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: I am a golden goddess! Not only did I manage to update in less than a week, I just bought that awesome big ass, black, fake-duct-tape-on-the-side RENT book for 7 fucking dollars. Thank you bargain book stores everywhere. Go in those fuckers!! I find the best weird shit written by cool gay guys. They're like, my hideouts. They're my Santa Fe. I go there when shit sucks. –laughs-. I'm a loser. Enjoy and thanks for all the reviews, you guys rock! :D

Chapter 13

-Such Beautiful Dignity In Self Abuse-

My head feels like a rock when I slowly blink open my eyes, cringing against the light in the room. I wince when the nurse clicks the door open to check in. My temples are throbbing.

Adam's bed is made, he's sitting on it, leaning against the wall rubbings his fingers lazily over his forearms.

"What are you doing?" I manage to croak.

"I used to want to be someone like you." He says softly. He narrows his eyes. "It's stupid though, isn't it? Wanting to be a fuckup?"

I shrug best I can while lying down. He continues.

"You're an asshole. You're completely insensitive and you think people that aren't as fucked up as you aren't worth your time. I never want to be someone like you."

I close my eyes and consider another dosage of sleeping pills.

"I thought doing shit like this made me interesting, and that it put me on some kind of, I don't know, plateau over other people. You know?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "I'm sure you know."

"Look," I start to say.

"I'm going to group today and I know as soon as I tell them I want to stop pursuing the lifestyle I've been trying to live for the past few years they'll put me in therapy and let me out in a couple months. So, thanks." He says.

"For what?"

He glares. "Even if I hate you for ignoring any effort I've made to be nice to you, if you hadn't I wouldn't have wanted to change. So it's because of you."

"So, thanks." He says reluctantly. Then he gets up off his bed and leaves the room, closing the door less than gently behind him. I watch him go, regretful, maybe, of my behavior towards him, but not really caring. Especially if in some warped and twisted way it helped him out. Despite anything and everything, no one deserves to live with the incentive to fuck up their life. Although I'd love to wish it upon Benny.

It's still early, Mark isn't coming until the afternoon. Fuck. Which means at least one, maybe two, tube meals. I frown. Maybe I could go to the meals, slip some food in my pocket or a napkin when they're not looking, and throw it away later. I don't want anything to be a reason for me to stay longer. It's risky, but doesn't seem too difficult to pull off. In fact, it might actually be a good plan.

I pull myself out of bed and look around for anything I need to throw in a pile to prepare for later. All I have are some clothes, really. Not a very difficult job. I collect all my saved up pills and put them in the pocket of one my pants. They could be useful later on, Mark doesn't need to know about them. It wouldn't be the first thing I tried to hide from him.

I make my way out of my room after I dress and start toward the cafeteria, knowing the meal started only a few minutes ago. If I had skipped it completely they'd come after me with their fucking tube. So I go. I pick up a few extra napkins after I take my plate of what they're calling eggs and well, something brown, at least is what it looks like. I poke at the yellow mess on my plate for a few minutes, Then bring the fork up to my mouth. I reluctantly thrust it in, disgusted by the slimy texture, hating the shape and the feel and the smell and taste of the food. I bring my napkin up to my mouth to wipe and spit the egg into it. When I lower it again I look around, but no one's watching me. Just a few more times and I can claim I tried to eat and they'll leave me alone.

I shove the napkins into my pocket once there's a good amount of food in them. I finish about a third of the plate this way, then shove it away and stand up, on my way to the bathroom to throw away my napkins. A nurse gives me a suspicious look.

"Where are you going?" She asks me, blocking my way out of the cafeteria.

"To the bathroom." I tell her, with a small confused smile.

"I'm going to follow you." She says.

I shrug. Whatever. She can stand outside the door, I don't really care. I lock the door behind me and pull the napkins out of my pockets and empty each of them into the toilet, then ball the napkins up tightly and throw them in the trash. I flush the toilet and run the sink for a moment before coming back out. I smile at the nurse who eyes me skeptically, but says nothing. I head back to the cafeteria to get myself some water.

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When Mark finally comes around 1:30, I'm desperate and bored. I've been watching bad talk shows all day with the skinny girls and drinking so much water so quickly that my bathroom trips have become regular, about every half-hour.

I practically tackle him when he arrives and he laughs at me and grins stupidly. We both do. He takes hold of my hands and kisses me gently, then winks.

"Ready, handsome?"

I pull him close into a tight hug and kiss the side of his neck.

"Yes, please. Please, get me the fuck out of here."

He helps me carry my clothes, I'm careful to take the pants that contain my pharmacy, and he leads me to the car he must have borrowed from Joanne again.

"I'm really glad you're going to be home again, Rog." He tells me, looking over and smiling shyly. The way he tilts his head when he says this is at least endearing. But mostly it's adorable.

"You have no idea." I find myself saying, with a little more bitterness attached than I meant for.

"You forgive me, right?" He asks, after a pause.

"For what?"

"For giving up and putting you there?"

I sigh and shake my head. "I know why you did. No one wants to deal with a fuck up like me, I can't blame you for finally getting sick of it."

"But..."

"You don't have to make up excuses, Mark. I understand."

"But Rog, I just, I thought you'd get worse if you stayed with me. I didn't think I could do enough. Most of the time you didn't want to hear me bug you about eating or whatever. And I felt stupid nagging, and it was just, I don't know, I got scared." He bites his lip nervously and casts me the same tilted head, shy gaze. "I didn't want you to end up hurting yourself."

"Mark, I think we both know that the end result of basically anything I do is me hurting myself."

"Rog..."

"Kidding, kidding. But, I mean I know why you did it, I'm not pissed at you for it."

I realize how little like myself I sound. I sound tired, dejected, I basically sound like I'm giving up on everything. And that's just the tone. Why am I not furious? I hated every moment I spent in that fucking place and it's Mark's fault I was there. It's his fault and I should be able to blame it on Mark and be pissed and moody and threaten to kick his ass. Shit I would have done a year ago. I close my eyes and lay my head back against the seat. Maybe I am giving up. Have I fucked myself up to the point of no return? My body seems to know it, even my mind seems to. I just have to get myself to admit it and then I can shut up and there won't be a struggle anymore. There won't be anything to cure and I won't have to worry about hurting Mark anymore, or worry that tomorrow might just be too hard to deal with to want to wake up. Admit that I'm defeated and that I've lost my own fucking battle and I just might win something else.

"Rog? Are you there?" Mark asks, smiling, though nervously.

I nod. "Just thinking."

No need to worry him yet, really.

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When we get back to the loft I'm surprised to find a little party awaiting me. Maureen wraps her arms around me and sighs.

"God I'm glad you're back. Mark was going crazy without you." She says, half drama, half Maureen. I let it slide for once, happy as I am to see her and smile back.

"I'm ashamed to admit I might have missed his quirks."

"Like his nagging?" She giggles softly, pressing her face into my shoulder.

"And his worrying?"

"And his fucking camera?" She whispers and I laugh with her. We get a suspicious look from Mark, but only smile back and Maureen blows him a kiss.

"Roger." I hear from behind me and the familiar voice makes my breath catch.

"Jesus, Collins!" I practically scream, holding him tightly a moment later. His laughter fills my ears and I feel dizzy with relief. Everything seems to come together completely with Collins around. Mark knows me better than anyone, he knows how to calm me down, and help me cope with things, but he's also pessimistic and neurotic. With Collins nothing can get too far out of hand. And if it does, it's only because he's programming it to. One of those order through chaos deals. It's about control and comfort and security. And right now I'm feeling all three.

"Mark called me a while ago, said you weren't during too good." He tells me, still holding me close. "First chance I got I took some time off to check up on you." He grins at me when I pull away.

"Fuck, I'm glad you're here." I sigh.

"I would hope so, I don't get much vacation time." He grins, winking. "I need to spend it with those that appreciate me."

Joanne smiles warmly and gives me a hug. We don't know each other that well, but it's never prevented us from getting along. And she did pay for my abysmal stay at Hospital Hellhole.

"How are you?" She asks.

"I feel like shit." I tell her honestly. "But I'll think it'll get better soon."

"Good, good." Another hug and she's drawn away from me by Maureen.

"Are you hungry?" Mark asks me cautiously, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. I smile and rest my hands over his.

"I could maybe eat something."

"Soup?" He asks unnecessarily, heading for the kitchen. I follow him.

"Collins wants to talk to you, later." He says quietly, opening the can of soup.

I lean against the wall. "Why? He gave me his 'what it's like to lose the best thing that ever happened to you to AIDS and how to cope' speech already."

Mark is silent for a moment. He sighs.

"Don't act like this, ok Roger?" He begs, looking up at me with pleading eyes. "Stop being an ass."

"But it's what I excel at." I tell him. "About the only thing I'm good at, really." I shrug. "Except maybe fucking shit up."

"Roger..."

"Whatever." Suddenly the noise in the loft is too much. I just want all of them gone, I want to curl up in my old niche in my room and drink and cut and stare and think and remember and hope and regret and detach. I find myself liking that shell of a person better than I've ever liked myself before or since. Seemed like I did more good then. Nobody was getting stepped on by my inability to feel anything, I wasn't causing trouble, I wasn't trying to ruin my life, or anyone else's. I was just coping in a sick, private way. So what if I found solace in an empty stomach? A thin line of red? Both. Often, always. Frequently. It was my way to survive.

So fucking what?

"Mark?"

"What?" He asks, with a smile. Jesus, so fucking infallible. I could tell him I hate him, I'd never want to see him again and he'd probably fucking smile and say 'if that's what makes you happy'.

But I know that's not true. He'd tell me off for being a fuckhead, then go back to making my soup. He can be sort of an idiot about some stuff, but he's not a complete pussy when you really get down to it.

"I think I might just want to like, be alone for a while." I say, and he looks wounded.

"But you just got here. You're going to hide from us already?"

"No, I'm just... I'm not in the mood for people right now. You know, right?" I beg him to understand. In his crazy Mark way of almost always knowing what I need and how to help me, please let him understand that I'm trying to politely tell him and the others to fuck off and let me be. I don't need a fucking pity party, I have my own every damn day.

"Well," He frowns. "Will you eat something though, please?"

I sigh, but he looks upset so I nod. "Yeah. Yeah, make it, bring it to me, please. I'll be in my room."

He gives me a small smile and goes back to pouring the soup into a bowl. I fill a glass of water and retreat, ignoring whatever Maureen asks me as I pass her. I close the door to my room and take a moment to appreciate the solitude. I can still hear them through the paper-thin walls, and I know they're out there, but it's the most alone I've been in a month.

Mark brings me the soup a few minutes later. He sits down in front of me and prepares to watch. I frown at his behavior, but say nothing. I pick up the spoon and stare miserably down at the soup. Seeing it makes it a lot less appetizing than the idea. I tilt the spoon and watch the thick red liquid run back into the bowl. Running, running, flowing like blood. Spills like blood. Thick and smooth, beautiful and red like my fucking blood. I want my knives but they're in the trash. I want to rip the bandage off of my arm and run my fingers over my new scars and pick at the newly formed scabs and make them bleed again. I want to touch my fingers to the mess and taste the metallic sting of my own blood on my tongue and close my eyes and wish that there was enough spilling out to fill a room.

But I just pick up a new spoonful and reluctantly hold it up to my mouth.

"For me, Rog." Mark begs quietly. "Please try, alright?"

I give him a fake smile I hope comes across as real and swallow the spoonful. Thick and filling, it takes up all the room in my mouth, weighing me down and suffocating me and forcing itself through my throat. I almost gag, but instead take another spoonful. I finish half of the bowl. Mark kisses my forehead.

"You're doing so good." He tells me happily. His lips find mine.

"I'm proud of you." He tells me. "You'll get better soon."

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I throw up what I just ate not even fifteen minutes later. I know Mark is crying and I know Collins is comforting him and I can hear Maureen and Joanne leaving.

It seems like simply not eating causes Mark less pain than him having to watch me puke up some fucking soup. I can't even tell what's soup and what's blood. It's all thick and red. The toilet full of red like the bathtub once was. This bathroom is eternally stained red everywhere. Figuratively, of course. Except for that little spot at the edge of the tub. Faded and brown. The last remnant of April. She'll outlive me after all.

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