So I just watched Rent again, but I got a completely different vibe from Mark, and I feel like this is the reaction to one question that I for sure have because Mark is my favorite character:
Why is Mark the only one who doesn't get someone to love?
Roger just kept packing his boxes- those stupid cardboard boxes made of more packing tape than cardboard. Why did he have to leave? He was only going down a floor- though by that logic Roger would be able to say, "I'm only going downstairs, Mark, what does it matter?"
Suddenly Mark was sick of it.
"Why the hell do you have to go?"
"What?" Roger looked up, confused.
"Why the hell does everyone get someone? Everyone except me?"
Roger just stood there, crouching next to his not-so-cardboard boxes, so Mark went on.
"Why is my only love my fucking camera? Why don't I get a girl? Maureen has Joann, Tom has Angel-"
"-Had Angel, and just 'cause it's been a few years doesn't make it hurt Tom any less, so shut your face." Roger's finger twitched. Mark was awakening an anger Roger didn't know he had.
"Yeah, well, Tom had Angel. At least he had someone, at some time. I've only had Maureen, and you sure as hell know how that turned out- she dumped me for Joann, dammit! And you." Mark pointed an accusatory finger in Roger's direction, who had now stood to his full height.
"You have fucking Mimi, your drug-addict stripper who only strips for you now. I bet you loved that she didn't die three Christmases ago, 'cause then you'd be as damn lonely as me, chillin' out in this shitty apartment, trying to finish one fucking song, like I do with my God-damn films. I sit here every God-damn night I'm not shooting footage and listen to you tow tell each other how much you fucking love each other and how you couldn't live without the other. You know what, you should have. Mimi would have died that night- should have died that night, just so you could feel my pain."
Mark went too far; he knew he went too far, but he couldn't stop himself. Mimi was the only thing that kept Roger grounded some days, and pushing him about her was a mistake.
Roger's fist hit Mark's jaw hard. Three times. His hand was calloused from years of guitar, making Mark wince.
Roger had never heard Mark talk like that- to anyone. He was used to "dependable Mark" and "focused Mark" and "relatable Mark", not the Mark who tells you off.
Mark put his hand to his jaw and felt the pooling blood. And it hurt like hell. But when he looked at Roger, Mark's feelings felt ridiculous- Roger had tears in his eyes and was running his other calloused hand through his hair as he crumpled to the ground. Mark's anger broke, and he felt bad for pushing Roger to this.
"I don't want to leave you flat," Roger said quietly, but picked up one of his boxes and exited their industrial loft out the fire escape and down to Mimi's apartment.
Mark sat down, hand still clutching his gushing jaw.
"I didn't know you had that side of you," Maureen said from behind him, and Mark's anger flared up again.
"Go to hell, Maureen," he said bitterly.
Her sunny disposition faltered for a moment.
"Who the hell are you?" she asked, almost in disbelief.
"Mark Cohen, your ex-boyfriend. Not to be confused with your ex-girlfriend Joann, who you dumped me for and who is currently your partner. You know, Mark Cohen, the guy you helplessly call every time you can't work your shitty sound equipment, and I come. Every, fucking, time. Like a God-damn puppy dog. Because you were my girl. Back then."
Maureen didn't recognize the bitterness in his tone, but leaned down to kiss him anyway, because that was what she did to get herself out of sticky situations.
For a moment Mark was back in time, before Maureen kicked his heart with her stiletto boots. Back to kissing her on the stairs to their apartment, completely and totally in love. But then the bitterness fought back. He broke away.
"No. I don't need your pity kisses like I'm one of your old fucking toys to go out with. Just leave me alone, you whore."
Now Maureen's face dropped completely to shock. Not through the break-up, not through Joann, had he ever called her a whore- anything less than "Maureen, sweetheart".
"You're not Mark," she told him decidedly. "I don't know who you are, but it sure as hell ain't Mark."
And she left through the sliding door.
Mark looked around the room, so empty all by himself.
"They all forgot," he said to himself. "Happy fucking birthday to me."
(A/N): so I hope you liked the first chapter. This feeling of Mark's is something I've been sharing with him lately, and I felt like it needed to be told. Please Read and Review- Angel would want it!