A/N: I have no explanation for this other than I have a lot of feelings and you're just going to have to deal with them.
Disclaimer: Not. Mine.
Wings
I've known I was royally fucked for a year and some now. It's been the best kind of hell, but you know, in the end I'm still fucked.
And now the ties are beginning to come undone.
Roger, of course, is the strongest tie by far and it would hurt to leave him. That's part of the reason I'm sitting here on the bathroom floor with this bottle, just staring. Staring instead of swallowing. Swallowing would mean leaving and I could never leave Roger, but I'm pretty sure he could leave me if he really wanted to.
I'm nothing special.
I'm just Mark.
I guess there's no denying that I'm one of a kind, but unique doesn't always mean desirable. I'm anything but desirable. Hell, I don't even like me- why should anyone else? I don't expect them to. I hardly believe them when they say it.
Sometimes- most of the time- I wonder what it would be like.
Gather the pills. Sneak away.
Swallow.
I feel so guilty, all the time. For sleeping-breathing-eating, for all of the most basic of functions. This is just another guilt trip that I've learned to ignore. Plenty of people have killed themselves before me and plenty will after, if I can work up the courage.
All I have to do is brace myself and swallow.
I wonder if they'll hurt going down.
Then I think of Roger and the look on his face when he hears. He hasn't been around much lately. He might not be the one to find me. I hope he's not. It's probably wishful thinking.
April did it. Why can't I?
He's been hurt before. It's usually my job to clean up after that; my favorite job, actually, because then I get the raw emotion, so much of him that he would normally hold back because he just doesn't like to talk about the serious stuff. It makes him uncomfortable. It makes everyone uncomfortable. That's how people like me slip by unnoticed.
But he has Mimi for that now, right? Mimi can be his new rock. We're different but we're the same. In that respect, we're the same.
They'll be good for each other. He doesn't need me.
Who am I trying to convince?
I talked to her the other day. Roger was outside having a smoke, and for whatever reason Mimi stayed behind to talk to me, just me, without Roger present to hover about anxiously. He wants me to like her, I can tell. And he's allowed. This is his first relationship, first real one, since April and April hardly counts. I don't even know if they were official in the first place, let alone when she slit her wrists in the tub.
I promised myself a long time ago that when I went, it wouldn't be that messy.
I've been thinking about this for a long time.
Mimi looked at me and I looked at her and we both looked away. She babbles, to fill the silence. It's not too unusual but I can see why Roger thinks she's cute. She is. Sort of. Not really my type, but that doesn't matter. I'm beginning to think my type is Roger, anyways.
You know, I always tell everyone that I'm in love with Maureen. That I always will be. But then there's Roger, and I start to understand the difference between loving somebody and being in love with them.
When I look at Maureen I see everything we've been through, everything that went wrong.
When I look at Roger, all I see is him.
He has no idea how special he is. He's unique, the good way. I've never met anybody quite like him- and I probably won't. My time is almost up. I don't think I would have made it this far, lasted this long, done half as much as I have since I came to the city if I hadn't had Roger dragging me along. He doesn't think so but he's perfect in the most beautiful, imperfect way. Everything about him from the way his hair curls when he doesn't cut it in time to the way he pouts his lips and doesn't even realize it. Everything he says, everything he does. All I see is Roger. All I think about is Roger. And that shouldn't be surprising.
Believe it or not, I'm not the happiest of people. I smile a lot, but happy? No.
Roger makes me happy.
I know I don't have a chance with him and to be honest, it's not really what bothers me. What bothers me is that I can't make him happy the way he makes me.
He's the only one who can make me look up from the bottle.
He's the one who puts that smile on my face.
Being around him makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me ecstatic. It makes me so many things, for so many reasons. I've never felt more alive than I do around him.
Roger.
Fucking.
Davis.
It's a curse and a blessing, I suppose. I don't know what the purpose of my life was before him. I'm not sure what it's going to be now, with Mimi in the picture. I know I'm supposed to be happy for him. And I am. He talks and talks and talks about her, more than he's talked about anything real in months. Happier than I've ever seen him. Excited. And I want to smile while I cry.
She has no idea how I feel. I would tell her, I want to. I want to tell her how lucky she is. I want to tell her not to fuck it up, but she's as damaged as I am. Maybe more. I can't make her, anyways, seeing as I won't be around to see how this turns out.
I left the camera in my room. I probably should have brought it, taped some of this. A goodbye message. Even without the sound he could still read the words on my lips, know the last things I wanted him to know.
He's going to blame himself. That's my only regret.
But Roger, you don't understand. You did save me. You gave me wings like yours, just not as bright. I can't help it if I don't know how to use them.
It's too late.
You did your best.
You did everything.
I hope you remember me, even when it hurts.
I hope I made you happy in the end.
Love you.
Gulp.