then the soft murmuring Roger chose to give to her.

"I was just thinking that I need to get to the Catscratch in about fifteen minutes."

He leaned down and placed a light kiss on her shoulder. "I thought you were off tonight."

"Me too. But one of the girls had some emergency and took off last second." Mimi rolled her shoulders back, coaxing his hands away. She turned around, taking his face in her hands and kissing him gently. She pulled back, whispering, "I need to fill in or fear the wrath of an angry S&M club owner."

Roger chuckled. God, she loved the sound. It was lighthearted and charming, but she could always feel that dark aura, that constant reminder of a hard past. She sensed less of it nowadays. She preferred the happier laugh; it made her want to stay inside and cuddle on the couch and ruffle his hair and do whatever it took to hear more of that beautiful sound and to just listen. To listen to his own sweet, sweet melody.

But by now, the itching was becoming unbearable and if she stayed in such close proximity for much longer, she was sure he would notice her eyes watering. She let her thumb trace the curves of his face for a moment before sighing and walking past him inside the apartment. He trailed behind and lingered at the door.

"Are you sure you have to go? Kinda wanted you to get your opinion on something." Mimi stopped in her place near the middle of the room. She turned slowly, her leg brushing against the side of the small coffee table there.

"On what?"

He ran a hand through his hair, almost nervously. "Um... that song I've been working on. It's still really rough but I think it's coming along pretty well. I was hoping I could play it for you tonight since you weren't working..."

Roger hadn't asked anyone to check out his new material in months, mostly because he lacked new material. It would just be her luck that the one night where she was not in the mood - the one night where she simply could not be there for him - he decided to pull together something with the intention of sharing its beginnings with her.

She made her way to where he was standing, practically dragging her feet across the floor. Her fingers played with the cream-colored buttons on his oversized green shirt. "Well, maybe when I get back, you can let me listen to it." She looked up, and seeing the disappointment etched across his face, she added, "You know I want to hear it..." Her arm was beginning to pain her again; she quickly pressed her lips to the tip of his nose. "I'll see if I can get out a little early. Maybe Anthony will have mercy and free me since tonight was my night off and everything. So stop pouting. It's killing me." The corners of his lips turned upward in a slight smile.

"...All right. Since I can't have you to myself, I guess I'll just catch up with you when you come in later." He gave a kiss on her cheek. She could feel her body tensing once more and stepped back, briskly heading for the door.

"See you later?" He sounded so young, so naïve.

"You bet." She turned her head, gave him a wink, and slid the loft door open. Shutting it behind her, Mimi sighed. She rubbed at the goosebumps that had risen on her arms. Just because she was a good liar didn't mean she enjoyed flaunting her skill on people who were close to her.

She hurried down the stairwell, rushing through the door and immediately finding solace in the busy sidewalks. Her destination was already set in mind and it was definitely not the Catscratch Club that she planned to visit. She was weak. She was giving in. She didn't care. Forget regret, right?

The aches of her body began to subside bit by bit as she came closer to the end of her walk. Relief was on its way and damn, she would enjoy it. The Catscratch came into view across the street from where The Man stood, tall and commanding, yet shrouded in the obscurity that New York City often covered its residents with. Her stomach twisted. Her eyes finally turned away from the horrid building, focusing on the source of her continuous torment in a dark corner of the alley. She was doing what was best. She got her freedom; Roger got to listen to her sing the lullaby that he believed rang true.

God bless just playing the melody.

-x-x-x-

Uhm... maybe trying to write fanfiction between 12 am and 7:30 am isn't such a good thing... XD

This pointless, occasionally rambly thing was just my way of easing back into world. I haven't provided anything nice in over a year, I'd say, and with June 26 being my one year RENT anniversary (yes, I am a Baby RENThead) and the fact that I just saw RENT on July 5, I figured I owed it to RENT and to myself to put up SOMETHING, crappy or not. XD I'm rusty, most assuredly.

Reviews are like kisses: I'd love a thousand sweet ones. :o)

Constructive criticism works, too.

And unless you're Flame Rising, keep your flames to yourself. Haha.

Oh, and btw: New Penname. Because.. it isn't 2006 anymore. XD

- Trish (formerly Unmei06)