Author's Note: One chapter to go after this. I just have to say that I am incredibly sorry for this chapter, and I cried the entire time I wrote it. So PLEASE DON'T HATE ME!

Chapter 8: The End

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Mark's quiet on the cab ride over, and I can't speak past the lump in my throat, let alone find the word. Instead, I stare out the window. It feels wrong somehow that it's early morning. And a sunny morning at that. I always expected to get the call in the dead of night in darkness. There's something safe about the light. Not this morning.

As the cab passes through block after block of the city, my eyes take in the sights as if for the first time. People sleeping on the streets, their only possessions held in torn up garbage bags. Young girls, walking down the street, make up and artificial smiles plastered on their faces, silent witnesses to the cruelty of life. As I watch, I feel a sort of vital connection with all of them. I've never met any of them, and yet I can tell by the scared, lost look in their eyes that they have something in common with me. The helplessness. Maybe all humans do.

"Mimi." Mark shakes me gently, and I suddenly realize that we're stopped in front of the hospital. It looms in front of me like some kind of huge, dark beast, and my blood runs cold. I shut the door of the cab behind me and resist the urge to scream as it drives off. My only route of escape. Now I'll have to face what lies inside.

Mark attempts to take my arm, but I push his hand away. If I'm going to do this, I need to do it myself. I make it all the way to the door of Roger's room before I lose it. My entire body just freezes.

"Mimi? You okay? What's wrong?"

"I can't," I whisper, "I can't do it."

"Yes you can," Mark replies reassuringly.

"No. I can't. Not this time. *I can't.*"

"Mimi. . .think what you're saying. You'd never be able to live with the guilt if you weren't there when it happened. And think. . .after this, you can only start to feel better."

"Mark, that's awful!" I exclaim, surprised that he would even *think* such a thing.

"You're right," he apologizes, " You're right. I'm sorry. I guess. . .maybe I need to convince myself to go in there. Look, we'll do it together, okay?"

I nod and take a deep breath.

"Come on, Mark. We're wasting time."

Time we don't have, I add silently.

Roger's lying on his back with his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. The sunlight coming in the window casts a golden glow across his face. I catch my breath at the image of Roger as an angel. I'm surprised to see that he's alone.

"Where is everyone?" Mark asks, before I can say anything.

"Not coming."

Roger's voice sounds tired. Broken. Weak.

I hardly recognize it.

I climb up on the bed beside him and take his hand.

"What do you mean, 'not coming'?" Mark asks, sitting down on the opposite side of the bed and laying a hand on Roger's shoulder.

"Not coming," Roger repeats, "You're the only ones who know."

"God, Roger," I whisper, "Why?"

He shakes his head against the pillow.

"Can't. . .handle it. . .sympathy. . ."

"Why, Roger?" I plead, "Why won't you let them be with you?"

"I can't stand them feeling sorry for me. I don't. . .want to hurt them. Please, Mimi. I don't want to fight. . .not. . .now.. . ."

"All right. . .you're sure there's nothing I can do?"

"Just talk to me. . .let me hold you. . ."

"Anything." I crawl under the covers next to him and wrap my arms around his waist, fighting tears. I can tell it takes a tremendous amount of his energy to roll onto his side, but he doesn't complain, just buries his face in my shoulder, running his fingers through my hair.

"How do you feel?" I ask, unable to bear it any longer.

"Tired," he murmurs, "Oh, God, so tired."

I tighten my arms around his waist and kiss his temple.

"I'm scared, Mimi. . ." he whispers.

And that's all it takes. Suddenly, the helplessness starts to fade, and the in control part of me comes back to the surface.

"It'll be okay," I whisper, wishing I believe myself.

"No, no it won't," Roger insists, "You don't know that."

"And *you* don't know that it won't be," I argue.

"And there you go again," Mark says, making me jump. I'd almost forgotten he was here.

"What?"

You two. Fighting. Again."

I sigh.

"You're right. I'm sorry, Rog. I just—"

"Forget it."

"Okay."

"Promise. . .you'll be okay without me?" Roger asks softly.

"Yes." I promise, my entire body screaming in protest. I want to shout at him.

No, I won't be okay. When you go, my heart will go with you. Please, please stay. I'm nothing without you.

But I don't. Instead, I swallow the tears and dig my fingernails into my palms against the pain again.

"I love you, Roger," I whisper softly. "Whatever happens, don't you ever forget that."

"Love you too." He answers, "And Mark . . .I don't know. . .what the hell I did to deserve a friend like you but. . .thanks. . ."

He's fighting to keep his eyes open now.

I rub his back gently.

"Just rest, babe, just rest."

I burry my face in his shoulder, trying to memorize the sound and feel and smell of him, to freeze this instant in my mind forever. His breathing grows slower and shallower as the moment pass, finally stopping altogether.

I know in my heart it's over.

Finally, I manage to tear myself away and sit up. Mark looks at me questioningly.

I nod and start to cry. Mark comes over and wraps his arms around me, and I realize that he's crying too.

The room spins around me, little black spots dancing at the edges of my vision. My entire body aches with an overwhelming, all consuming pain. I'm broken inside, and no one can make me better.

"Oh, God, Mark," I sob, "Oh, God, he's gone. He's gone."

Mark pulls away just enough so that he can look me in the eye.

"He's okay now," Mark says softly, tears streaming down his pale cheeks, "He's with Angel now. I know it."

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Review? Don't hate me, please. . .