Rescue Me
Disclaimer: SECOND story time! I don't own them, I still wish I did.
Chapter 1: Worth Saving Me
It's been three days since it happened. Three days and Roger can still hear Mark's sobbing pleas. Three days and he can still hear the running water spilling over the sides of the bathtub. Three days and every time he shuts his eyes he can still see her. He still can see her eyes staring into nothing. He can see her red blood tinting the water a pinkish color. He can see her arms hanging over the side of the tub, tainting the floor as blood poured from them and into the pools of blood already existing. He can still see the note declaring her love, her apology, and his death sentence.
Mark tried to clean it up so Roger would not have to see it, tried, but he had failed. Maybe it was the tears pouring out of the filmmakers eyes or the tremors shaking his body. Whatever it was, he did not clean it up on time.
Roger came home to find his best friend sobbing and covered in his girlfriend's blood. His girlfriend lying dead in a bathtub, eyes glazed up and the ceiling.
"Roger, Roger please, get out of here. I'll fix it, just go" Mark cried and weakly tried to push Roger out of the bathroom.
Roger was too stunned to protest. He did see the note. It was taped to the mirror. Mark had missed it, Roger had grabbed it. It was a piece of paper, folded in half with his name on the outside. Roger mechanically reached for it.
Roger
I love you, I'm so sorry. We've got aids.
April
Roger glanced back in his roommate, covered in April's blood.
His stunned emotions came pouring back into him. He forgot everything, nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but Mark and the blood. He darted back to his best friend, grabbed him and threw him out of the bathroom, away from April's body.
Not saying any words, he showed Mark the note. Mark stared at it for a full minute. Not realizing the near danger he was in, he looked at Roger.
"oh Roger, Roger, Roger" Mark cried, eyes filling up again with tears. Momentarily mourning his best friend.
"Mark. You have to get cleaned up. Her blood is all over you"
Realization crossed Marks face and he walked away from Roger toward the kitchen. When Roger heard the water running, he left the living room and walked back to the bathroom.
That was three days ago
Roger still could not get anything out of his head. He turned to the only thing he could to ease the pain, too keep his dreams from haunting him. He turned to his drugs, his heroin. It had killed her, he was dying, he had AIDs, and it was only a matter of time before he died too.
He could not stand it anymore. He missed her too much, he couldn't stand seeing her lifeless and bleeding every time he closed his eyes.
So three days after April took her own life. Roger found himself high, in the kitchen, holding a knife to his own wrists.
He would have gone through with it, but there was something holding him back. Something that was making Roger hesitate, keeping him from suicide. He did not really want to die. He wanted to write a song, he wanted his glory. He wanted to smoke a cigarette and sit on the balcony. He wanted to have a shot of vodka and discuss the meaning of life with Collins. He wanted to see Maureen's protest against the new homophobic candidate for mayor. He wanted a peaceful moment with Mark, lying on the floor talking about nothing. He wanted a lot of things, and dying was not what he wanted
What he didn't want is Mark to have to clean up the mess of his suicide. Mark practically killed himself cleaning the bathroom, alternating between scrubbing and sobbing. April and Mark had been friends, they were close. But they were nothing like Mark and Roger. Roger knew that it would destroy Mark to come home and find him dead, the kitchen floor soaked in his blood.
He couldn't do that to Mark.
When Mark did come home, he did not find Roger dead on the kitchen floor. He found Roger sitting on the couch, a small box in front of him.
"Rog, what's going on"
"Mark, Mark, I need your help"
Mark's expression went from worry to confusion. "Anything Roger"
"I don't want to die sooner than I have to. I need to stop" He said, glancing up from the floor and into Mark's eyes. He reached out and opened the box. It had needles. It had small packets of white powder and a few other items of drug paraphernalia.
"Can you help me?" Roger said, eyes pleading.
"Of course I will" Mark said, smiling at his roommate.
Chapter 2: Prison Gates