AN: I don't own them, and I have no real income to speak of, so seeing me wont do you an ounce of good.
Another Mark centered fic, man, the things this boy gets up to. Sorry if this is all angsty and depressing, I just seem to have that in me. Review and let me know what you think.
April was the only one of us to ever get something quiet right.
She was the successful one.
But no one but me sees it that way.
She was a successful writer when she moved into the loft. She wrote some amazingly dark and erotic poetry. Yeah it was bizarre, but who are we to judge. She was making a steady income. She was published and out there. She had a real job, that she loved.
Already a successful artist before we moved into our new humble loft.
April was a successful girlfriend as well. The perfect, quintessential rock star girlfriend. She helped get Roger gigs at bigger and better venues. She made sure he and his bandmates had all the best girls and guys around before and after a show backstage. That there was always a packed house to play to or have fun with.
She was always dressed perfectly, with drink, food, drug, whatever Roger wanted, she was there to give him. If he slept around with other groupies, she forgave him. They fought and made up daily, violently and sexually. All over the loft.
She gave up time at work to be there to care for Roger's hangovers, to heal him when he actually got sick. She cleaned as much as any of us did, laundry, dishes, and ironically enough the bathroom.
She was a successful girlfriend when she moved in to take care of Roger.
Maureen and Benny and Collins would all agree with that. Roger even. That was what he wanted at the time. They would all agree that she was marginally successful as a girlfriend, but she gave Roger HIV, and so she failed to be perfect. She failed to protect him. But looking at it, aren't rock star girlfriends flawed like that? They bring pain with power, drugs and drinks are what is asked for, but coming with that is hangovers and withdrawal, with sex comes children or disease. She did what was asked of her. She was a success.
Also, Benny would point out, her poems were not hugely popular, even after her death. He would say that she lacked true inspiration and true drive to be a real artist. That she simply rode on Roger's coat tails and once she had him as her boy, she stopped writing.
Maureen would say the same. She loves to point out April's flaws. I think it is because April and I had known each other for so long before I ever met Maureen. Maureen was jealous of our inside jokes and how easy it was for April to make me smile on a bad day.
Maureen would say that April failed, because she killed herself instead of dealing with what mess she had created. They would all tell me we are the successful ones for being alive, for surviving day in and out in this horrid world around us.
That since in the face of adversity we struggle on at all, we are successful.
I think they are all wrong. We are the ones who failed.
Maureen failed to make it as a true actress on any stage but her own. Because she failed to listen to criticism.
Collins failed to show his students the truth of reality until he was gone. Because he was afraid to use his own voice in the classroom. He died in a school shooting, the gunman protesting homosexuality. He finally spoke up and no one wanted to listen. I guess he succeeded in getting him to Angel, and making a statement for a cause. But he never had the impact he could have had as a teacher.
Benny failed to find the life he wanted in marriage, and failed to follow he real dream of a studio. He simply gave in to corporate America. We haven't spoken in three years.
Roger failed to find his song, to make that rock star life dreamed of, because Roger gave up. He didn't push on. He let everyone tell him he was worthless now, and failed to be himself enough to fight back.
Mimi failed to get off of drugs, she failed to dance a real dance of her own instead of ones scripted to her. She failed to live a full life, but this family would say she was a success for living each day at all.
And me, I failed to live at all, I simply exist. I have no real passion, no drive. And yet looking down at this knife in my hand. I know that I have failed to even kill myself properly. Roger is going to break down this door before I get up the courage to finish myself off in a more permanent manner. I have no reason to live, and no will to die.
I tried before and with April. But no one by Maureen knows that I found her, there in the bathroom, wrist being slit. She gave me a sad smile and we talked while she faded away. I took the bottle of pain pills she had beside her. But the medics arrived in time to save me. We went to the hospital to save April, and they took me because I wouldn't let go of her. They figured out what happened when I passed out on her body in the ambulance. I think Benny knew, he paid the bills. But we never spoke of it. Another failure for me.
April was a successful friend. We had been close since middle school when we were waiting for the school counselor. Both our parents had rocky marriages and it seems that we both had trouble adjusting to moving out to Scarsdale. We both, unknown to the counselor, also dealt by cutting. A common occurrence I hear.
She and I became friends in that waiting room. We followed each other to college, and then at graduation we left for the city, to pursue our dreams and our art.
Her words in my films. My pictures for her poems. It was a fantastic dream.
And a few of her books of poetry sold, my photos on the backgrounds of a few. But it was her success that kept us fed and in the apartment we shared until she brought me with her to the loft.
Even before our small family, she was a successful friend.
Probably the only thing April failed in, her death sceen. And that was my fault for wanting to join her.
So here I sit, with her plan in mind. I have placed my items around me, my scarf, my camera, my farewell letters. All I have left is this slit up my right arm. Already passed my left.
But I failed to plan out for Roger coming home. And now he is going to ruin this for me. One last act, on last chance to get it right, and I can not even do that. And now Roger will stop me slitting my writs. Or he will stop me dying by them.
April was successful. Her book of poems, still makes money. I promised her I would see that done, her last dark book of thoughts, the last few pages stained in her blood. I use the money for everyone's medicine and on a few rolls of film each month. No one knows, she sells rather well.
April was a success, but they won't ever see this as me trying to be successful as well.
I can't even die properly. Can't be a success. Never could.
"Fuck Mark, what the hell!" At least I got both arms slit before he busted down the door. Failed again.
Another failure. Another row of scars on an arm already decorated with them. Testimony to my failed family, failed friendships, failed love life and a failed job.
I tried April. I tried.
But I failed.