This is my first Rent fan fic, so it probably sucks and all that. Plus, it's pretty different from what I usually write,so I'm pretty nervous about posting it. But I got the idea last night and it wouldn't leave me alone, soI wrote it last night edited it this morning, and this is the result.

Disclaimer: I don't own Rent.

Fading

She had been out late again. She had been staying out late every night since the night that she received the news. She would walk everywhere. It might have been dangerous, but she honestly didn't care anymore. She remembered that she had been afraid of going out into the city at night when she first moved to New York. He had changed that. He had changed so many things about her. They used to walk around at night, just talking to each other. They hadn't done that for awhile, though. That had been right after they first met a few years ago.

She had wanted to slip into their loft unnoticed. She would creep through the living room and slide into the bed next to him. Then he would hold her and everything would be fine again, the way it used to be. Before the drugs, before the news, before everything. It'd be the way it was supposed to be. Things wouldn't be screwed up the way they were now. They'd be better. Perfect, even.

"Where were you?" he asked the second she entered.

"Why aren't you asleep?" she asked, hoping to avoid the question. Did he know that she had been leaving in the middle of the night and walking around the city for the past week, she wondered.

"Not tired," he answered, looking into her eyes. She quickly turned her head away.

"Well, we don't have to sleep," she said trying to smile sexily looking at him again.

"You never answered my question," his voice becoming louder and louder with every word. There were traces of anger hidden in it too. There was a fight coming on. She could feel it.

"Where were you tonight? And the night before? And for the whole week?" he yelled.

So, this was it. The fight. They always fought. They could never talk anymore without it turning into a big argument. They would shoot up, fight, and have sex. Their relationship wasn't much more than that these days.

She knew she shouldn't get mad at him. She knew that it would only make things worse than they were. He was being protective. He loved her. But everything was hard enough to handle as it was. She couldn't deal with another fight with him too. But he had no right to talk to her that way and she lost her temper.

"No!" she screamed. "Stop it! Stop treating me like I'm six and I can't take care of myself! I'm your girlfriend, not your kid!"

"Some girlfriend!" he yelled sarcastically. "You-"

"No, no, no," April kept repeating to herself. "Don't say anything! You don't know what I'm going through! You have no clue! You don't know what it's like, knowing that you're…"

"Knowing what?"

"No," she started repeating again as she ran into the bathroom, slammed the door, and quickly locked it. Where was it? She and Roger had hidden it in the bathroom in an attempt to conceal it from Mark who had gone through their room trying to get them off it. She got down on her knees and found a bag under the sink. She set the bag down on top of the counter. She dug through her pockets searching for a needle knocking over the bag as she searched. Its contents spilled out all over the floor. The white powder contrasting with the ugly brown tiles.

The bathroom was filled with her bitter laugh. She wasn't alive anymore and she knew it. She was a shadow. She only existed when she was shooting up and when he was holding her. Those were the only times she ever felt close to being alive. Those were the only times when she felt anything at all. She was dead inside and she knew it.

"April! April!" Roger shouted pounding on the door. She jumped in surprise, and she felt her hand land on something slim and plastic. It was a small, red razor. The same one that Roger used to shaved.

She picked it up and ran her fingers over it. It had an unnatural beauty to it. It was smooth and clean, and the blade had a strange glimmer that made her attracted to it. She moved her fingers to the blade. It cut her index finger. She smiled at the pain. The red blood spilling from her finger matched the shade of the razor.

She could feel something. It would be so quick, so easy, so fast. There would be no more problems, no more fights, no more AIDS, and she would feel it. It didn't even take a second before she had decided to do it.

"I still have to tell Roger," she muttered to herself.

"April!" she heard him shout with a trace of concern in his voice. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

She dug out an old receipt from her purse and a pen. She quickly scribbled a few words on it.

"April," Roger's voice came from the other side of the bathroom door. It wasn't so angry or forceful anymore. It was desperate and scared, so unlike the way Roger normally was. He was scared. Scared for her. "April, what are you doing in there?"

"Roger. Roger, I love you," she said just loud enough so that he could barely hear her. "It's not your fault. None of this is. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry that I fucked up our lives so badly. And I love you, okay? Will you remember that?"

"What are you talking about? You didn't fuck up my life, April-"

"Yes, I did and I'm sorry! And you'll remember that I love you, right? The only times I ever felt alive were when we were doing drugs or when you were holding me. They're the only times that I ever feel alive, Roger."

"What's going on, April? Whatever it is…"

"I'm sorry, Roger. I wish I was strong like you. I wish I could handle this, but I can't. And I don't think there's another way. I can't do this anymore. Goodbye," she cried as she told him this.

The razor was still in her hand. She turned over her arm so that the veins in her wrist were fully exposed. The blade cut deeply into her skin. She staggered backwards and fell onto the floor with a soft thud. She saw little pools of blood form on the dirty tile. She heard Roger's voice shouting again, only this time it was filled with concern and fear. T was unclear and it was fading. Everything was fading. The room was fading and the pain that she had been so anxious to feel had faded too. And she was fading with it. She didn't see Roger force open the door. She didn't hear his voice imploring her to come back. She didn't see him crying. She didn't hear him telling her that he loved her. She saw nothing. She heard nothing. She had faded away.