His First Time Series
Shooting Up
Summary: A series of one-shots, dealing with Roger's firsts, from his first day of school to his first time shooting up with April, though not in any chronological order. Chp.1: Shooting Up. Rated for slight language, drug-use, and Roger's thoughts at one point.
A/N: I was inspired to write this while watching the movie, as I usually am inspired by the movie, during One Song Glory, the 7-second shot that shows Roger and April in an alley in the rain, shooting up. I have no idea what happens when you shoot up, nevertheless for the first time, so that portion of the fic might be a little off. I hope you read, enjoy, and review!
Disclaimer: I do not own RENT, I merely borrow the characters and let them have more of an opportunity to be seen.
The saying "think before you act" never seemed to get through to Roger.
When he saw her at his show that first night, he knew they were destined to be together. A small part of him knew it was dangerous, sure, that it was bound to end completely wrong, but Roger had always considered himself a live-for-the-moment kind of guy. The kind of guy that lived for the natural high of things, like going onstage and performing, that rush of adrenaline that he just couldn't resist.
Of course, that also meant that he got himself into things without thinking about the consequences. Roger had always made rash decisions, much like the one he was about to make.
"Come here," she whispered in his ear, several weeks after their first meeting. He, being blinded by love, since that was how he viewed it, love, eagerly followed. What he will remember more than anything at a later date is that it was raining that night as she sat down on the high curb in the alley, gesturing for him to kneel down in front of her.
His first thoughts were that it should have been the other way around, with her kneeling in front of him, but he dug his mind out of the gutter for once. As she rummaged through her purse, he watched for a moment in confusion before deciding to focus on the single drop of rain that stubbornly clung to the one lock of bleached blonde hair which fell in his eyes.
After what seemed like an eternity, the drop fell, and April emerged from her pocketbook with a needle, a small plastic bag with some kind of white substance inside it, and a long strip of gauze.
"April?" he question, puzzled at the sight of these items. Now, he knew what these items were, several of his band mates shot up. However, that sort of thing had really never been for him. She shushed him as she prepared the needle, then tied the gauze around her arm, above her elbow, and held her arm out straight. She slapped her arm in quick succession, searching for a vein.
He looked into her eyes for a brief moment, grabbing hold of her hand, before they simultaneously looked down. Roger could only stare in mixed wonder and horror as she finally slipped the needle into the vein. He looked back up to see an expression of pure bliss on April's face, her eyes practically rolling to the top of her head.
After a few minutes, April finally looked at Roger.
"Your turn, babe," she smiled, untying the gauze from her arm. His eyes widened slightly and he began to stammer.
"I, uh, I mean, Ape… I really shouldn't… I'm not into…" but she was already tying the gauze around his bare, unscathed arm.
"You're always so tense, Rog," she purred, staring into his eyes as their faces came dangerously close. "This'll help you loosen up."
Roger wanted to argue that he was plenty loose; didn't she see him on stage? This thought was quickly banished as her lips brushed gently against his and he found himself leaning forward to deepen the kiss. She was already back to her task, though, and he was left with his neck outstretched and eyes closed, longing for more.
When he realized that she wasn't obliging, he opened his eyes and watched her prepare the needle, mind fuzzy from the buzz he got from her simple kiss. In the back of his mind, he knew how much drugs could fuck you up; hell, look at Mark when he simply got drunk! He was enticed by her kiss as she pecked him on the lips once more, and all thoughts of protest were gone.
He didn't even notice that she had slipped the needle in until he realized that it was a sharp prick of pain he was feeling in his arm. His immediate reaction was anger, and he instantly regretted letting her do this. Before he could say anything, his common sense was gone, replaced by that state of euphoria he was always living for when he got on stage.
It didn't matter that she hadn't really asked him if he wanted this, or that he knew it was wrong and he shouldn't have done it. It didn't matter that when he went home to the loft later he would hear Mark's disappointed, and possibly hurt, voice say quietly, "You're high…" or that Collins was ready to kick the shit out of him when he found out about it the next day. It didn't matter that this would lead him down a long road from which it's hard to return or, coming back to the present, that it was raining. Roger was gone, on a different plane, never to return to his former self again. A hollow shell of it, maybe, but his former glory was gone, and he'd spend a long time searching for it again.
Much later in time, as he lay in bed, in agony from withdrawal, he would think bitterly that the sky had been crying that night.
The first time Roger Davis shot up, the very skies themselves were crying for the loss of yet another innocent soul.