RENT belongs to Jonathan Larson and I am simply borrowing his characters to write this one-shot. I hope you all enjoy!
I'd never given much thought about when I would die. True, I'd felt the sudden weaknesses associated with the disease that flowed so precariously through my veins, but I'd never have anticipated collapsing in the middle of Thompkins Square Park. I'd never have imagined riding on the subway, my lover's strong arms wrapped protectively around my trembling frame. Most of all, I'd never have imagined the look of brokenness upon my lover's handsome face.
There was no pity; there was only fear and a foreboding sense of loss. I didn't want to go this way – couldn't go this way – but my body was unwilling to comply. My time was limited and this was not news shielded from my provider's ear; he could see the weakness in my expression, my eyes, my frame, my posture. Every moment of my life was a ticking bomb, death leaning eagerly over my bedside as I erupted into each uncontrollable coughing fit.
There was no more feeling, only pain; happiness was a façade, a mask placed over my withering, bruised face. Nobody could see through the mask, or so I hoped. The smiles and small bouts of laughter were no longer real – just a barrier hiding the pain and fear behind my bloodshot eyes.
My friends would chat silently in the small hospital room - an occasional tear being shed due to my worsening condition - while Collins would hold my hand, caressing it gingerly with his thumb. Those eyes – oh, how I would miss those warm, adoring eyes. I was causing him pain and I wished to some higher power that my passing would not cause him eternal grief.
There was a nagging voice in the back of my mind taunting me – laughing blatantly at my weakness. It told me to give up – to stop fighting for what I knew could not be saved. I believed the voice, slowly giving in to its reproachful, mocking torment. The only force providing any drive – any small motivation to continue to preserve my existence – was the loving words and embraces; the heart-wrenching pleas for me to stay.
I did what I could, which was very little, as I witnessed my small, supportive family crumbling at the sight of me - my impending death hanging heavily over the room like a thick fog. It must have been a disgusting sight and I felt guilty for the ache I was causing them. Collins would always try to ease my self-hatred with loving words and sweet, tender kisses; somehow, they never seemed to work. I'd have never let him know – I'd simply smile and nod my head weakly, allowing myself to be lulled to sleep by his sweet voice.
The pain only escalated. Another pain-filled day had passed and it found me gasping for air, my hands clutching the fabric of my sheets so tightly that my knuckles turned blue. Of course, Collins was by my side every step of the way, dabbing my forehead with a wet cloth and whispering words of encouragement in my ear. Somehow he still believed I would make it – it killed me to know that he was completely wrong. It was October 29th and somehow I knew this would be the last time I ever opened my eyes.
I remember leaning over the bed to vomit, the entire contents of my stomach splattering to the floor. The pain of my failing organs was unbearable and this time I didn't bother to hide it. Knowing that it was finally that fateful moment, I pleaded for Collins to slip into the bed with me – to cradle me tenderly in his arms. He mournfully obliged. As his strong arms snaked around my trembling frame, I placed my very last tender kiss upon his lips.
"I love you," I whispered. I felt a single tear fall down my dilapidated face. "I love you too," he replied, his voice wavering.
And with our thousandth kiss, I was gone.