Drugs and AIDS and poverty... Maureen isn't used to this. She didn't grow up here, in the heart of Bohemia. She grew up on a street where all the houses looked the same, where gay was an insult, where all the roses were red or white or maybe yellow.
But it doesn't matter where she grew up, because she's good at adapting. Or, at least, she can be. When it comes to friends, you do what you have to. She learned that early, not through her parents' teaching, but through her parents' hatred.
If April wants to make herself bleed, Maureen is going to clean it up.
If April wants to shoot up, Maureen is going to ignore the track marks.
Maureen takes care of her friends.
But April is bleeding every day, and she still won't get a test.
Maureen cleans it up anyway.
This is how the innocent die, she thinks as she runs her fingers over the track marks, April asleep in her lap. The guilt is immediate.
Maureen doesn't pretend she's worthy to judge the innocent. She's seen too much fake innocence in her life.
The black rose April gave her for Valentine's day is dead, now, but Maureen keeps the crumbling flower in her bottom dresser drawer anyway, letting the falling bits shower things she never takes out: old presents from her parents, clothing she refuses to admit she's outgrown, a sweatshirt stolen from April's boxes when she moved in.
She'd never gotten a black rose before. It was more beautiful than any red rose, blushingly presented by a fumbling boy who may or may not want to do more than kiss goodnight. More precious than any jewelry payment for her body.
She was wearing a black dress that everyone said made her look like a nightclub singer when April came home with it. Sometimes she puts that back on and takes out the rose to look at, when she's home alone. She pretends she's a tragic, sultry heroine. Velma Kelly. Roxie Hart.
Men everywhere, jazz everywhere, booze everywhere, life everywhere...
And death. They forgot death.
Death is everywhere in the Loft. Clinging to the corners. Hiding in the shadows. Coming for Collins. Tempting Roger. Tempting April.
Tempting Maureen.
She disgusts herself with her own thoughts. Thoughts of make herself bleeding. Thoughts of taking April's stash. Thoughts of using it.
Thoughts she'll never go through with. Not while April is alive.
As long as April is alive, she'll fill the craving for darkness with black roses, and she'll only bleed when the thorns prick her.
As long as April bleeds, Maureen will clean up after her.
This is how the innocent die: fixing the broken, fixing the tainted.
But then again, Maureen isn't innocent.
