Got this idea while reading another RENTfic and I got bored enough to write it. Enjoy!
It had been twenty-seven hours since Mark had last slept or eaten anything, but he didn't notice. He was close to finished his newest film and wasn't content on stopping, unless he had to piss, but that was totally acceptable. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stifled a yawn and pulled out another roll of film.
Ring.
Mark ignored the phone, continuing to view his footage. It pained him to see shots of Angel and Mimi, and especially Roger. Mark knew he wouldn't be here forever. Mark bit his lip and waited for the answering machine to pick up the call.
"Speeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaak." Came the answering machine.
Mark smiled, remembering the day he and Roger had recorded that.
Suddenly, the desperate voice of Collins filled the air. "Mark, man, pick up the phone. There's been an accident-"
That was all Mark needed to hear. Nearly knocking over his camera, the man raced over to the phone and rapidly picked it up. "Hello? Collins?" he said frantically.
"Mark, thank god. Listen man, there was an accident-" Collins began.
"I fucking know that already!" Mark interrupted, "Tell me what happened!"
"Chill. Anyway, Roger got mugged. I…I tried to help. He'd already begun to lose a lot of blood by the time I showed up but he was still going strong. Then they, god, they held me back and shot him down then and there. I called 911 and they're trying everything, but they don't think he'll make it through the night. Wait, hold on Mark, here comes the doctor-"
Mark's eyes felt like they were going to fall out his eyes were so wide. And his heart was thumping loudly. Oh god, not Roger. Not his best friend. He couldn't live without Roger. Mark tried to decipher the almost inaudible mumbling of the doctor and Collins, but was unsuccessful.
"Hey Mark," Collins said, his voice cracking, "Scratch that."
"So he's gonna be okay?" Mark asked hopefully.
"Mark," Collins said cautiously, choosing his words carefully, "Roger didn't make it. He's gone buddy. I'm sorry Mark, but I've gotta call Maureen and Joanne. Why don't you come over to the hospital?"
Mark nodded, his eyes welling with tears. "Okay," he squeaked, hanging up the phone.
Mark sat down on the couch, dazed. The news still hadn't sunken in. He went to bathroom, feeling like his innards were going to force their way out of his mouth. But they didn't. The bathroom only reminded Mark of April. The room was, once again, in his eyes, covered with the bright red blood, smeared across the walls and floor. Except, instead of 'We've got AIDS' written in blood, it was 'There was an accident, Roger's gone' over and over, all over…everything.
Mark sat down abruptly, moaning and burying his head in his hands, allowing the tears to fall bitterly. Roger was gone. Roger was gone. Roger was…dead. Mark cringed at the word. Death was such a painful word. The tears fell faster, blurring Mark's vision. How could he live in a world without Roger? Without his best friend? How? He couldn't, that's how. Mark wiped his nose, wishing he could be brave like April. He was too much of a coward to kill himself. So he'd stick it out. It gave a whole new meaning to hell on earth.
It hadn't even been the rocker's time yet. Sure, Mark knew he was going to die, but not like this, not now! Mark slowly got up, swearing revenge on the punk-ass bitches that'd killed his best friend, slightly laughing, knowing he'd never do what he planned to.
Wrapping his scarf carefully around his neck and tugging on his jacket, Mark his way out the door in a rush with his bike.
…
When he reached the hospital, Mark nearly fell off his bike. Great, he was seeing things. There stood Roger, perfectly intact, looking like he always did. Mark cautiously got off his bike and approached Roger…angel Roger?…and reached out.
"Are you real?" He asked.
Roger laughed. "Of course I am. And I have good news for you. I didn't really die."
Mark stood there blankly. "Roger…?"
Roger gave his friend a hug. "I know I'm not going to be around for much longer Mark," he said into his friends ear, "I wanted to prepare you for when I really am gone. Please don't do what I did with April. Promise me."
Mark stared into Roger's pleading, green eyes. "I promise."
…
Mark threw a handful of dirt on Roger's grave. His friend's real time had come, and now he had joined Angel and Mimi. It was a sunny, warm April day, just how Roger liked it. Mark closed his eyes, allowing the wind to ruffle his hair, remembering what had taken place in the loft not too long ago…
Mark kicked the wall, yelling profanity at the top of his lungs. That cold had turned into pneumonia and finally taken Roger to the other side.
"Why?" Mark yelled, punching the thin wall, creating a small dent, "Why did you go?"
Mark cried and cried, trying to find an outlet for his rage and sorrow. Something…anything…but nothing could quench his emotions.
Mark eyed something sparkling on the kitchen counter- a knife. A satanic and maniacal look in his eye, Mark picked it up.
"I'm not going to be a coward," he whispered.
Mark opened his eyes, squinting in the sunlight. He swore he saw Roger sitting on his grave, playing his fender guitar. Roger looked up and smiled before disappearing.
"I promise."