Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with RENT. Story is most definitely rated R and not for the kiddies or close-minded.
Notes: OK, obviously my teachers don't understand the concept of A WORLD OUTSIDE OF SCHOOL, and add this in with band practice, voice lessons, homework and sleep (nice though, isn't it?) there's no time for anything else but crying in a corner. I'm just going to keep apologizing for the long time between updates, I'll do my best to keep them weekly, I'm really sorry if it takes longer.
This chapter is SUPPOSED to be longer, but I don't have time to finish it, so I'll post what I have and get back to you. It's been too long without an update. Enjoy it and thanks so much as usual for reading/reviewing! :D
Special note to evilemmylou: Collins? Uh... well he's... .... ... he's off doing happy Collins things somewhere lovely, I assure you. I tend to forget Roger and Mark aren't the only RENT characters. There's an occasional Maureen or Mimi thrown in... all right. I'm an ass. He'll show up soon. At least for a cameo. ;)
Chapter 12
-Pretend There's Something Worth Waiting For-
I wait for Mark, staring at my therapist with a hatred that can only grow from years of being oppressed, worn down and destroyed. It seems to have stemmed inside me as well.
"Your friend doesn't appear to be coming." She says, with a little smile.
"He'll be here." I tell her firmly, crossing my arms.
She sighs and takes off her glasses. "Well Roger, while you're here, let's talk about what you've done to your arms."
I wish for a way to hide the two thin appendages, but know anyway I try will look ridiculous, so I simply glare back at her.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Well, if you ever plan on my approval of your recovery from your illness, you are going to have to talk to me about it."
"Why do I need your approval?"
"I do not have to sign your release until I am sure you are healthy and able to function normally in society. Until you make an effort to communicate your problems to me, I cannot solve them for you. Therefore, you may be here a very long time."
"What if I want to go home?"
"I'm sorry, Roger. That's just not possible. We decide when you leave."
At this point the door opens and a nurse lets Mark in. He bites his lip and looks sheepish.
"I'm sorry." He says, more to me than the therapist. "I overslept."
I shrug, disappointed but hardly angry. The therapist gives him a harsh look of disapproval.
"Sit down please. Our time is limited."
Mark sits in the chair next to me. His hand reaches for mine and I let him take it. I look down at our joined fingers and allow myself to smile.
"Roger was just telling me his reasons for harming himself." The therapist says.
Mark looks over at me, his eyebrows raised, expectant, but I say nothing. I scowl at both of them.
"I wasn't. She was telling me why I can never leave." I say angrily.
Mark's brow furrows and he looks back and forth between us. The therapist sighs.
"Mr. Davis has expressed, rather frequently, a request to leave our facility. He has been placed under the supervision and care of his doctors and myself. None of us believe he is ready to attend to himself outside of our program. Mr. Davis has shown an impartial and even indulgent interest in his illness, an inability to get along with other patients and no appreciable response to therapy or medication. He is not ready to leave. Certainly you agree."
I look over at Mark and his eyes meet mine for a moment. He smiles at me gently and raises our joined hands and kisses the back of mine. He turns to the therapist.
"First of all, Mr. Davis would not be alone." Mark says scornfully. "I've been attending to him since high school, I think I'm still capable. I'm ready to accept putting him here was a mistake." He smirks. "And Roger has always shown an inability to get along with anyone."
The therapist narrows her eyes. "You think that on your own, you can fulfill the duties and responsibilities of our entire trained and professional staff?"
Mark shakes his head. "No, but I think I do him more good than any of your professionals. Does he look any better to you? He's unhappy. I don't want him to be unhappy, I want to take him home."
"I'm afraid I can't allow that."
"What if I said I can't afford it? The money I gave you is all I have. I don't have a job, I don't have any valuable possessions, we barely rent an apartment. That is all you're going to get out of me."
"Sir, it's not in his best interest that..."
I watch them, loving Mark more by the minute. He interrupts the therapist.
"This place is not in his best interest. I am."
I tighten my grip on his fingers. The therapist gets angry and calls us unreasonable, but I know I'll be leaving. Mark just admitted that we're broke, and I know he won't make me stay. Happiness floods my senses and I stop listening, trying to imagine the first thing I'll do when I'm home. Maybe play my guitar. Eat tomato soup. Eat anything as long as Mark is there. I could go stare in the mirror in our bathroom. Take a piss without someone standing outside the door. I smirk. Who am I kidding, I live with Mark. He won't leave me alone for a fucking second. I'll get to sit on the table and watch him film and be told to take my AZT and be nagged for not doing something or doing something too much. And I can go to sleep with him beside me and kiss him and hold him and maybe more and watch him and memorize any part I don't know already and love him and...
"Roger." Mark says again. I look over at where he was, but he's now standing behind me. I get out of my chair and go over to him. He's smiling and when we're standing together he kisses me and takes hold of my hands.
"You can come home, Rog." He says. "I'll be here tomorrow afternoon. You can leave then."
Tomorrow. Sooner than I could have hoped. Another day. Just one more day here. One more night alone, tired and cold. One more day walking through hallways of skinny girls with stringy hair. I grin at him and he laughs. I lean over and press my lips against his and he wraps his arms around me and holds me close.
"I'll take care of you, Rog." He says softly. "I promise you'll get better."
I thrust my hand into my pocket, finally deciding to use my stash of sleeping pills to get some rest. I don't know exactly what time it is, but I figure I've been laying here for hours.
"Hey, are you awake?" I hear from the other side of the room.
I inhale slowly and hold my breath for a moment before releasing it. I can't decide what to say to him.
"Yeah." I finally say. "But not for much longer."
"You're leaving?" He asks. He sounds sad, maybe a little annoyed.
"Yeah." I say again, pulling out the pills. Two or three? Four? Nine? I don't know how many to take. Probably a healthy dosage, I don't want to look crazy or sick tomorrow morning. Three, I decide.
"How come they're letting you leave?" Definitely annoyed. "You're fucking crazy."
I roll my eyes. Fucking kid. I'll be glad never to deal with this again.
I work up some spit and swallow the first pill.
I can't decide the best route to get him to leave me alone. Piss him off or appease him. "They're not letting me out because I'm cured." I tell him.
"Then why?"
"Because I can't afford it."
"Oh." He sighs. "My family keeps paying for it because they don't want me at home."
I shrug and swallow another pill. "Why do I care?"
"They think I'm fucked up." He says.
"They're right."
I hear him turn in his bed. I know he's looking at me.
"You're an asshole, you know that?"
"Yeah."
He turns away. I swallow the last pill. Maybe one more for good luck? No, no. Three's enough. I don't feel tired yet, usually they kick in sooner. But then again, I usually overdose myself to induce a near coma. I take another one out of my pocket and swallow that one as well. One more can't hurt when I usually take eight or ten.
"Well," He says, in a calmer voice than before. "I hope you're happy when you get out, you know? I hope you stop trying to kill yourself."
Wondering what the fuck is wrong with this kid, I turn away from him and close my eyes.
"Yeah, whatever. You too, I guess."
AN: I'll update soon! I promise I'll try!! :) Thanks!