I don't know where this idea came from, but once it popped into my head, I just had to write it. It's a little… weird, so bear with me. I don't know if anyone will like this take on things, but it's a twist on the (in my opinion) rather overdone topic of April's death.
Disclaimer: I don't own Rent… but I must say, does it depress anyone else that Jonathon Larsen died before he got to see his show and the influence it's had on people?
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The loft was quiet. Empty. At least that's what Mark assumed when he entered, his hair disheveled and wind-blown, his visage tired and drained. He made his way to the kitchen area, still with his camera in his hand. He looked in the nearly-empty fridge through the lens of the camera.
"Let's see," he narrated out of habit. "Orange juice, Kraft Singles, two beers, half a stick of butter, and Roger's left shoe. Now kids, can you tell me which one doesn't belong?" He removed the shoe, then decided to leave it in there for Roger to find later. He took out a beer and set it on the counter, closing the fridge with his foot. He tapped the tin top, as subconscious a habit as narrating life (when he was younger, people tended to shake up Mark's soda before they gave it to him). He popped the top, but before he had even sipped a drop of his beer, it was gone.
"Hey!" he exclaimed with a smile. April hopped up onto the counter, crossing her coffee-and-cream colored legs. She tossed her auburn hair behind her shoulders and grinned at Mark, her lipstick glistening in the dim light of the loft.
But something was wrong. Her smile was wrong and Mark could sense it.
"What have you been up to today, April?" he asked carefully.
She shrugged, swirling the beer can around before taking a sip. "I've been thinking a lot."
"About…?"
"I don't know. Stuff." She seemed to be choosing her words most precisely. It made Mark uncomfortable. She usually never thought before she spoke. In fact, it was a tendency of hers that had gotten her in trouble, made her look like a fool, and most often, made other people look like fools. Mark had, many times, been the butt of some of her crueler jokes, but yet he knew she meant no harm by it.
"When is Roger coming home?" April asked suddenly. Mark looked at her over the frames of his glasses.
"Not till really late, he has a double gig." He paused. "Wait, now that I think about it, why aren't you with him? Aren't you supposed to be…?"
"Running the light board? Yes. But I didn't want to go so I told him I didn't feel well. Don't tell him I lied."
Mark's eyebrows knitted together. "Why didn't you want to go?"
She put the beer down and looked him directly in the eyes. "Because I needed to talk to you."
Mark was taken aback. "Me? Why me?"
"Marky," April cooed. "Marky, you're my best friend, did you know that?"
He hadn't known that. He felt his cheeks burn and his chest swell just a bit with happiness.
"Not really…."
"Well you are." She shifted her position on the counter so that she was sitting on her knees, her skirt just barely covering an inch of her thighs. "I mean, I love Roger. I do. But there are certain things that he doesn't understand. Things that he can never understand."
Her pupils were dilated. Was she high?
"I need you to understand them, Marky."
Mark swallowed hard, his fingers tracing the cold condensation on the beer can without drinking any. "Understand what?"
"I know you'll understand." She took his hand, squeezed it tight, ignoring his question. "You've always been there for me, Marky. Always had my back. You know that no matter how crazy my whims may seem, you support me. You know that I know what I'm doing, and in the end, it will work out. You trust me, right?"
No, he thought. Not when you're high.
But he didn't honestly think she was high now.
"I guess so…."
"Marky, things are bad," she whispered. "Things are really, really bad. I just found out something terrible. I found out a week ago. Marky, I have AIDS."
Mark choked on nothing.
"What!"
"Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. I have it. I'm not sure if I got it from needles or from Roger or what, but I was tested and the test was dirty."
Mark couldn't process this.
"Rog too?" His voice was shaking.
"Probably."
Impossible…. It couldn't be happening…. His two best friends….
"Marky?"
"Yeah?"
"I can't do this."
"What do you mean?"
April squeezed his hand more tightly. "I can't do this. I can't live this way. Do you know what happens to people with AIDS, Mark? They die. They die horrible, painful, drawn-out deaths. They get sick all the time and spend the last bit of their life in a hospital. Marky?" She looked deep into his eyes. "Do you want that to happen to me?'
Mark was horrified. "No!"
"I didn't think so. Because you love me, right?"
"Yes!"
"You love me like a best friend? You would do anything for me?"
"Yes, April, I would do anything!" he insisted desperately.
"Mark, I have no option but death. I will die. I will die very, very soon." She paused, leaning into him. "The only question is, how will I die? Will I die in a cold hospital bed, my body weakened and covered with sores?
"Or will I die here? At home? In the arms of my best friend?"
Mark's insides went numb and cold as if someone had dumped ice down his throat.
"April?" he breathed. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I need you, Marky." There was more than a note of pleading in her voice. "I can't die like that. I can't. I want to die here, the only place I've ever been happy.
"But I don't want to be alone when I die, Mark."
Mark stood up so fast that his camera nearly slid off the counter. April caught it, but he hardly noticed. His breathing was heavy, his ears ringing. "Stop talking like this, April!"
"I'm going to do it, Mark," she said, the gentle purr of her voice becoming just a bit sharper. "I refuse to die that awful death, I'm going to end it before the disease takes a hold of me."
"Stop!"
"I need you, Mark—"
"STOP IT!" he screamed, knocking over the beer can so that it splashed and made a little waterfall off of the counter. He stormed into the living room, unable to believe that she would put him in this situation….
"It's going to happen either way, Mark!" she shouted, following after him. "It's your decision whether or not you want to be there for me! You said you'd do anything! ANYTHING! I need you to be with me, Mark, I don't want to die alone! Don't make me die alone!"
Her voice held desperation. Mark could hear her crying behind him.
"Don't desert me, Marky," she pleaded quietly. "I need you with me."
He turned around and saw her, fallen to her knees, sobbing silently. He knelt down beside her and put his arms around her. "April, you can't do this…."
"Yes I can," she insisted, wiping at her eyes to make room for more tears. "Easily. I've already made up my mind, Mark. You can't stop me. You can either fight that loosing battle or you can help make my death more bearable. You said you love me, Mark. If you really loved me, you'd do this for me."
Mark felt numb fear so extreme that it was almost painful.
"I do love you, April, but—"
"But what? There are no buts in friendship. Are you saying you love me, but not enough to allow me escape from suffering? That's selfish, Mark. You'll be sad to loose me, and you're willing to put your happiness before mine. It's selfish of you."
Mark's mind slipped entirely from the present for minutes and minutes that ticked by like hours and hours.
Finally, at long last, he sighed. Heavily.
"I'm here for you, April," he said, feeling guilty even as the words left his mouth.
She took him by the hand. Led him to the bathroom. She hiked up her skirt and revealed a knife in the garter holding up the fishnet tights on her right leg.
"Like this?" Mark muttered, disbelieving.
"This is how I want it to be. I want to be able to watch the infected blood leave me."
Mark barely registered how out-of-her-mind April sounded. He had been brainwashed by her talk of friendship and selfishness and painful death. He now felt it his duty to be with her, rather than leaving her alone to die.
What is crueler than leaving someone to die alone?
He couldn't think of anything at the moment.
April turned the water on in the sink. The swooshing sound of it numbed Mark's mind still further.
He winced though, when she made the first slash.
A second, a third, a fourth.
Right down the veins, like tracing a picture.
Like following a road.
Like slipping down a slide.
She fell back into Mark's arms, and he held her tightly, both of them were soon covered in blood. Soaked in red.
"I'm sorry… Marky…." April breathed.
Mark said nothing.
"I shouldn't have… done… this… to you."
Still silent.
"Tell Roger… why…. And never let him… do… this…. I love him…."
"April," Mark choked. She was dying…. Holy shit, she was really dying! "April?"
"Thank you… Marky…."
She lived only a few more minutes.
Mark knew the moment she slipped away. It was as though her soul was a tangible presence, leaving the room in a current of unfelt wind. And Mark was alone in the room, clutching April's lifeless form, the guilt, which would haunt his life forever, not yet blossoming inside him.
He sat with her a while longer, though it was no longer necessary. She had gotten her wish. She had not died alone. For a short time, this very, very short time, Mark could hold on to the belief that he had done right. He had been a good friend….
Mark did not rise for a long time. When he did, his skin felt tight with dried blood. His hair was matted with it. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror through glasses smeared with red.
He saw a beast.
An inhuman, blood-soaked beast.
A fool.
A complete and utter fool.
Panic overtook him as suddenly as a sporadic downpour.
Suddenly he was screaming screaming screaming and sobbing and shaking April's body and throwing things throwing everything he could find. A bar of soap, a can of shaving cream. The shampoo bottle broke and splattered when it hit the wall. The mirror cracked when hit with a bottle of Roger's cologne, which shattered, the contents mixing with blood. What had he done, what had he done?
What could he do? Oh shit, what was he supposed to do, she was dead oh my God she was really dead and it was all his fault what was he supposed to do!
Call Collins.
Yes, that's what he would do.
Collins was smart. Collins would know what to do….
He ran into the kitchen and grabbed the phone. Then put it down. Grabbed the notepad beside it. Tell Roger why. She had told him to tell Roger why. Roger would kill Mark if he knew…. Knew what had happened. He couldn't just tell him….
He mimicked April's handwriting. He wrote, "We've got AIDS," on a piece of notepad paper. He wanted to write more, more for Roger to read, to help console him, but he couldn't think, oh damn he couldn't think! He took a piece of tape out of a drawer and taped the pitiful note to the mirror.
He looked again at April's body. He began to shake. First his hands and then his shoulders and he felt like there was an earthquake inside him.
He vomited on the floor.
"April," he croaked….
Mark could faintly hear the sound of the door opening. Someone was home. Benny's voice wafted through the air.
"April? How ya feelin' girl?" he shouted on his way to the hall. "IsMark here...?"
He stopped in the hallway, staring at the open-mouthed, blood-covered,trembling form of Mark just outside the bathroom door.
"Benny," he mouthed,barely able to make soundin hisburning throat. He took a step toward his roommate and grasped at the front of his white button-down shirt, staining it with a fistful of red. "April's dead."
And Mark collapsed, consciousness at last leaving him,into Benny's arms.
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What do ya think? If you really didn't like it, don't bother flaming me please. It was just a weird little idea I got randomly. I hope someone liked it though! I MIGHT (please note how might is capitalized) continue this as a full-length story if a) I get reviews that indicate that people want me to, and b) I can think of a way to continue it without it being stupid. I might just leave it as a one-shot. Anyways, love ya'll! Peace out!