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, hey! Look at this... a sort of not crazy delayed update! Hey, whoa?? Yeah, that's what I said. Didn't really have much homework over the weekend, however I am practicing for my audition for state choir. So, a lot of music stuff coming up in the next few weeks. Dude... the melodic minor scale will be the goddamned death of me if they make me sing it during the audition. Fuckers. Well, sorry for the ramble, and enjoy!

Chapter 16

-When I'm This Still You Are My Life-

"What I want is to be needed. What I need is to be indispensable to somebody. Who I need is somebody that will eat up all my free time, my ego, my attention. Somebody addicted to me. A mutual addiction."

-"Choke" Chuck Palahniuk

Subconsciously something is tearing away at my insides, pulling on my heart, little lines of long red streaks. Red streaks from the little tears. It cannot be a control issue, because I have control. I have it.

My skin is blistering from the lack of air my blood is receiving. It's not that I won't, Marky, it's that I can't. I promise. Control. I have it. I have it, I don't have to do this. I don't have to do this.

But that's a real beauty of life. A person can make himself believe anything. You can get used to anything, really. Anything can become commonplace. So I've come to believe I have control, and I've come to accept that I have to kill myself to live.

And if I stop...

No one can know what coming off of an addiction feels like until they actually experience it. It feels like you're losing everything that was ever important to you. I fight so hard for what I think I need, but in the end, does it even matter?

I have to shift my paradigm of life, because it's stuck on survive. Barely. If I could just nudge it over to where I can lay my dependence on Mark, I could get through this.

The first time I shot up, I accepted that I was probably ending my life. Nothing was sacred, nothing was important but my drug and the crushing addiction. I stood for nothing, I would have given up everything for one hit. I could be distracted from reality the whole night by the pain. I could always feel my veins burning, the sharp stabbing need growing at the thought of having it, dying once the needle was full, poised above my arm.

Control is a beautiful thing to think you have. But if you're only lying to yourself, it's a death warrant. The first time I shot up, the first time I slid my pocketknife through my skin and enjoyed the result, the first time I went a day without eating on purpose, and liked the feeling. Always thinking somehow that I could handle it. I always thought I'd be able to switch out of my behavior when the need arose.

Mark is still sleeping. I stare down at him for a moment, I can hear his soft breathing. For a moment I can believe that all I need is here. I can completely understand the extent of the pain I put him through daily, and I want it all to stop. I reach out and touch him, letting my finger trace his collarbone, the tender dip at the base of his neck. Masculine beauty can be a hard thing to appreciate. I don't think you fully understand it until you're faced with a man you really love.

He's still sleeping despite my fingers on his chest. I lean over and hold my face close to his, feeling the warmth of his breath against my mouth for a moment before closing the distance and pressing my lips briefly against his. When I pull away he moves slightly and lets out a soft moan but does not wake. I smile.

I pull myself out of his bed and head out into the kitchen, careful of the creaky floorboards and cautiously open a cabinet. The bread? I have no idea... counter. Right the fuck in front of me. I hesitantly pick up the loaf and start to open the bag. I can do this. A new kind of control, I can still think I have it if I want. Enough control to make myself eat this. I have the control. I can do it.

I take out one slice and leave the loaf on the counter and head for the table. I pull myself up and stare down at the piece of bread. Mark is more important than what I've wasted my life on. Think about it. I don't have to feel the pain to live. I close my eyes. I've spent my life focusing on the different ways to shock myself back to reality, I've missed reality completely. There are more important things than pain. There's love.

I open my eyes as I pull off a corner of the bread and hold it up in front of me. Slowly I put it in my mouth and look up at the ceiling. Think about it. Yes, it's food. Think of it as a way back to reality. A new way of shocking myself. Imagine enjoying this. At one point I did. At one point I'd be pissed we didn't have food in the loft. At one point I'd lived without heroin. And I'd remembered that. Strong enough, new control. I have the control to say whether I live or die, and right now I'm controlling my life.

I hear the floorboards creak, Mark has never needed to avoid them, and I look over at the door to his bedroom. He stares at me with wide eyes and neither one of us moves for a moment. I swallow, barely thinking about the action.

"Rog?" He asks softly, coming closer. Creak. Crack. He stands in front of me, looking up into my eyes. "What are you doing, Rog?"

I shrug. "I was hungry." I say thoughtfully, looking down at him.

He bites his lip and I try to smile. "I don't know I just thought that..."

His arms go around me with a force that pulls me off of the table. I collapse against him and laugh at him, letting the free hand not holding the bread hook around his waist. I kiss his forehead and lay my head against his. He doesn't say anything for a long time, but I don't really want him to, so it doesn't matter. Finally I back away and sit up on the table again. He pulls himself up beside me and stares down at the bread in my hand. I pull off another little piece and stick it in my mouth, again thinking of my new affirmation to live. I feel his hand slip into mine. I get through the entire slice of bread, though it takes me the better part of an hour.

Mark smiles. "What was it, Rog? What made you do it?"

I put my arm around him and lean against his body. "I was thinking, about you, about all you've said to me about being able to live without heroin and whatever, and how I've been living to try to die all my life and..." I shake my head. "I don't know. It started to make sense."

"You'll be alright." He says, to both of us, maybe more to himself than me. "You're going to be alright."

"I might still fuck up once in awhile, can you handle that, Mark?" I ask him.

"Roger, I've come to expect you to fuck up." He says, and I laugh because I know he's joking. He smiles too.

"But I'm serious, Mark. I," I pause to think of the words. "I might make some mistakes, I promise you I'll make some mistakes. And I need to know you can handle that and tell me that it's alright that I do."

"I know, Rog. I understand that. I'll help you, I won't get mad anymore, I promise."

"No," I say lightly. "Don't promise that. I like to see you get mad once in a while, because then I know you're human. Just, yeah." I smile. I don't need to say it, really. He understands.

He lays his head against my shoulder and I hold him tighter. You don't really understand anything, I don't think, until you're faced with someone you really love.

Notes continued: There's only going to be at least one, maybe two more chappies after this. Thanks for reading/reviewing/sticking with me this far! You all rock hardcore!

Read books by Chuck Palahniuk!!! :)