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: Hey all! It's a sort of short chapter, but it's one of my favourites so far I think, even if it is depressing to the max. Enjoy! As much as one can, I suppose. ;) Angst is a sick little fetish, isn't it? Thanks and much love to all readers/reviewers. Love you!

Chapter 14

-Problem Is Diet's Not A Big Enough Word-

I stare blankly at the piece of bread in front of me. I feel my soul sliding out, hiding in each of the separate pores of the food. To eat that will be to eat myself. I'll fail in my mission to utterly destroy my mortality. I'll eat my ambitions. I can't fucking do it.

"It's so easy, Rog." Mark begs softly. "Why can't you just eat? It's so easy."

I look up at him. I know, I know, I think. I hate to hurt him. As much as I'm hurting myself, I'll always hurt Mark far worse. He feels things so deeply. I do as well, but I'm past the point of caring. I feel things so deeply I can't feel them at all. If I allow myself to succumb to the intoxicating madness of consumption, I'll never stop.

He lays his hands on my shoulders, his fingers shaking and his grip is weak.

"Please, Rog. I want to help you."

I say nothing. I feel nothing.

I wake up.

Blinking, I sit up in bed, feeling Mark's arm slide off of my waist. Fuck. I run a hand through my hair and look around the room. Slowly, I push back the covers and crawl over Mark to get to the door. I look back at the bed, but he hasn't moved. I carefully open the door and slip through it.

It's been a long time since the drugged out at four am days, but I still remember where the creaking floorboards are, where not to step to wake up Mark. I step over them, make my way to the bathroom and switch on the light. I cringe away from the brightness at first, but slowly blink and adjust.

I stand in front of the mirror. I look like hell. I look away and pick up my toothbrush. Turning on the water I run it under the water for a minute or so, then pile toothpaste on it and brutalize my mouth with the idea of cleansing. I wince at the brush scrapes over my gum line, I can feel the little droplets of blood gathering and I scrub harder. The taste in my mouth is horrendous. Tastes like eating. Food. Tastes like easy life, or easy death, I can't decide. But I hate it.

I scrape the brush over my tongue and then spit. Foamy, pink and thick it flows down the drain. I still taste it, but my mouth is sore. I smile into the mirror and see the red lining on some teeth. I put the toothbrush down and cup my hands under the water and take in some of the water and swirl it in my mouth, cleaning away the blood. I spit and it's pink and bubbly with the last remnants of the paste from my assault.

I shut off the water and lean over the toilet and puke.

Falling to my knees I grip at the porcelain, emptying my stomach and my mind of waste and filth. Shaking, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I can't decide which way to go. Should I be saving myself for Mark?

Should I be letting myself dissolve?

The first sounds more appealing, but the second option is more practical.

Collins watches me as I stare at breakfast. Mark is showering. I told him I'd be fine.

"He wants to help you, Roger." Collins tells me.

I nod. I pick off a piece of the bread and roll it between my fingers. It makes a nice little ball of carbohydrates. I set it back on the plate.

He sighs. "I want to know why you're doing this, Roger."

I shrug.

"Why are you hurting him?"

I look up. "I'm not doing it to hurt him!" I say angrily.

Collins shakes his head. "But don't you see that's what you're doing? You might be trying to hurt yourself, but think of who you're really killing."

"Mark's fine." I say softly.

"I know that you're still upset over Mimi,"

Fuck. Mimi. I close my eyes and lean back in my chair, shutting out his monologue and begging for release. It can be so long without thinking about her and then she's back all at once. Mimi with soft hands and beautiful eyes and thick lovely hair.

Mimi with hardened veins, arms knotted and sore, eyes dead and sunken and thin, limp hair. Mimi the last time I saw her. But I see her again every time I look in the mirror. Death always wears the same face.

"But you've got to understand that life goes on, Roger. I miss Angel, I think about him everyday, and I wish he was here with us, but I know that's not possible and that I have to go on living."

The bathroom door opens. Mark's hair is wet and messy, he smiles at me, but his face falls when he sees I haven't eaten yet.

"Oh, Rog." He says quietly, coming over to stand by me. I can't look at him. I stare down at the pores in my bread. Feel my soul sliding away from me into the little individual holes

Fuck. I close my eyes.

"It's so easy, Rog." Mark begs softly. "Why can't you just eat? It's so easy."

He holds me and kisses my forehead.

"Go to sleep, alright? You're so tired. You need to rest."

I close my eyes but I can't make the shit stop. He runs his fingers through my hair and rests his hand on my forehead.

"You're so cold." He says. "But you're sweating." I hear the worry in his voice.

He lies down beside me and rests his head against my shoulder.

"I'm worried about you, baby." He says gently. "You're getting worse. I can't make you eat like they can. You have to want to, and I don't think you do."

I say nothing.

"Roger, do you want to get better?" He asks.

"Answer me, Rog, please. Because you have to want it. I don't want to let you go yet, but if you don't want me to help you, there's not much I can do."

"You made me give up smack." I say softly.

"It's different, Rog." He says. "All I had to do was take it away from you, lock you in your room and tell you that the pain would stop if you held out just a little longer. And now,"

He sighs.

"And now I don't know what to do. The pain won't stop for you, will it? It hurts either way."

I nod.

"I can't lock you up with a loaf of bread and tell you to eat, because you won't do it. And if you do you throw up a minute later." He sniffs. "What can I do, Roger? What do you need me to do for you?"

I move closer to him. "Keep telling me that the pain will stop. Even if it won't."

He wraps his arms around me. "I love you."

"I'm sorry." Is all I can say back.