A/N: I'm a sucker for April fics, so here's another one! I decided to portray April a little differently than in my other fics… in this one, she's not a drug user like Roger, but a squeaky clean Catholic girl. What's going on the day she kills herself, and what's happening while she does it? Well, here it is! And it involves a guest appearance from a certain Latina "sixteen"-year-old who I also love.

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me—they belong to the musical theatre god Jonathan Larson. I just like to borrow them and tell their stories. And the title of this story belongs to the writers of the musical Bare. The song is called "All Grown Up".

The silver brush felt heavy in her hands as she brushed her blonde, curly hair. The girl that stared back at her from the cracked mirror appeared worn out, tired, like she hadn't gotten any sleep in the past month. There was truth in that, however. She hadn't been sleeping well for a long time.

She twisted her hair into a bun and went back into the living room. Mark was there, on the couch, polishing his beloved camera. She went over and sat down next to him.

"Hey April," he said, his eyes still on the camera.

"Hi," she said weakly.

The camera-polishing stopped, and he looked right into her eyes. "What's wrong?"

She sighed. "Nothing. I'm fine."

Shaking his head, he took her hand. "A, you know if there's anything wrong, you can tell me, right?" When she nodded, he asked the question again. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I've been feeling kind of sick lately. Like, really tired and worn out and just bad. And I've had this cold that seems to not go away."

"Get yourself to a doctor! I don't want to see you getting any more sick!"

"Thanks… Mom."

"Go. Make an appointment, or I'll do it for you."

She sighed. "Fine." She went to the phone and called her doctor, who was free right at that time. "Alright, Marky, I'm going to the doctor's. Tell Rog I'll be back later, okay?" She grabbed her coat and walked to the door. "Bye, Mom!"

By the time she reached the doctor's, she was exhausted. It was only a few blocks, but it took a lot out of her. "April Manning," she told the receptionist. After a few minutes, Dr. Graci called her in.

April explained her problem, and was given numerous blood tests and other examinations. She wasgiven antibiotics andwastold to go home and rest, and that they'd have the results in a few weeks. She knew colds, and this definitely was more than one. She was fearing the worst.

She told Mark that it was nothing and it was just a cold, and there was nothing to worry about, but he didn't believe her. She eventually cracked and told him that they did a bunch of tests and that her results would be in in a few weeks. She had restless sleep every night, anticipating the test results.

Two weeks later, when she was eating cereal in the kitchen, she received a phone call from the doctor.

"April Manning?"

"Yes?"

"This is Doctor Graci. Your blood tests results are in, and I think you better come in for this."

Shit. I have cancer. Or some rare disease. Or heart disease. Or something horrible. There was a pit in the bottom of her stomach the entire way to the doctor's office.

"April, sit down. This will be diffucult on you." She sat. "April, your blood tests reveal that you have the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, commonly known as HIV. It has already advanced to Aquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, the next stage of the virus,commonly known as—"

"I have AIDS?" she croaked out, shocked. She had friends who died of AIDS, and she hated seeing them like that. She couldn't imagine that she would end up like that too!

"Yes." She scribbled something onto a pad. "This is a prescription for AZT, which you'll need to take at certain points during the day, and antibiotics for a virus you have. And here's a booklet on HIV/AIDS, which will explain more about it and how to keep yourself and those around you safe." She then paused. "Honey, get your boyfriend to a doctor as soon as possible. You may have gotten it from him, or even have given it to him."

She grabbed the booklet and prescription, stuffed them in her bag, and walked out of the office in a daze. AIDS AIDS AIDS AIDS AIDS AIDS. How is that possible? Roger and I were always safe. It's those drugs he takes. Can you get AIDS through drugs? Wait… needles! He must have gotten it from those damn needles! Fuck! And that's exactly why drugs are bad! I wish he would have stopped when I told him to months ago. Why didn't he listen? I wouldn't be here if he had listned. Why, God, why?

Tears stung her eyes and there was a burning feeling in the back of her throat. She felt light-headed and dizzy, and held on to a nearby wall and just sat on the floor with her head in her hands. She wanted to scream or throw something or hit someone… but crying was the best she could come up with.

A Latina girl,who looked probablysixteen years old, came up to her and touched her arm. "Hey, miss, are you okay?" April shook her head. The girl continued, "No day but today, babe. Remember that. Live every moment as your last, no batter how bad your situation is. And I hope things get better for you." She then left.

April wiped her eyes and made her way to the nearest payphone and called the loft. Mark picked up. "Mark," she said through sniffles, "can you please come here? Now? I'm at the corner of 14th and Avenue A."

In a few minutes, Mark was there, with their beat up old car. He jumped out and helped her into the passenger seat. "April, what's wrong now? What did the doctor say?"

She didn't know how to tell him. "I'm really sick. Really sick. And so is Roger!"

He looked puzzled. "What are you talking about? How do you know Rog is sick? He seems fine! And what did the doctor say?"

She couldn't tell him! He'd flip out. And Roger? Well, I don't know what he'd do. "Mark, I don't want to talk about it anymore, okay?" She started crying hysterically right in the car.

He parked right outside their building, and helped her up the stairs and onto the couch, where she just curled up into a ball and fell asleep. Mark retreated into his room, pondering what kind of sickness could make her freak out like that.

April didn't know how long she had slept, but when she woke up, it was some time in the afternoon. From the silence of the loft, she could tell that no one was home. She moved the hair from her eyes, and suddenly, all of the events of that morning (or was it the day before?) came flooding back to her: the sick feeling, the doctor, the diagnosis.

Shit! AIDS… what the hell am I going to tell Roger? I can't live with AIDS. It's too horrible. I can't I can't I can't. I won't.

She stumbled to the bathroom in a haze of anger, sadness, and fear. She loved Roger, she loved Mark and Maureen, and Collins, and even Benny. She loved that girl who came up to her and actually gave a shit about her. But she couldn't love herself anymore. She could kill someone if they just came in contact with her bodily fluids.

April was a good Catholic girl: always went to Church when she could, lived by the Ten Commandments and the Bible. Suicide was completely against her religion. What would her family think? She couldn't tell them! They'd probably disown her or something. Hell, if they knew that Roger not only took drugs but played in a rock band—a.k.a. the Devil's music—they'd send her to a convent. She remembered her mother's words from when she was a young girl, "Don't drink. Don't do drugs. Don't date someone who drinks or does drugs. If they want to kill themselves, let them. Don't you associate with them."

But at that point in her life, she needed an escape from everything. And the only thing she could think of was death itself… and not death by AIDS or the diseases she could catch from it. She surveyed the bathroom: shampoo, conditioner, toothbrushes, hair accessories, make-up, shaving cream.

And that's when her eye caught the glint of a razor. Her head swam with thoughts… Should I? Should I not? That's what I came in here to do… But can I actually go through it? I can't... I can… I can't… I can!

A note… she needed to leave some kind of note. Something long wouldn't work, even though that's something she would normally do. Something short would be better… like, three or four words explaining why she was doing this. She picked up her bright red lipstick and scrawled across the mirror "We've got AIDS" with a heart under it, which she felt would mean that she still loved him and always would.

She grabbed the razor and put it on the side of the bathtub. She dropped to her knees and crossed herself, and began to pray:

"God, You've been with me for my entire life, so please be with me now. I know suicide is a sin, but I can't live like this. I'm sorry for anything I've ever done before, and please forgive me. And I know that this whole AIDS thing must be inYour plan, but I don't understand how.Watch over Roger and the others for me. I know this'll hit Rog really hard, but I just don't know how I can deal with this. I'm not strong enough. I love You, God. Really, I do. And I'm sorry for this."

She rolled up the left sleeve of her shirt, and grabbed the razor with her right hand. Locating her veins, she drew the razor vertically down her arm, gasping out in pain at the contact. Tears fell from her eyes but she kept on going with it, no matter how painful and hard it was.

After slitting her arm again and again, she started to feel light-headed and naucious at the sight of all of the blood and all of the pain she was experiencing. Slowly, everything around her went black, and there was no more pain or anything at all. In fact, there was no April Manning on Earth anymore.

And there you have! Please review? It'll make me very happy!