Author's Note: I just wanna say thanks to all my readers and reviewers. I love you all. I just want to say that in my first two stories, I based Mimi's character off of the actresses I've seen do the role. This one is mine. Hopefully someday I'll get a chance to do it on the stage.

Much love,

Michelle

Epilogue

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"Roger was a fighter. All the time that I knew him, he had more bad luck than any human being should ever have to cope with. And he never gave up. Complained, oh sure. Said he couldn't do it, every time. Needed help getting out of bed some mornings. Some people will tell you that makes a man a coward. But I say Roger was a fighter. After all, what's harder than admitting you need help?"

Collins sits back, crossing his arms over his chest.

The loft is lit by a single candle sitting in the middle of the living room floor. Everyone is gathered around it in the darkness. The funeral Roger's parents gave him was this morning, but the service was so utterly artificial and unfitting, we all agreed to come back to the loft and hold a private service of our own. It feels strange, seeing everyone again. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed them. How much I *will* miss them.

Maureen stands up next, clasping her hands in front of her as if she's about to perform.

"Well, I would agree with Collins. Roger certainly was a fighter, though I'm not sure that that should always be considered a *good* quality. My earliest memories of him are of Roger and Mark arguing, arguing, arguing, day and night. Roger always had an opinion, and wouldn't rest until he'd converted everyone in the room to his point of view. He was like a brother to me, in a way. At least, we annoyed the hell out of one another often enough to have been siblings." Maureen pauses for a moment, looking around the room at everyone. "What more is there to say? I'm gonna miss him."

Maureen wipes at her eyes and sits back down, motioning to Joanne that it's her turn. Joanne stands up, and there's an awkward silence. When she finally speaks, it's quickly, precisely. The voice Joanne uses when she's upset.

"I didn't know Roger very well. Only on and off for a little over a year. I know he had an artist's soul, and I admire him for that. There's no greater gift, or curse, for that matter, than the ability to feel all the little nuances of life deeply, in one's heart. I guess my deepest regret is that I'll never truly know who Roger was."

Joanne sits down, and Mark looks at me questioningly. I shake my head, motioning for him to go first. Mark gets to his feet and begins pacing around the inside of the circle, taking in expressions and emotions as he passes each one of us. He pauses for a long moment before starting to speak.

"Roger was more like family to me than any of my blood relatives. And I know. . .that it seems like I let him use me and gave more than I got. And maybe that's true. But here's what I know. Roger gave me everything he was capable of giving. And that's what counts. Not the quantity, or even the quality, but the intention. You can't expect more of someone than what they're capable of.

I'll never forget the day we met. I was the new kid in the big city high school, fresh out of nine years of home schooling. I wasn't ready for it. The hatred, the prejudice-it blew me away. And then I met Roger. He was the only one who spoke to me my whole first year there. And when I asked him why, all he would say was that I was different. And he liked people who pushed the envelope. He never told me to give up, never put me down. Roger accepted and liked me for who I was. And that's the greatest gift I've ever been given."

Mark sits down, and I can feel all eyes in the room focus on me. I can practically taste their concern. I get to my feet and try to think of where to begin. I can't believe I'm actually doing this, and yet there's a part of me that always knew I could. I feel strangely composed. Peaceful.

"I guess. . .All my life I've been attracted to suffering. In some ways I brought it on myself. I went in search of love and acceptance in the wrong places, and lost what I already had. That's pretty much been the story of my life. I get a little of a good thing, and go in search of more—until I lose what I've already got.

The night I met Roger, I somehow sensed that he needed love as much as I did. Maybe I was right. I'll never know. Regardless—I can honestly say that he was the only man I truly loved and the only one who truly loved me." I pause as memories come flooding back to me. The candlelit loft looks exactly as it did the night I first laid eyes on Roger.

"Roger was, in every sense of the name, a tortured soul. He felt everything so deeply it became like—he was carrying the pain of the world in his heart. I can only hope that that's over for him now. That he's at peace."

I start to sit down again, then change my mind and return to the middle of the circle.

"I wasn't planning on sharing this. But I'm leaving in the morning." A surprised rustle moves through the room as everyone starts to intervene. I put up a hand for silence.

"Don't tell me that I'm still welcome here. I know that. And in some ways, I'd like to stay. But as long as I'm here, I'll be living in a memory. In the past. I need to move on. It's time for a fresh start. Please don't try to talk me out of it, because I'm not going to change my mind. Excuse me."

I turn and walk out of the living room and into the bedroom that Roger and I shared. Behind me, I hear the concerned voices of my friends, conferring about me in hushed tones. I tune them out.

I turn and walk out of the living room and into the bedroom that Roger and I shard. Behind me, I hear the concerned voices of my friends, conferring about me in hushed tones. I tune them out.

I pull out my old duffel bag and begin stuffing things in it. Clothes. Jewelry. I don't have much.

I open a drawer and find the photo album again, sitting there as if it's been lying in wait for me all this time. I flip through it again, not bothering to fight the tears this time. It all hurts too much. I'm tired of hurting.

I start to throw the photo album away, then change my mind and put it in my bad instead.

"Good choice," Mark says from behind me, making me jump.

"Where'd you come from?"

"Nowhere."

It's then that I notice he's holding Roger's guitar case.

"He wanted you to have this," Mark explains, holding it out to me.

I take the case from him and gently lay it open on the floor. I pick up the guitar, running my fingers over the cool wood. It smells like Roger.

"Thanks," I whisper.

Mark nods.

"So you're really leaving?"

"Yeah. I figure it's time I actually did something with my life. I've been thinking about going back to school, getting a good job. I used to get good grades, you know, before I stopped caring."

Mark smiles at me.

"I'll miss you, you know. Come back sometime, okay? Keep in touch."

"I will." I promise.

"If there's ever anything you need. . ." Mark trails off.

I walk over to him and hug him, lightly kissing his cheek.

"Thanks."

I close my eyes and try to imagine my future. I don't know what it holds, but I know in my heart that I will love again—in beauty and in brokenness.

~~~**~~~

The End