April stood in St. Mark's Place, wrapped in a black overcoat that was far too big for her, yet still shivering. Dry, dead brown leaves fell from the crooked branches of trees with each gust of wind. Yes, she'd promised her best friend she'd meet her at Club Leo at 9, but she couldn't risk him not being here when she left. She let her long, auburn hair out of the messy bun it had been in, and it hung down, mostly covering her face. She saw him approaching from across the square, and reached into the pocket of her jeans for money, her hands shaking. 6 or 7 other people started walking forward too. Why didn't I notice them? she thought, quickening her pace so she wouldn't be late for her friends. Without a word, the distance between her and the man lessened and then completely disappeared. Her trembling fingers - was it the cold air, or a fix? she wondered - counted out the bills, three twenties and a five, in front of him, and when he smirked and reached into his pocket, she held the money out to him, and he took it with his other hand. Pulling her close, he put a small plastic bag of white powder, a needle and several matches in her hand, and closed her fingers around them. Biting her bottom lip, she smiled, then whirled around and began running. Before she realized that she wasn't looking where she was going, she slammed right into someone - obviously another customer. The matches slipped out of her hand and scattered on the cement. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry," she stammered, as they both bent down to pick the matches up. She felt her face turning bright red, and she stared at the cement to avoid meeting his eyes. "It's nothing, really," he said, and placed several matches into her hand. "I-I've gotta go," she said, standing quickly and running around the corner before he could say anything.
Backstage, Roger sat on a stool, a bottle of beer in one hand and a small blue guitar pick in the other. He took a long, sustained swig from the bottle, feeling the biting liquid dash down his throat and give him the rush of energy that he'd need for tonight. He never got nervous before concerts, and he wasn't nervous now. But without the alcohol, he knew he'd be lost. He set the bottle down now, picked up his guitar, and strummed a few notes out. He played the first few measures of the song he was opening up the show with. He listened very carefully, making sure every note sounded exactly the way he wanted it to, and he played through the piece in its entirety very softly. He took several more swigs of beer. It wasn't long before he knew he was ready, so he grabbed his instrument, and walked out onstage. There was scattered applause through the club, which he disregarded, strumming a few chords and then tapping the microphone to make sure it was working. Looking out into the crowd, he took a deep breath and began to play.
April sat at a table for two while her best friend and roommate went to get them beers. "Hey, babe!" a voice said, and she turned to see Maureen place two brown glass bottles on the table. She kissed April's cheek with genuine concern, and for the first time all night, a real smile crossed April's face. "Here, drink this, we'll listen to this guy play, and then we'll go home. Okay?" April nodded, and took a long sip of the beer. She looked up at the small stage. Something about the man standing there seemed very familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. As he began playing, a fierce, passionate rock song, all her thoughts seemed to stop. She couldn't help but smile up at him.
Roger considered the song he was playing the best he had written. Most were your average rock song, he'd own up to that, but this was about a girl - a girl he'd loved long ago. His eyes scanned quickly through the people sitting in front of him, and eventually fell on a girl near the front with red hair. She was smiling at him, but something about it seemed almost seductive. Without him even meaning to, his gaze lingered on the girl, and he returned the smile.
"Are you sure you're not coming?" Maureen said, holding open the cab door for her friend. "I'm positive," April said, gesturing for Maureen to get in the cab. "I'll be home by two, I promise!" April called to Maureen as the cab drove away. Waiting until she was sure the cab was out of sight, April ran around to the back of the club. All that was in the alley was a big blue dumpster, and people rarely went back there, especially at night. She walked slowly behind the dumpster and sat on a cinder block. Using all her strength, she tore off a strip of cloth from the bottom of her black t-shirt, slipped off her coat, despite the cold, and tied it as tightly as she could around her upper arm. She rummaged through the pocket of her coat, and pulled out the needle, along with two matches and a small votive candle. She used the matches to light each other, and blew one out while lighting the candle with the other. Getting out the powder and the spoon she'd taken from the club, she poured the bag's contents into the spoon and held it over the flame, watching the shadows the fire cast against the metal. After a moment, she took out the needle, her hand trembling as she put the heated powder from the spoon into it. "What are you doing here?" a voice said. April turned around quickly and looked up to see none other than the man who'd played in the club that night. She threw her hands behind her back, dropping her needle and spoon as she blinked, her long black eyelashes contrasting beautifully against her pale skin. He stared into her cold blue eyes for a moment, knowing he'd seen them somewhere, just before she lowered her head to him. Moments later, he bent down to kneel on the cold tar of the alley next to her, and she was shocked to see him pull out a needle from his own pocket. "I'll get that," he said, taking out a lighter and relighting her candle, that she hadn't realized had extinguished itself. She put her spoon on the ground and lifted up the needle. "Would you mind if I used that?" he asked, gesturing at the spoon. "No, go right ahead," she said. She didn't know why she was hesitating, but she was, and she didn't like it. "You're the girl from the club tonight, aren't you?" he tilted his head and looked her into her eyes again. She nodded, and he took it. "I'm Roger. Roger Davis."
April felt like her heart had stopped beating. Her mouth hung open in disbelief. It couldn't be...or was it? Maybe that's why he seemed so familiar; why we connected, she thought. "R-Roger?" she choked out in shock. She felt her eyes begin to fill up with tears even saying only his name. He looked at her, confused. "Yeah?" he asked. "Oh, fuck," she said. "You don't remember me, do you?" She blinked. She extended her empty hand and placed it over his. "Roger, it's me." He looked confused. He obviously had no idea who she was, and that in itself was enough to send April into another breakdown. She felt sick. Of course he doesn't remember me, why would he remember me? she thought bitterly. "It's me. April." She turned away, not wanting to look at him any more as she searched for a vein to shoot the heroin.
'It's me. April,' she'd said, and as soon as the words escaped her mouth he knew. His hands instinctually reached out to her shoulders, and when she turned back to face him, her face was stained with tears. Seeing her again, even like this, he couldn't help himself. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips firmly against hers.
It was 2:18 in the morning when April got to Roger's small apartment, after asking to use his phone. Roger stood behind her as she slowly dialed the number to the phone in her own apartment. She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard her's and Maureen's voices on the answering machine, not knowing how she would explain it if her roommate had picked up. "Hey, Maureen, it's me. I just wanted to tell you that I'm okay and I'll be home soon, I promise." She stopped, thinking of what to say next, and he slowly slid his hands over her small, bony hips. "I'll call you when I'm coming back. Bye." She hung up quickly, and spun around so she was facing Roger. Smiling, she opened her mouth to speak, but before she had the chance, Roger had pulled her into a long kiss. They slowly pulled away from each other, a thick heat seeming to linger between the two. After a few seconds, Roger reached forward, taking the bottom of her ripped black t-shirt in his hands, and pulled it over her head as she lifter her arms gracefully into the air. It fell down to the floor, landing at her feet in a small pile. He slowly traced his hands down her body - her soft, red hair; the defined cheekbones of her thin, gaunt face; her bony shoulders; her small, round chest under a black lace bra; the visible bones of her ribs; her tiny, flat stomach; the hard bones of her hips at her waist, ending at her low-cut, short, black leather skirt, which he unzipped, letting it slip off her body. His hands wrapped around her small waist, she tilted her head back, the waves her her hair falling over her shoulders as he passionately kissed her neck. She pushed him back slightly, grabbing his shirt, pulling it quickly over his head, and throwing it against the wall. She held him tightly, and he put his hands on her cheeks as they leaned in towards each other, kissing as fiercely as if they never had before. He pushed her back gently, flipping her hair over one of her shoulders as she turned around. His fingers fumbled with the small metal clasp of her bra until it came loose and slipped off. He wrapped an arm around her bare shoulders, leading her to his bed in the corner of the small apartment. They shed the rest of their clothes and laid down on the bed, becoming only a tangle of tongues, bodies, and sheets.
When April woke up the next day, it was already midafternoon. It took her a minute to realize where she was, and that the arms she was wrapped in were Roger's. She smiled, and pulled her knees up, curling herself into his chest. The warmth of her skin pressed against him gently woke up Roger, who blinked, rubbed his eyes, and smiled. "Move in with me," he murmured, stroking her soft, red hair. She smiled and kissed his arm. "I should call Maureen," she said, smiled, and pulled the sheet off the bed as she stood so that it wrapped around her small body. As April walked to the phone, Roger rolled over. April's impression remained on the bed, and he put his cheek against the pillow where her head had been, feeling its warmth. It was amazing to him how, in such a short time, he could feel happy again. It had been five years since they'd last seen each other; five long, painful years. Roger would ask her about it someday, when he wasn't so blissfully happy. For now, he didn't want to think about when he'd been hospitalized, or when he'd run away rfom home, or when he'd first used drugs. This sort of calm, blissfull existence was what he'd always wanted. "Come on," April's voice said, her hand reaching down to help him up as she stood above him. "Get dressed. We're going to get my stuff." She smiled as he got to his feet, and she took an oversized t-shirt from Roger's chair and pulled it on over her bare chest, letting the sheet drop to the floor.