Disclaimer: RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson

"This is a step in the wrong direction."

"You sound like my therapist."

"You don't have a therapist, and you know I'm right."

Roger sighed and stood up so he was face to face with Mark. "Come on Mark," he pleaded, "I'm sick, and this'll make me feel better. Everything will go back to normal once I do it."

"Normal?" Mark spat back. "Are you fucking serious? Roger, you're getting better. Slowly, but you are. If you take another hit you'll be throwing away all the progress you've made, and you'll be back to square one."

"What progress?" Roger asked. "Look at me, I'm sick! I feel like shit, and no better than I did when I quit. Mark, if you just give it to me, I'll be ok. I'll be happy. You're my best friend, don't you want me to be happy?"

"Yeah, and I also want you to be alive," Mark retorted.

Roger scowled. "You know, I'm going to die anyways. I have AIDS, remember? Why not be happy in the time I have here?"

"Why not expand your life?" Mark countered.

"You just don't get it," Roger mumbled. "Look, just give me the smack. Please. No matter how much you want to help me, isn't it kind of obvious that I'm beyond help now? I don't even see why you care, it's my life..."

"I care about you, Roger! I don't want to see you ruin your life, and I'm not going to let you."

"Mark, come on, I'm serious now..."

"Oh, you're serious? Well that changes everything." Mark realized that sarcasm might not have been the best thing to use on Roger when he was pissed off when Roger's fist made contact with his face, knocking him to the floor.

Once Mark was able to process what he just shook his head. "Fuck Roger," he said. "Do you realize what you're doing for drugs? Look at me! All for fucking smack."

Roger's face fell and it looked like he was abotu to say something, but his own coughing cut him off. He was coughing a lot, and soon it got so bad that he ran to the bathroom.

Mark sighed as I heard the toilet flush only moments later. It was nothing more than an average night for him.

Roger moaned and sat down against the wall so he was facing the bath. His energy was completly drained and he was still coughing a lot, so he figured it was best he stayed in the bathroom.

The only thing Roger could focus on was the bathtub, and as he looked it all he could think of was finding April there. Roger's stomach churned and he thought he was going to be sick again. It wasn't even the image of April in the bathroom that made him nauseaus, but what really made him sick was himself.

He'd killed her. He knew that technically she killed herself, but he'd made her want to do it. She obviously wasn't happy, and Roger assumed it was because of him.

Roger was about to try and stand up, but what he saw next stopped him.

April was in the bathtub.

She looked excactly the same way she did when he first saw her. A kind of beauty that Roger hadn't seen before, and was sure he'd never see again.

Though, this wasn't the first time this at happened. Other times when he was sick at night he'd see her. He told Mark once, and he told him he thought he was crazy.

Roger knew that he was sane, and she was real. Who the hell did Mark think he was, ruining the time he had with her? He never told Mark again.

"April," was all he could manage to say.

April just smiled.

"I love you," Roger whispered.

The way April appeared suddenly changed from the night the met to the night he found her in the bath tub.

"This is what your love did to me," she said as her eyes slowly closed.

Roger's eyes widened. "No, April...no," his voice was filled with panic. "April! April no you can't die..." Roger was now yelling, "April! I'm sorry! I'm sorry...I'm sorry I killed you."

Mark was starting to realize that his life had become nothing more than a routine.

Every day was the same thing. The day would start of normally enough, with Mark and Roger making small talk over breakfast, never mentioning the previous night. Well, Mark assumed half the time Roger didn't even remember the previous night.

Then, they'd go their seperate ways for the day. Roger would normally spend all day in bed, since he was always too sick or too tired to do anything else. He often brought his guitair for something to do. Mark would normally go out and walk around because, unlike Roger, he had trouble staying in the loft all day. He often brought his camera for something to do.

Mark would return home for supper, which he always prepared (though with the food they ate, prepartion was never really an issue). He'd get Roger and they'd eat together. But, instead of small talk, Roger would get angry at Mark for not allowing him smack. He'd always bring up how he was stuck in the loft all day feeling like shit, and the smack would give him energy to do something. Sometimes, like today, Roger would've found the energy to go out and buy and smack. Mark always found it immediatly, Roger wans't very creativie with his hiding places.

They'd get into a yelling macth and sometimes, like today, Roger would punch Mark. Normally Roger would start to feel sick, and end up locking himself in the bathroom.

Even though Mark's life had become a routine, he was thankful that he had something to live for. After his long time girlfriend, Maureen, dumped him, he'd felt as if his life was empty. Any emotions he felt, good or bad, were because of her. Once the broke up, Mark just stopped feeling any sort of emotion.

That was when he decided to help Roger, and their friendship became even stronger from then on, even though half the time Roger hated him. Although most of the time Mark wasn't happy, he needed to feeling something.

The phone rang, reminding Mark of something else that happened everyday. Collins always called, usually while Roger was sick.

There was no point in screening. Mark knew who it was. "Hello?" he said, picking up the phone on the second ring.

There was a moment of silence, Mark figured that Collins was just shocked he'd actually picked up. "Hey Mark," Collins said eventually. "It's Collins, how are you?"

"Well I stopped bleeding so I guess I can't complain," Mark said.

"Fuck, Roger got out of control again?"

"Yep."

"And now he's throwing up?"

"Yep."

Collins sighed. "Look, Mark, if you want me to come back and help out I will. You can't keep doing this."

"No," Mark said quickly. "You don't have to come. I'm doing fine with Roger on my own, no reason to bring another person into it."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Alright, well I'm going to go. Call if you change your mind, and tell Roger I said hi."

"Will do, bye."

"Bye."

Mark hung up the phone and sighed. The daily routine was now ever, and unless Roger decided to switch it up a bit, Mark figured he could just check up on him and then go to sleep.

As Mark made his way to the bathroom, he could hear Roger's voice. Then, it gradually grew louder, to the point where he was screaming.

He was screaming about April. Roger had decided to switch it up a bit, after all.

Mark ran into the bathroom. "Roger, what the fuck is going on?"

"April," he said, his voice quiet and shaky. "April...I killed her...don't you see?"

Roger was pointing to an empty bathtub. Mark frowned.

"She's there Mark," Roger said, taking note of Mark's expression. "Don't call me crazy, I see her, she's there."

"I know you see her," Mark said. He did know that, he believed he saw her. However, he wasn't so sure that he wasn't crazy.

Roger examined Mark's face. He looked...hurt, Roger decided. Not just physically brusied, but his eyes looked tired and like he couldn't handle this. It reminded him of April. The injuries on the outisde, and on the inside just...dead.

Fuck. He'd done it again.

"Hey Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Killing you."

Mark stared for a second. He quickly examined Roger's face...he looked tired. He was probably a little delusional. So, Mark just laughed a little. "Actually, I think you're keeping me alive."