Copyright stuff: Jonathan Larson and Rent own the characters… the story is mine.
Part 5
"Shut the hell up out there, would you! I'm trying to sleep!" I roll over in bed and look at the clock. It means nothing to me… I can't tell the time. It's late… it's gotta be late. I'd get up and go out there, but that would be too much trouble. I sigh and pull the pillow over my head. I try to sleep, but I can't. It's not just the noise from the other room… I can't get my mind to slow down and the ringing in my ears is so loud sometimes, it would wake me up. I look at the clock again and am so angry that I still can't read it, I throw it across the room. It hits the wall with a satisfying crash. It's quiet now in the other room. I bite my lip… "Shit." The door opens slowly.
"Roger?"
"I'm okay."
"Are you sure? I, uh… I heard a crash."
"Mark, really…" I sit up and look at him. "I'm alright."
He hesitates in the doorway, but then leaves. I wish he would stay. We haven't spent much time together recently… he's scared. But I know if there's anything I need, he'll drop everything in a minute to be there.
I hate this. Two words dictate my life, brain damage… it's changed everything. I get frustrated so easily now… numbers and letters mean nothing to me, or music. I lay back down. It's hard for me to walk. I spend most of my time working on that… I have incentive. I don't want to depend on them forever.
I can tell whoever is in the other room is whispering with Mark about me. My face burns red. I wish everything would just go back to the way it used to be. If only I hadn't stopped to talk to that guy on the street that night… his music was so good though. I thought I might be able to help him out, get him a gig with my band. I don't remember anything after that. Except waking up in the hospital, unable to talk with a massive headache… and Mark sitting next to me.
I finally fall asleep thinking about Mimi… she would hold me and help me forget about all of this.
Part 6
I stumble trying to walk from my bed across the room. "Damnit!" I have no insurance and no money, so this is my physical therapy. The doctors say I'm lucky… I can re-learn everything I've lost. Great, but I can't do it alone.
"Hey Roger! Come here, quick." Ahhh, the irony of it… I can't go anywhere 'quick'.
"Uh, Mark… I don't think so." He pushes me all the time and I know I won't get away with staying in here. If it weren't for Mark, I probably would never get out of bed… much less my room. Outside the loft, that's another story. I haven't been out since I got home from the hospital. It's not that I'm scared… I just don't see the point in it.
"Ahem!" I look over at the doorway where Mark's been waiting for me to acknowledge him; his patience has run out. He shakes his head looking at me. I shrug my shoulders. I know I'm a mess. Mark disappears into the hall and returns with clean sweatpants and a shirt for me. "I'll do laundry tonight. Now change and get out here."
I look at myself in the mirror. At least my hair is starting to grow back. I had forgotten what color it really is. I pull the shirt over my head and ditch the new sweatpants… too much effort to change.
It's a much longer walk down the hall for me than it ever used to be… but it's slowly getting easier. Mark's looking out the window and hasn't noticed me yet. I look around the room. There's a pile of newspapers on the table that has been saved for me, should I want to try to read. I see no point in that either.
I flop down on the couch and kick some manuscript paper out of the way as I put my feet up. It hurts to look at that because what's on it means nothing to me anymore.
Mark hears the paper hit the floor and turns to look at me. He frowns and picks up the music. I know it hurts him too, that I can't play anymore.
"I wanted you to come to the window."
"Well, you didn't say that… and it's too late now."
"It's okay. She's gone now anyway." That grabs my attention.
"Who?" Mark goes about picking up some. He's nervous though, I can tell by his fidgety movements.
"Umm, no one really. Just someone who looked like Mimi." I can barely hear the end of his sentence, and it takes me a minute to realize what he said.
I jump up, I want to see for myself, but I stumble and fall. Mark is next to me in a flash.
"Are you alright!?!" He absently rubs my back.
"Yeah, I'm fine… just…" Fuck! I lose control, temporarily forgetting about who might be outside. I pull my knees up and put my head down on them. "I'm just so tired of all of this, Mark." He pulls my head onto his shoulder and let's me cry.
~~~~~
"It's going to be fine, everything's going to be okay." I have my doubts, but Roger needs to hear this. He's starting to get ahold of himself again. I absently run my hand over his short hair. It's amazing how different it makes him look… or maybe it's everything that's happened that changed him.
He picks his head up and looks at me, his face pale and tear stained. I help him back onto the couch. "You really are getting better at walking… you just need to slow down."
"Yeah sure." He grumbles as I head to the kitchen.
"I'll get ya something to eat." I look back out when he doesn't respond, but he's lost in his thoughts again.
Things like this happen all the time now. Not me thinking I'm seeing Mimi… that was very strange… but Roger falling apart. It's new to me. Even after he got back from rehab, he never fell apart… he just retreated. I need to find a way to reach him. He works on learning to walk again because it's necessary. He doesn't want to need me to help him go everywhere. It's everything else. I try to get him to work on reading… reading anything! But he's not interested… not even in trying to read music. That scares me the most. His guitar sits in its case under my bed, where it's been since I saved it from Roger's wrath. The day he realized that he could not only not read music, but not play it either… he tried to smash the guitar.
I finish scrounging through the fridge. We have plenty of food… Collins has seen to that. He comes by once a week, at least, with groceries or money. I throw together a sandwich and bring it out to Roger. He's standing by the window with his forehead pressed up against the glass. I leave the sandwich on the table, grab my coat and go out… leaving Roger to his thoughts.
~~~~~
The click of the door brings me back. I turn around… no one is here. "Mark?" No answer, he must have gone. I see the sandwich on the table… I really don't know what I'd do without him. I slowly make my way back to the couch to eat. Could it really have been Mimi out there? The thought is almost too much to hope for.