A/N: This idea first struck me a while back. It's by no means completely original, but I wanted to give my interpretation, throw some ideas out there, you know… I don't find this easy to write, which may or may not show, I'm not sure. Feedback is welcome, but if you're going to criticise, please be constructive. I haven't written a series in years (seriously), so I'm a little rusty: go easy on me! This won't be a very long story, but I'm going to take you from just before April's death, up to the start of Rent. Hopefully. And yep, this talks about the suicide a lot. If you don't like that, please don't read.

So, um… enjoy?

Disclaimer: I don't own Rent or any of its characters. Incidentally, I don't own emotion, either. Isn't that interesting?

-- -- --

"So, spill," Maureen chirped, flopping down on the sofa opposite April. Her curls fell about her face messily, her top had ridden up past her belly button, and a piece of gum rolled about in her slightly open mouth.

April couldn't help but smile. The image only reminded her of one of the reasons she wasn't going to tell Maureen: she wouldn't be able to handle it. She was so young, carefree, and yes, dramatic. April didn't want that. She wanted to go quietly, without having to put up with the offers of support. Her mind was made up, though her stomach clenched at the thought. "What do you mean, spill?"

Maureen groaned and rolled her eyes, "I'm your best friend, I think I can tell when something's bothering you." April raised her eyebrow and shook her head. "First, you didn't want to go out, and then you let Roger go without you, and then you told me to go. You hate being alone."

"Shows how well you know me."

The brunette looked momentarily affronted, and then she sat up and glared at April, her eyes sparkling. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, Ericsson. You're just trying to upset me so I'll leave. I want to know why."

"I don't like you."

Maureen laughed softly and April grinned.

"What's he done?"

"Who?"

"Roger, dumb ass. Unless there's another 'he' in your life?"

"There's The Man," April shrugged casually, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she glanced at her friend. Maureen's eyes immediately hardened, and her jaw clenched as she pulled her shirt down to where it was supposed to be.

Glaring at April through the curtain of hair that had fallen to bar her vision, Maureen spat, "That's not funny."

"True, though."

"Do you have to be so fucking proud of it?" She stood suddenly, an arm gesturing angrily. April laughed, and Maureen groaned and slumped back to her seat, fixing a disapproving frown on her face. "I know what you're doing, April. You're deflecting, trying to rile me so I'll forget that something's bothering you."

"So sue me," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. She didn't want to argue with Maureen, not now, but she also didn't want to allow cold feet the time to develop. It'd taken her long enough to convince herself that this path was the right one for her, for she was sure she couldn't handle the information she'd received a fortnight ago, and she was certainly not strong enough to live with it.

Maureen staying behind whilst all the others went out was an obstacle that, much to her annoyance, she had not foreseen. No, in her mind, it'd all worked out perfectly: she'd pretend to be sick, she'd apologise, she'd say that she loved them all, she'd tell them to go on and have a good time without her. They would. Then, she would do it.

"You're pissing me off," Maureen sighed, pulling on a pair of worn black boots, "For weeks, you have been really moody… and yet, I'm determined to help you." Grinning, she stood up and offered a hand to her friend, nodding her head towards the door, "Come on, junk food calls. We won't tell the guys."

To them, spending money on things that Mark and Roger didn't consider as 'essentials' was a game, making them feel young and irresponsible and naughty. They enjoyed hiding empty bottles of alcohol and pizza boxes and wrappers of chocolate bars. They had a box in which they kept the CDs they bought, and when they got new clothes, they pretended they'd always had them and would chastise Mark and Roger for not being good enough boyfriends if they claimed otherwise. And then, when it came to paying for their share of the groceries or bills, they'd bat their eyelids, blush and bite their lips and immediately be let off the hook.

But Maureen's bright, mischievous smile wasn't matched as it usually was. Instead, April avoided the hazel eyes and shook her head. "I told you, I've got a killer cold. You think I'm going out there tonight?"

Huffing, Maureen retracted her hand and stuffed it in her pocket. Her brows furrowed slightly as she tried not to be overly concerned, to convince herself that she could help April through whatever this was with the assistance of sugar and liquor. This was April, she lived how she wanted to: the wild, Bohemian lifestyle. Perhaps it was just catching up with her, and she was tired. She's April, she'll be fine, Maureen reasoned, heading to the door.

"Fine. I'll go, and you better pray nothing happens to me out there. God only knows what could happen to a girl who wanders the streets this late, alone!" She glanced back at April, who fixed a smile on her face. "And when I get back, be ready to start getting yourself sorted with the help of Aunt Maureen."

Then, she blew April a kiss and closed the door, unaware that she'd just seen her best friend alive for the last time.

-

April tried to stop herself from looking at Maureen, but she couldn't help but glance up just in time to catch the kiss Maureen sent her through the air. She giggled softly, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She was nervous and upset, thinking a lot about how she was going to make the others feel, reminding herself how much this was going to hurt them.

Put yourself first, April.

So she did. She scribbled the note frantically, feeling sick to her stomach at how unfair she was being to Roger. She should have had the decency to tell him.

She was a coward.

The first cut was short and shallow, a preparation. Blood pooled beneath the surface, but didn't spill. The second cut was quick and merciless. The blade tore through her skin, deeper than she anticipated, and she swayed, blinking slowly. She heaved as she looked down at the bloody gash. The third cut made April double over and throw up. Her whole body quaked, making the cut of the second wrist shaky and painful.

A few more minutes of blurred vision, relentless cutting…

After that, there was nothing.