Chapter Ten: Will I
Disclaimer: I still do not own RENT.
Note: Sorry it took so long to update. I…don't really have any reason why, except that this has got to be my least favorite song in the entire musical and, as such, an incredibly short chapter…
I was sitting next to Roger on our windowsill and was just about to start lecturing him when our phone decided to ring.
"SPEAK."
"Mark, Roger, it's Benny," Benny said. Hm, he never calls. Is he just doing this to forestall my lecture so that Roger will be in a better mood and hopefully not kill him the next time they meet? Very possible. Although how in the world Benny would even know…He wouldn't risk giving himself cancer…Cameras? He bugged us? Wouldn't put it past him…
"Look, you've still got a few hours to stop Maureen's protest." Yeah, who does he think I am? Superman? There's no way in hell anything short of a horrific natural disaster decimating the Alphabet City during the performance could stop Maureen's protest. And even then only because she would attract more attention by changing it to be a show about said natural disaster instead. And even THEN she'd still reschedule.
"My offer expires after dark." Really? Benny's oh-so-generous offer to not evict us, his oldest and dearest friends, if we stopped Maureen's protest expires after the protest happens? I seriously never would have guessed that. Benny's message ended there. He didn't even wish us a Merry Christmas! I mean, even if he is trying to turn us into backstabbers like him and/or evict us and thus force us to take responsibility for ourselves and get real jobs, that's no reason to be rude!
"Hey," I said quickly, just in case Benny paid someone else to call us. He does that, you know, when he's bored or wants to interrupt dramatic moments. He's hired politicians, hookers, librarians, zoologists…Pretty much anyone he can think of. And even though I AM straight, thank you very much, let me tell you, there is nothing quite so disturbing as answering the phone only to hear the unmistakable sounds of phone sex.
"How are you doing?" You haven't moved for almost two hours and I'm beginning to think that one of three things happened:
1) There's a Basilisk in the pipes of the building. Wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. I mean, after all, everything else under the sun seems to be in our plumbing and everyone under this roof seems to possess magical powers.
2) That new 'lamp' Maureen gave me is not, in fact, a lamp but a Gorgon head, like I've suspected all along. I mean, Roger keeps insisting I'm imagining things, but we've been getting an awful lot of pigeons just drop dead after looking through our window. Although, to be fair, that could also technically be a secret security system Benny installed to prevent us from climbing out the window to escape when he wants to come talk to us and bother us about our rent. And if Roger really didn't believe me, he wouldn't put on mirrored sunglasses before looking it its general direction.
3) He's being 'distant' and is waiting for me to drag what happened out of him. Yes, drag, because even though God knows he wants to talk about it, he still won't do it voluntarily.
Taking a gamble and assuming it was option three (after all, if it wasn't, he wouldn't be able to hear me and tell me I'm wrong, so it's a pretty safe assumption. Just to be on the safe side, though, I'd better find those sunglasses…), I began, "Look, about last night—"
Predictably, Roger cut me off. "I don't want to talk about it."
Ha, right. If he didn't want to talk about it, he'd have just left the room without a word. What he REALLY means is, 'I want to talk about my feelings, but I'm too much indoctrinated into the gender roles of our society to admit that and as such, I require you to force me to do what I want to do in the first place. And no, I won't act grateful. Ever.'
Well, tough luck, Roger, I'm really not in the mood right now. Still, though, you are my best friend, so I suppose I can try and help. In a very roundabout sort of way. "You know, Mimi's going to be at Maureen's show tonight. You should come too. I'd hate to see you pass up something that could be good for you. You'll only regret it."
And by 'you'll only regret it' I mean, 'dude, stop sulking, it's been six months and you REALLY need to leave the flat so I can get a vacuum in there.' Yes. I'm not quite sure how this happened, but Roger has a vacuum phobia. As with most things in life, Roger blames Benny. He said that when they had to go places together and Roger wouldn't put on his socks, Benny told him that if he didn't, then the vacuum would eat his feet. It worked, granted, but caused bigger problems in the long run.
I'm not entirely sure I believe Roger's explanation though. Not that I don't believe that Benny would issue a threat like that or anything, it's just that they didn't actually meet until they were fifteen. But hey, go figure.
"I'll live," I assure Mark. He raises an eyebrow. He doesn't believe me. He NEVER believes me, despite the fact I haven't died yet. Well, there was that one time…But the doctors brought me back to life with a defibrillator. Unfortunately, I was wet on the time. And being brought back to life while on fire is NOT a pleasant sensation, let me tell you.
"Right," Mark says shortly, probably realizing that, given my incredibly emoness right now, further elaborating would not be could to ensure that he would live. You know, I just realized it's been, what, fifteen hours since Mark met Joanne and he STILL hasn't given me her number. I wonder if that's intentional, to ensure that I can't kill him yet. Although, knowing him, he probably recorded Joanne giving him her number. Then again, while I freely admit I know nothing about cameras, I thought the kind of camera Mark has doesn't do sound. If that's the case, though, then why does he keep talking to it? I think perhaps Mark has mental problems.
Mark left after, that, probably scared by the look in my eye, and I laid down, trying to take a nap. I mean, I know naps aren't very Emo, but hey, I was up all night angsting about Mimi and singing about my tragic inability to write a song. It didn't really work, though, as the minute I closed my eyes, I started hearing voices. In my head. Which is generally not a good sign, especially if you're not on drugs.
"Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?"
Over and over and over again came the song. And worse yet: the song was repetitive, kind of like the Song that Never Ends. Oh god, it's only been about two minutes and already I'm getting a headache. Stupid green rock, I'm adding this to my reasons of why I'm killing Bennydict Arnold.
Oh God, I can't take this anymore! I just can't risk having to hear this song nonstop for the rest of my natural life! I may be forced to do something drastic. And since April already did the whole suicide thing, I can't do it, or else it'll look like I'm not original enough to find my own solutions for my problems. That's okay, though, I know something almost as good. Wait for it, wait for it…I, Roger Davies, will leave my apartment for the first time in half a year.
Not counting last night, of course, because that was just dealing with Benny and as such not nearly a monumental enough occasion. Now, if I could only find my coat…
The song kept on going on and on and to tell you the truth, my three-second attention span couldn't take it. And yes, I have a short attention span, surprising though that may sound. I mean, if I had a longer one, I wouldn't really feel the need to stalk everyone in sight, now would I?
Just as I was about to make a break for it, who should come in then…Wait, is that...? It can't be…But…ROGER? I gape at him and he just rolls his eyes and starts singing. I'm not sure what he could possibly be here for, unless, of course, it's to stop the singing. If that's the case, then his presence does indeed have the desired effect as everyone quickly shuts up and stares at Roger in wonder. Man, you'd think he hadn't left the loft in half a year or something.
As quickly as we possibly could without appearing rude or (worse) desperate, the four of us beat a very hasty retreat.
"I'm so glad you came, man," Collins told Roger sincerely and clapped him on the back, his eyes shining like Roger was some kind of god or something. Hm, guess Collins was getting bored, too. Still, I think he's kind of overreacting.
"I'm proud of you," I told Roger, not overreacting at all. Roger did just save us from the sing-along-that-never-ends, after all. Only Anger didn't seem to be thanking Roger on hands and knees, but then, as she's already established, she likes sing-alongs. Well, it takes all kinds, I guess.
To Be Continued…
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