Yes it's a one-shot…and it's short. So don't be cruel. And please review.
Disclaimer: I don't own Rent. Jonathon Larson owns it…so I can't own it. Damn.
It was over. All over. And as the life was draining out of my body, I looked back at the madness that had started it all.
One day, Roger and I were married. It was the happiest day of my life because I thought I would be safe with him. We bought a house, right below 14th street. Our house was the happiest, quietest place. (Unless you count people being mugged right outside our window every day, but hey that's New York.)
Every day was the same routine. Roger would go to work, and come back late at night after drinking. At first it was one or two beers, but as the years progressed, it became eight, nine, and ten. The result of this was bruised arms, legs, and head. Not to mention the cuts I received on the legs. Yes, cuts. Roger would always bring home a knife. I didn't know where he got it, and to tell you the truth, I didn't care. All I wanted was for the pain to stop.
The only way I knew how to do this, was to consult help. Not from some stupid pediatric, but from Benny. Benny was the only one I knew could help me. He had a lot of money, and was great at problems like these. So, I walked to his house while Roger was at work. I burst into the house crying, and he asked me what was wrong. I told him the story. He said he wanted to see the cuts on my legs. I showed him, and he said,
"Roger has gone crazy. I can't believe it. How often does he do this?"
"Every night" I whispered in a terrified voice.
"He has got to stop." said Benny.
I told him there was no way he could make Roger stop without putting himself in danger. He told me he would have to try.
Every day when Roger was at work, I would go to Benny's house and we would sit and talk. We would also hold hands. And every day, Roger grew angrier, and I had more and more injuries. Benny was so comforting and he always knew just what to say. I couldn't help but think Roger was not right for me, and Benny was. But before we were married, I told Roger that Benny wasn't anything. Now the song Roger and I sang took on a whole different meaning. I should tell him, I should tell him. I kept thinking to myself, but I already had enough injuries, and telling him would just make things worse.
One day when I was at Benny's house, it happened. Roger came bursting through the door. He saw us talking on the couch, while I was lying in Benny's lap. It was horrible. He screamed so loud that the floor vibrated. He threw me off the couch and lunged at Benny. Benny threw him off but Roger came back and plunged the knife encrusted with dried blood directly into Benny's heart. White, hot anger was spilling into my body as the life was spilling out of Benny's. I took the knife from Roger's hand and threw it into his heart, just as he had done to Benny. I looked into his eyes. I started to sing.
Your eyes. As I said my goodbye. I'll get them out of my mind. And I'll find. I can hide. From your eyes.
It's over. I told myself. It's over. I can't believe it. I sank to the floor and cried. Cried with all my heart. Benny was dead. Roger was dead. And I knew I couldn't live without either of them. So I killed myself. With the knife that had done all this damage. The knife that caused all this heartbreak. The knife that ended my life.