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'm so sorry... it's been like, two weeks. But I've had zero time and actually, I should be writing a nine page paper for English or doing my French project right now... but I'm not feeling intelligent or artistic, so I thought I'd do some writing... since I feel completely like the ass I am. I love you all and your reviews, and I apologize profusely again.

Chapter 15

-Nobody Loved You, Like Me-

I can't help myself, I spit the small mouthful of bread into a napkin.

"I'm trying, Mark. Really."

I see him turn away and I rest my head in my hands. I'm trying. It's too hard, there's nothing I can do. My body doesn't want to eat, and it's not letting me force it. I look up again, biting my lip. Mark has disappeared into the kitchen. I listen for his quiet sobbing.

"Marky..."

Slowly, I lift myself out of my chair and go to him. I kneel beside him and rest my hand on his back.

"Mark,"

"Why won't you just eat, Rog?" He yells suddenly, looking over at me with red, tear-stained eyes. "You're killing yourself!"

"I'm trying, Mark." I say softly, looking down. I pull away and lean against the wall, pulling my knees up to my chest and staring at the floor. "I'm trying."

"Try harder."

"I can't! Don't you understand that? I'm not doing this on purpose!" My volume shocks us and we both look away.

"I'm sorry," He says gently, meaning it, a moment later. "But you have to know how hard this is for me to watch."

I let out a bitter laugh. "You've watched me destroy myself for years, Mark."

He shakes his head. "I've watched you try. This time," He stops and shakes his head. "This time you're really pushing your limits, Rog." He shrugs. "And there's nothing I can do about it."

I shiver and pull the fabric of my sweater away from the fresh cut on my arm, careful that Mark doesn't see me do it.

"Please, Roger." He says suddenly, and I look up. "Please eat. I can't do this. I can't let you go yet. And not like this. Please, not like this."

He slips his hand into mine. I stare down at our joined hands and swallow a sob I feel rising.

"I don't want to die." I say abruptly, the words cutting through the air and hanging between us, awkward and loud. My eyes meet his and I pray for understanding.

He gives me a sad smile. "I don't want you to die either, Rog."

"I'd hope not." I joke. "Or we'd have to seriously reevaluate our situation."

He lets out a short laugh and lifts a hand to touch the side of my face.

"Please get better, baby." He says quietly.

I bring his other hand up to my mouth and gently kiss the back. "Only you could make me want to." I regret the new cut in my arm.

He pulls me into an embrace and I rest my head on his shoulder and press against him. When he sits back he takes a hold of my arm and pulls my sleeve up. I wince as the fabric slips past the cut. He shakes his head.

"I knew it."

I pull my arm away, looking up, silently asking how.

"The way you move. You've been guarding it all day. And you haven't worn long sleeves for a week."

I let my eyes fall to the floor.

"You've got to stop this, Roger. The eating I understand, sort of. I can imagine how hard that must be for you. But you can't do this to yourself."

"It's the same thing, Mark. It's an addiction." I whisper.

"Well you've gotten over addictions before, you're going to do it again." He says firmly. "You don't need this, Rog."

"It feels like I do. Sometimes it's all I want all day. It sort of feels like it replaces hunger and that stuff, you know? Well," I sigh. "I guess you don't, but for a few minutes when it first starts to bleed, nothing around me matters. The fact that I know it's only going to ache the rest of the day doesn't matter, or that hunger is tearing me apart. It doesn't even matter that I know what it'll do to you when you find out." I shrug. "Until it starts to clot. Maybe if I could just bleed forever, I'd be alright."

Mark swallows. "That is the most cryptic thing you have ever said and I'm going to try to pretend you didn't say it."

"It's true." I tell him. "It's how I feel. It's the only thing that can make me ignore everything I'm fucking up."

"How did you get by before you started it, Roger?" He asks. "How did you get through high school with your parents fighting all the time, and blaming all their problems on you? How did you get through your withdrawal? How did you manage to last a couple years without heroin?" He glares at me for a moment when I'm silent.

Mimi, I think. I didn't need heroin, I had Mimi. I smile to myself, but the feeling clouds over soon enough. She didn't have quite the same idea of our situation, though. Casual usage until the end. There were times when Mimi didn't need me, she had heroin.

The answer isn't Mimi.

I look up at Mark.

"Fuck," I whisper. "I've had you all along."

He looks surprised, but he inches closer and takes my hands.

"Why the fuck are you still here, Mark?" I ask him. "How the hell do you deal with it?"

He smiles. "I know you're worth it." He says. He leans toward me and kisses my cheek. When he moves back I pull him to me again and claim his mouth. He makes a small sound of protest when I pull my hands away from his, but I wrap them around him and hold him closer. When we move apart to catch our breath he smiles again, but almost shyly.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, kissing his forehead, rubbing my hands over his back.

"Is this ever awkward for you?" He asks. "You know, kissing or whatever?"

"Why would it be? You're still my best friend. I just kiss you now and then." I smile when he blushes slightly. "No, not really. I never really thought about it."

"Doesn't it bother you that I'm a guy?"

I shrug. "No. You're not a guy. You're just Mark." I kiss him again. "And I love you."

He smiles and rests his head on my shoulder.

I have to stop this shit. I know I have to. I have a reason to. I have some sort of incentive. I rub my hand up and down Mark's back. I have him.

Notes Continued: Things are going to start looking up from here, thanks for reading! I promise I'll try to keep better time with updates, but it's really difficult. Senior year sucks. Hardcore. Blah. Love you!