Still Hurting

By: Erin (Kate)

It was stupid, really. How it happened. Roger and I had a huge fight. I don't remember what about. Something stupid, like me being too close to Mark while we talked about getting him a girlfriend. Or being too 'touch-y'. It doesn't matter. We just got into a huge, screaming fight and I tossed my AZT at him.

It seems like I overreacted but… it wasn't just that one fight. It was… every time we were together. We didn't have good times anymore. It always felt like everything I said was just so stupid, all my opinions and ideas. He'd give me that look, with his lip curled up, and I always knew that I just should have kept my mouth shut.  

After having such a long addiction to drugs, I went through withdrawal just for missing two doses of AZT. Rog and I finally made up. (There was really no 'finally' involved, we made up late that night. I was such a mess from missing my medication.)

Gave Roger even more of a chance to baby me then. After all, I was stupid enough to stop taking my AZT, so of course, I needed to be taken care of. I needed to be spoon fed all my meals, and be kept in bed. Because I couldn't be trusted to take care of myself.

All I wanted was for Roger to treat me like his girlfriend he loved.

I just wanted Roger to love me.

I was okay for a little; he made me take some of his AZT. I couldn't let him keep doing that; he needed to take his AZT. We couldn't afford more, I knew that, but I couldn't think of how to get more money and I wouldn't let myself keep taking Roger's anymore. He was being amazingly self-sacrificing, but I couldn't let him keep doing that. And yet, he did keep doing it.

"You did what?" I screeched, managing to sit up in our bed. I don't know where I found the ability to do it, I was so screwed up from missing my medicine.

"I sold my guitar. Got a couple thousand for it too." Roger smiled proudly, pulling his wallet out and presenting the money. My eyes just bugged out, I hadn't seen that much money for a long, long time.

"You shouldn't have done that, Rog," I said softly, pulling the blanket up and over my shoulders as the chills overtook me again. "I… I don't deserve it, this is my fault and you shouldn't have sold your guitar for me. I'm not worth that much."

"You're the woman I love." He was so disappointed, I could tell. He thought he had done this wonderful, amazing thing and he thought I would be happy. I just couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that I had forced him to come to this. He loved his guitar, and I had taken it away from him. "Besides, it was getting old. Time for a new one, anyway. I'll go out and find a real nice one once we get the money. Don't worry, babe."

I started shaking more violently then. Roger wrapped his arms around me and gently lowered me down, tucking me in like a little kid. "I'm so-sorry," I choked out, desperately trying to calm myself.

"Shhh…" Roger laid down beside me, gently pressing kisses over my face. "It's not your fault that you're sick, sweetheart."

"Bu-but I th…threw out my medi…medicine and that's why I'm si-ick." I frowned at how hard I was working to get the words out. I know now that it was being stressed over the whole guitar issue that exaggerated my "condition", but at the time, I was just too terrified of everything that was going on around me to figure it out.

I saw my frown reflected on Roger's face as his features hardened. "That's it, Mimi. You're going to the hospital." I didn't want to go, we had had this argument before. Right when Roger tried to give me his AZT the first time, he told me if I didn't take it, we'd be going to the hospital. I didn't really have much choice, Roger had me all scooped up in his arms before I had time to react.

"We can't afford the hospital," I protested softly. I didn't have the energy to argue anymore, though. My head just rolled back against Roger's chest and I started to cry.

And that's when Mark walked in. He didn't understand what was going on, and I remember snapping at him at one point, or replying bitterly. That's when Roger "really got upset". He just started yelling at me—for "being bitter to Mark", for refusing to go to the hospital. It was just too much.

I don't know how where I got the energy from, but I managed to rip myself out of Roger's arms and scream, "I'm not a goddamn child! Don't fucking baby me!" I turned on my heel and managed a quite dramatic exit. Until just out of the loft where I tripped over my own feet and tumbled down the stairs.

Roger didn't even come after me. He poked his head out the door to see if I was alright, but it was Mark who came down and carried me into my apartment. And it was Mark who held me while I cried on the couch because I didn't want to be alone. It felt so good to held by Mark, have him take care of me. Having someone just hold me without expecting or wanting anything.

I kissed him.

He pulled away, staring at me in complete disbelief. It made sense to me, I had shocked myself too, I didn't mean to kiss him. "Mimi…" Mark managed to choke out, his throat obviously dry.

I was just so in shock by what I had just done. I loved Roger and I had never cheated on him before, no matter what he thought. And now look at me! What kind of person kisses her boyfriend's best friend, her best friend. My mind was spinning and I knew there was absolutely no way to justify what I had just done. "Oh… Oh god, Mark, I am so sorry…" I managed, my eyes filling with tears, before shooting up unsteadily and darting into my bedroom. My legs immediately collapsed once into the room, and I just sobbed, clutching a pillow to my chest. I couldn't even think, all that was going through me was the overwhelming feeling that I had shattered my entire life around me.

I couldn't believe I had done something that awful, it was terrifying me to think of what would happen when Roger found out. I might as well have ripped his heart out of his chest, for how much what I did would hurt him. "Mark? Is Mimi okay?" And my eyes shot open, tears catching in my throat. Fuck, this is going to kill him.

I slowly managed to get up and make my way over to the window. I hung out of it a little, trying to figure out if they'd miss me if I were gone. Or just be happy that I weren't there to screw things up anymore.

"Mimi kissed me…" I heard Mark whisper softly. Fuck it, he's completely spineless.

My legs nearly collapsed from under me when I hear Roger's pained voice respond. He sounded like he was going to cry. "Mimi… what?" It finally made sense to me, I had to go. I couldn't keep ruining Roger's life the way I do.

I burst into tears again, hearing Roger's thunderous scream from upstairs. How could I have done that? Slowly, methodically, I moved through my room, packing up a small bag of clothes and important items. I couldn't keep doing things like that—they didn't need me around. I had screwed everything up enough already.

Listening to Roger destroy the apartment upstairs, I slowly lifted myself out the window onto the fire escape. I had only gone a step or so, before I collapsed. "I am such a fuck-up… Can't even run away properly."

I don't know how I managed to do it, it doesn't seem logical, since I was so weak. But somehow, I made my way down the fire escape and ended up sitting on the curb, tears silently streaking down my face. I didn't know where I was going, I just knew I had to go.

"Well well well." I jumped a little at the smarmy voice behind me, my body tensing up even more as one arm slipped around my waist and another hand started running through my hair. "What's a matter today, my little Latin princess?"

Trying hard to stop crying, I stared up at him, the tears starting to freeze. I didn't even think to bring a fucking jacket, I'm always such a screw-up. "I don't have any money, Steve," I whispered softly, his hands slipping tighter around me.

"It's alright, you know there's other ways to pay, cutie pie." I stared numbly, knowing exactly what he wanted from me. It didn't matter anymore, anyway, there was no point. This was what I am, I knew I was never going to be anything more than the skanky little Latina, living from one hit to the next. He slipped one hand down to my ass and tangled the fingers of his other with mine, leading me into an alley we both knew was always deserted.

45 minutes later, I was sitting on the bottom step of the fire escape, the sweater Steve was wearing under his overcoat earlier wrapped around my shoulders. "Same time tomorrow, babe," he commanded fiercely. I nodded weakly, staring down at the white packet in my hand. Smack, needle, spoon, lighter... everything I'd need for at least 5 good hits. He knew how to take care of his customers, if nothing else.

My hands started shaking, but I managed to get everything ready through the shakes. As the needle slid into my arm, my eyes squeezing at the initial pain, I couldn't believe my life came to this again.

And I haven't gone back. I'm sitting now, on Steve's bed, staring down at the stupidest thing I could have brought with me when I left. A picture of me and Roger the Halloween after Angel died. I haven't even seen him since I left, not really.

We ran into each other on the street once.  I remember staring up at Roger and pleading for him to hit me. To make me hurt as much as I made him. I know that physical pain is more than I deserve, I know that even what I've done to myself isn't as bad as what I did to him.

With a glance over at Steve sleeping, I slide the picture back into my bag and stand up. I gaze numbly into the mirror across the room, you wouldn't recognize me as the same girl who boldly burst into Roger's apartment and forced him to go out with me three years ago. Everything about me is dull.

I pull the huge sweater I'm wearing tighter around me, my elbows poking out obviously far too obviously. I'm dying, I know. AIDS has been full-blown for awhile now, stopping taking my medicine didn't help.

I don't want to die—not because I want to be alive. Just because I don't deserve it. That would be taking the easy way out. I'm supposed to suffer, after forcing everyone around me to suffer so much.

A month ago, I stopped by the loft. Climbed up the fire escape and snuck in through the window I know doesn't lock. I couldn't find any signs of Roger in the main area and I couldn't bring myself to go look in his room.

If he had died, nobody would let me know. It's not like I even left any way for them to contact me. They could have found me when I was still at the Cat Scratch but… I'm not there anymore. I had to stop working. Too weak.

I check the obituaries for Roger every day, but I don't think he'd be in there.

I certainly won't be. 

With a soft sigh, I pull on another jacket then grab my bag. Going to the park. It's only fitting that I should die on the streets, cold. That's the worse I can think of for me. Except this time, I'm not going to be begging anyone to take me back to the loft.

They don't need me.

-----

Author's Note: Yeah, um… that was really difficult to write, there's more coming.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

-----