A/N: Well, I hope you guys had as much fun reading this as I had writing it. Thanks for all the reviews! =) Reviews make me smile.
I left the end of this as it is so that the reader can decide how it really ends. Enjoy!
Epilogue: Happy Birthday, April
Roger watched as Mark walked away.
When his small, thin body finally disappeared from his sight, Roger turned around and looked at April's gravestone.
He had known how Mark felt about April.
About how he still felt for her.
Before Collins had died, he had whispered the secret into Roger's ear, telling him to watch over Mark, to make sure that he didn't follow in her footsteps because he.....
Nine years, five therapists.
Three suicide attempts.
Countless nights of waking up to the sound of Mark replaying his films of her, over and over again.
Roger shook his head.
"My fault." he whispered. "April, it was my fault and he blames himself. He loves you so much... he just can't let you go. It's not right."
He imagined her nodding her head in agreement, looking up at him with her round, solemn eyes.
Roger stared hard at the dates on her gravestone.
1974 - 1995.
Nineteen years old forever.
Collins had told him that at her funeral, April's mother had slapped Mark hard across his face, mistaking him for Roger who was at rehab.
Mark had turned around and walked away, even when Collins had explained to her family that he wasn't Roger, that Mark had loved her, had tried to save her.
Instead of leaving, he had stayed far, far away from them at the cemetary, recording everything with his camera.
He had filmed her coffin being lowered into the ground at a distance, ignoring Collins' assurances that he could go closer, that her mother had apologized and that her family had said it was okay for him say goodbye to her.
But Mark had remained where he stood, silent and pale and tearless.
He had even stayed to watch as the gravediggers spat soil down onto her grave with their shovels.
"You know the sickest part, April?" Roger asked softly. "He forgave me for... for being the cause of everything. He forgave you for leaving him. But he can't forgive himself for not being there to stop you that day."
He lowered his head.
"I know you watch over him. I know it was you who helped me find him, each time he tried to take his life. It was you who made sure that I came home in time. It was always you. That's why I'm begging you now, help him. He has to let you go. It's been nine years. Help him let you go."
A bird chirped happily in the distance and Roger looked up, amused.
It was almost like a reply.
"You.. you would have been great together." Roger said suddenly. "You and Mark. You don't know how many times I wanted to tell him that. After you, there was no one else for him. It's like he followed you half way, you know? Half way between here and there. Heaven, I mean. He has one foot here and one foot.. but I guess you already knew that."
He sighed heavily.
"You were never mine." Roger whispered. "You were always meant to be with Mark. I ruined that. Ruined what should have been. Collins said that Mark was scared I'd be angry at him for loving you. But how could I be angry when you were never really mine to begin with."
He stared at her name, etched in stone.
"I know I ask this every year but I hope you forgive me."
The bird chirped again and Roger's lips tilted up in a smile, feeling his heart lighten.
He was about to walk away when something caught his eye.
A gleam in the bright sunlight, almost completely hidden behind her gravestone.
He frowned.
He walked towards it and saw April's old book. The leather was worn and faded but the gold edges were still bright. Mark never took it out of his room and Roger had often found him sleeping in his bed, clutching it to his chest in a death-like grip.
Roger frowned, feeling his heart sink.
He bent down and picked it up and as he did, a small white piece of paper fluttered down to the grass.
Roger picked it up.
It was addressed to April.
There were only a few words written on it but they made Roger's heart stop in his chest.
"Fucking shit." he muttered, looking up with panicked eyes. "Mark, goddamnit, no...."
He dropped the book and ran in the direction where Mark had gone, forcing his disease-weakened legs to run, run, run....
Dear April,
Happy 28th birthday.
I love you.
I'll be with you soon.
Mark
Roger hoped he wouldn't be too late.
I left the end of this as it is so that the reader can decide how it really ends. Enjoy!
Epilogue: Happy Birthday, April
Roger watched as Mark walked away.
When his small, thin body finally disappeared from his sight, Roger turned around and looked at April's gravestone.
He had known how Mark felt about April.
About how he still felt for her.
Before Collins had died, he had whispered the secret into Roger's ear, telling him to watch over Mark, to make sure that he didn't follow in her footsteps because he.....
Nine years, five therapists.
Three suicide attempts.
Countless nights of waking up to the sound of Mark replaying his films of her, over and over again.
Roger shook his head.
"My fault." he whispered. "April, it was my fault and he blames himself. He loves you so much... he just can't let you go. It's not right."
He imagined her nodding her head in agreement, looking up at him with her round, solemn eyes.
Roger stared hard at the dates on her gravestone.
1974 - 1995.
Nineteen years old forever.
Collins had told him that at her funeral, April's mother had slapped Mark hard across his face, mistaking him for Roger who was at rehab.
Mark had turned around and walked away, even when Collins had explained to her family that he wasn't Roger, that Mark had loved her, had tried to save her.
Instead of leaving, he had stayed far, far away from them at the cemetary, recording everything with his camera.
He had filmed her coffin being lowered into the ground at a distance, ignoring Collins' assurances that he could go closer, that her mother had apologized and that her family had said it was okay for him say goodbye to her.
But Mark had remained where he stood, silent and pale and tearless.
He had even stayed to watch as the gravediggers spat soil down onto her grave with their shovels.
"You know the sickest part, April?" Roger asked softly. "He forgave me for... for being the cause of everything. He forgave you for leaving him. But he can't forgive himself for not being there to stop you that day."
He lowered his head.
"I know you watch over him. I know it was you who helped me find him, each time he tried to take his life. It was you who made sure that I came home in time. It was always you. That's why I'm begging you now, help him. He has to let you go. It's been nine years. Help him let you go."
A bird chirped happily in the distance and Roger looked up, amused.
It was almost like a reply.
"You.. you would have been great together." Roger said suddenly. "You and Mark. You don't know how many times I wanted to tell him that. After you, there was no one else for him. It's like he followed you half way, you know? Half way between here and there. Heaven, I mean. He has one foot here and one foot.. but I guess you already knew that."
He sighed heavily.
"You were never mine." Roger whispered. "You were always meant to be with Mark. I ruined that. Ruined what should have been. Collins said that Mark was scared I'd be angry at him for loving you. But how could I be angry when you were never really mine to begin with."
He stared at her name, etched in stone.
"I know I ask this every year but I hope you forgive me."
The bird chirped again and Roger's lips tilted up in a smile, feeling his heart lighten.
He was about to walk away when something caught his eye.
A gleam in the bright sunlight, almost completely hidden behind her gravestone.
He frowned.
He walked towards it and saw April's old book. The leather was worn and faded but the gold edges were still bright. Mark never took it out of his room and Roger had often found him sleeping in his bed, clutching it to his chest in a death-like grip.
Roger frowned, feeling his heart sink.
He bent down and picked it up and as he did, a small white piece of paper fluttered down to the grass.
Roger picked it up.
It was addressed to April.
There were only a few words written on it but they made Roger's heart stop in his chest.
"Fucking shit." he muttered, looking up with panicked eyes. "Mark, goddamnit, no...."
He dropped the book and ran in the direction where Mark had gone, forcing his disease-weakened legs to run, run, run....
Dear April,
Happy 28th birthday.
I love you.
I'll be with you soon.
Mark
Roger hoped he wouldn't be too late.