A/N: Next chapter won't be up until Saturday (or possibly Sunday) so...yeah. Got used to the daily updates? Don't worry. They'll be back. R&R!
Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine.
The walk back to the loft seemed way too long, though it couldn't have been over twenty minutes. Maureen was in complete shock, unable to believe it. Eleven days. Eleven days was all it took to send her life from a moderate high to an all-time low. She'd lost the love of her life, became addicted to heroin, and got diagnosed with motherfucking HIV...it was a lot to handle, and it was tearing her to shreds.
So she really did need Joanne... Maureen only wished she'd realized that sooner. A sea of memories came rushing toward her- memories of steamy nights and passionate mornings, horrible breakups and incredible reunions. It was too late now, though; if Joanne hadn't wanted the normal Maureen, she certainly wouldn't want this Maureen; desperate, HIV-inflicted, and drug addicted.
She'd done it now- she'd ruined her own life, and now she'd have to live with it.
The only thing she had left was the Bohos- but even they were slipping away, like sand through her fingers. Angel was dead; in a few years time, Collins would be gone too, and Roger and Mimi. And then Maureen. She'd blow away like a leaf in the wind. Then what would happen? Mark would probably settle down back in Scarsdale with some scarf-loving waitress. Joanne would move on, become a rich and successful lawyer, forget all about her, and find someone else.
And that would be the end of it.
At the thought of the last option, Maureen's heart sank. It was inevitable, really- once Maureen died, Joanne would move on. Considering the way she'd been treated, the lawyer probably wouldn't ever give her a second thought. At least, that's what Maureen expected.
It was all because of that stupid needle, too. If she had just tossed it in the trash the moment the Man had walked away, none of this would've happened.
But she didn't. And that, in itself, was the root of the problem.
"Rog, what am I gonna do?" she whispered, knowing that this was all her doing but not knowing how to fix it.
"I don't know. What can you do, Mo?"
"Gee, thanks for the meaningful and enlightening advice," she muttered. "I feel so uplifted."
He smirked, messing up her hair in a brotherly manner. "Anytime."
She punched him in the arm, but it was so weak he didn't even flinch. Instead, he laughed, causing her to glare for a few seconds before a grin broke through, and they were able to forget the current situation for a few minutes and joke around for the rest of the walk, if only for old time's sake. The unlikely friends. Opposites attract, they say. Maybe it was true, in both friendships and relationships. There were so many examples in Maureen's life- she and Roger, she and Mark, she and Joanne...
Joanne. She needed Joanne. She would die without Joanne.
The performer shook her head to clear it as they arrived at the door of the loft. Neither of them made any move to open it yet, both trying to prepare to go back to the rest of the Bohos. Maureen thought it should've been easy- go in there, answer a few questions, give a few hugs, cry herself to sleep. But it wasn't. The heroin had made sure of that.
"Keep your arm by your side," Roger ordered in a whisper. Maureen obeyed, resisting the urge to look and see how bad it was. "As soon as you get inside, put on something longsleeved."
"What if...what if they find out?"
He sighed. "Then you'll tell them, Mo. That's the only thing you can do."
She nodded, reaching for the door handle; she abruptly stopped when Roger grabbed her wrist.
"By your side," he repeated. As soon as she did, he slid open the door.
Every head in the room shot up, and three relieved figures ran toward her.
"My god, what happened to you?"
"You okay?"
"Where were you?"
"Do you need anything?"
"Why the hell did you do that?"
"Are you-"
"Guys, give her some space," Mimi cut in, hugging the performer. "My god, mija, we were so fucking worried!"
"I'm sorry," Maureen apologized. "I didn't-" She stopped, hearing a door swing shut. Pulling away from Mimi, she caught sight of a mocha figure retreating down the fire escape, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. Every other thought fled from Maureen's mind. "Wha- Joanne? I...what the...Why...?"
One by one, everyone in the room looked away, wondering what to tell her. She still loves you? She wants you back? She doesn't know it? "She was worried," Mimi finally informed her, breaking the silence and looking her in the eye with a sympathetic expression. "We had called her and let her know that Roger had found you. She wanted to make sure you were okay. She didn't talk much. Just came over, sat in the living room, and waited." And paced back and forth, and worried nonstop, and cried her eyes out...
Impulsively, the performer ran out to the fire escape, her pulse rushing and her head reeling. "Mo-" Collins called after her, but the door swung shut before she could hear any more. She didn't care.
"Pookie!" she shouted desperately, running down the stairs. "Pookie, are you there? Joanne!"
Down on the ground, Joanne froze. Pookie. The sound of the pet name shattered her heart to pieces. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she ran down a side alley and down the next random avenue, afraid her heart might stop all together if she saw the diva face to face.
Meanwhile, the performer was taking the stairs two at a time, determined to catch up with her...Maureen couldn't even bring herself to think the name again. Her lawyer, she thought, shaking her head. The heel of her leather boot caught in a gap in the floor of the fire escape; she yanked her foot upward, breaking the heel, and kept going. Finally, she reached the bottom of the metal staircase, frantically scanning the street from right to left. Joanne was nowhere in sight. No, she thought with a sinking feeling, scanning the face of every pedestrian. She couldn't be gone. She was so close. So close.
Maureen wanted the needle, she wanted the smack, and she wanted Joanne.
After a while, a thin arm wrapped around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Mo. She's just not ready. She's in shock. She'll come around eventually." Maureen started sobbing again, hating herself both for how overemotional she was being and for letting Joanne slip away once more; and Mimi just hugged her and murmured consolations, wiping her tears every few minutes. Eventually, Maureen dried her eyes, and the two stood in silence for a few moments and stared at the empty faces passing by. The cold wind bit at their faces and whipped their hair around, and Maureen shivered constantly (for more than one reason). "Come on," Mimi said softly. "Let's go back up there. The guys are worried sick."
"Well, that'll be a first," Maureen muttered, trying to distract herself. "Are you sure we're talking about the same people? Omitting Roger."
"You want me to tell you the truth? You scared the crap out of them," Mimi told her. "They'll never admit it, though."
The performer sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. It was just...too much to handle. It still is."
"Yeah. I know."
They climbed the rest in silence, both lost in thought. It seemed like a good place to think, up on the fire escape, with no one to bug you or tell you to stop moping. Peace- something very hard to come by in the loft.
"Meems, can I tell you something?"
Mimi nodded and perched up on the handrail of the fire escape, grabbing the freezing metal for balance.
Maureen leaned against the brick outer wall of what she guessed would be Mimi's apartment, keeping her eyes fixed on the horizon. "I keep thinking about April and..you know...what she did. And I'm starting to understand why she did it."
Looking over at her friend with a confused and slightly concerned expression, Mimi climbed off the rail, walking over to stand next to Maureen. "What do you mean?"
"You know, with the...the you-know-what. I can...I can kind of see why she would-shit," she muttered, realizing that Mimi didn't know. About the drugs, the HIV, anything. Part of her wanted to confess everything right there, but she kept her mouth shut, mentally slapping herself in the face.
"What? Maureen, what are you talking about?"
"Nothing," she blurted a little too quickly, inwardly cursing again.
"You're shivering," Mimi pointed out, now a bit suspicious. A memory wormed it's way into her mind.
"I know you, you're...you're shivering."
She couldn't... No. She wouldn't. Mimi cleared her head, passing both the flashback and Maureen's comment off as a coincidence.
Maureen shrugged, forcing a casual expression. "It's cold. Come on, let's go inside." Seeing the Latina open her mouth to say something, she faked an intense shiver. The dancer didn't buy it at all, but nevertheless, she let the conversation drop.
Before they reentered the loft, Mimi turned to her. "Mo, please...can you tell me what happened?" She grabbed the diva's arm, causing Maureen to tense.
"What? What's wrong?" She made a move to grab her arm again, but Maureen stepped back a little, yanking it behind her.
"Nothing, I just...um...your hand is cold." With that, she ran into the loft.
A/N: Okay, that chapter did not want to be written. I just wanted to make sure I posted it today.
I might lose a few of you by saying this (I sincerely hope I don't, but I know it may be inevitable), but I was looking over the parts of this fic I have written right now, and it's going to be more drama/angst/hurt/comfort/etc. than MoJo fluff. There will be MoJo, but it'll probably be small doses of MoJo that might make you hate my guts if anybody is only reading in anticipation on the shameless MoJo fluffsmut. Sad but true. :( Plus I had to cut some MoJo out because it was so crappy it wasn't even postable. I'd die of shame. Anyway. Really sorry if it's disappointing! :'(
I know I say this every chapter, but thank you to the reviewers and alerters. 'Cuz you really do rock.
I apologize for the rambling I just submitted you all to. It's 1AM.
I don't have bribe right now, but... please? Review? Even if you hate my guts? Out of the goodness of your hearts? (Wonder how many people will get the reference.)
Review!