TITLE: Sense The Past
AUTHOR: Gema227

EMAIL: Not listing it here, but feel free to PM me when ever you like. I don't bite, really.
CATEGORY: Angst

PAIRING: Roger/Mimi, I guess

SONG: "Whispering" from "Spring Awakening'.
SPOILERS: Nothing really, I don't think.
RATING: T
CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of past abuse, one mention of a character death (Mark.)
SUMMARY: Where ever Mimi Marquez goes, the whispers follow her. Can you hear them? Character study
STATUS: Track One in the Shuffled series.
ARCHIVE: Nothing yet
DISCLAIMER: I don't own RENT...yada yada yada…..It belongs to the wonderful Jonathon Larson…yada yada yada……Please don't sue my ass, this is just fanfiction….yada yada yada
AUTHOR'S NOTES: In response to the iPod shuffled challenge, where you just press the shuffle button on your iPod and write a fic inspired by the first song. The song for this fic was "Whispering" from "Spring Awakening." Overtly angst and most probably tacky, but, really, what else is new? I'm planning about 10 chapters or "tracks" for this, though I may do more if I really like them. So, with that, enjoy! Thanks in advance to all the read and (fingers crossed) review!


Wherever Mimi Marques goes, the whispers follow her. Cruel, cold voices in her ear. Her flaws; her faults being given a voice and allowed to constantly remind her of her sins. No matter where so goes, no matter what she does, she just can't seem to escape.

Can you hear them?

She walks down the dank corridor; turns. Her dressing room door looms before her and she can turn back now, she knows she can, but she walks forward anyways. The smell of hairspray and a hundred different body lotions of the Cat Scratch dancers past and present invade her senses. The mixture of these scents used to cause her stomach to churn, but, in time, her body has gotten over it. Her stomach no longer becomes upset, just rumbles slightly. Her sub-conscience begins to seek out her own smell; sandalwood and lavender. Cheap lotion from the convenience store down the street. She walks through the cramped room, her hand running over the makeup counters, every other girl in the vicinity forgotten, if for just one moment. There it is. That familiar smell. She inhales.

Can you smell it?

Her mother used to give her rewards of chocolate when she was a good girl back home, when she didn't scream when her father beat her. Numbness usually wins over nostalgia after her floggings at the club, but sometimes, sometimes, as once of the older dancers slips a square of a Hershey bar between Mimi's cracked lips and murmurs "You put up well out there, Meems.", her thoughts fly to home and she wonders if her mother still doles out reward of chocolate.

Can you taste it?

Her relationship to Roger was slightly akin to getting soap in her eye. Not necessarily unpleasant, but there was always that nagging sting at the corners; their problems stinging the edges of her guilt. So much that stars danced and sparked beneath her eyelids when ever she closed them. They really should sit down and talk, she tells herself. But it's always pushed aside, always scheduled for another day. In the meanwhile, she'll just let the soap smart her eyes. She's a tough girl, she can pull through.

Can you feel it?

Sometimes, Mimi's whispers are accompanied by ghosts. Old haunts, people she once new. Her best friend from the old neighborhood, her mother, Angel, hell, even sometimes even Mark will linger near once in a while. They trail her, breathing down her neck till she can hardly stand it. It scares her, sometimes, the vividness of her phantoms; her own personal nightmares. But there they are, every time she turns around, ready and waiting.

Can you see them?

Where ever Mimi Marquez goes, the whispers follow her. Can you hear them? Don't worry, even if you can't,

They're there.