Author's Note: Okay, this is the last chapter in this fic. If you aren't into reading about suicide, then please don't read. Thank you for all of your reviews and the support that you've given me while writing this fic. Please review!
Disclaimer: As you know, this doesn't belong to me, but to the late Jonathan Larson, who I'm in HUGE debt to for borrowing his story and his characters and for sharing with us the wonderful thing called RENT.
The next morning, she received a call from her doctor, who insisted that she come in for the results of her blood tests. Collins dropped her off, making her promise to call if it was anything bad.
"Miss Yeats, please have a seat." Oh shit, here it comes, she thought as she sat down. "As you know, we took many blood tests a few weeks ago. The results came in last night. I'm sorry to inform you, April, but you have been infected with the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, commonly known as HIV. I am not sure how you came to have this, but you have most likely had it for months, since it has advanced to the Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome--"
"AIDS?" she croaked, unable to comprehend what she had just heard. "How is that possible?"
"Like I siad before, we cannot determine how it happened. You could have gotten it from anyone, or anything. Now, I'm giving you a prescription for AZT, which will help slow down the attacking virus."
April took the prescription and the test results, along with a brochure about AIDS, and walked slowly out of the office, swallowing back the tears that were on the brink of spilling out. She wiped her eyes and called Collins from the payphone to pick her up.
"How'd it go?" he asked as they drove home.
"Fantastic. The tests were negative," she lied and forced a smile.
"Good to hear!" he said, and patted her shoulder. "I'm going to drop you off, then I'm meeting a student at the Life Cafe.Will you be okay on your own?" When she nodded, he said, "You know I'm always here for you, April. I'll see you later, okay?"
"Sure. Thanks, Collins. Bye." The moment he sped off, she fled into the loft and burst into sobs the minute she closed the door. She ran into the living room and, making sure no one was there, flopped on the couch. I can't take this anymore! Roger hates me, and now we've got AIDS... oh my god, AIDS! That means that I'll die in a matter of time. Shit, I can't live like that! I don't want to die in a hospital bed hooked up to every machine possible. That's not me... that's... that's... fuck, I can't do this.
She got up and walked over to her beloved drum kit. She began drumming the hell out of it, hoping to get out her sadness, anger, and frustration, but it only made her tired. She instead kicked it hard, hoping to destroy it, but it barely made a dent. I can't even do that right! My life is such a mess... I'm not going to live like this! She dashed into the bathroom and slammed the door. Sharp, sharp... something sharp .Six people here and not a single razor? She frantically searched the tiny bathroom and found a razor in the medicine cabinet. She put it on the sink, needing to take care of other business first.
She needed to tell them that she... and Roger... had AIDS. She didn't want to write a long note or anything, just something that would get it across. She decided on scrawling on the mirror "WE'VE GOT AIDS" in the first thing she found: Maureen's purple eyeliner.
She never thought she'd kill herself... she never even thought about it before. But at this point, there was no reason for living. She would only suffer more in the next few years before her death anyway; more abuse from Roger and a sickly immune system. To live like that wasn't worth living at all.
Okay, how do I go about doing this? In the movies they always seem to do it in the tub... for what reason? Maybe after they're passed out they drown so they're not kept alive? Baths are nice... I'll do that! She filled the tub with warm water and waited until it was completely full before climbing in-- fully clothed-- with the razor in hand.
April took all of the many bracelets she wore on each wrist off so her veins were completely exposed. The razor felt heavy in her hand. Did she really want to go through this?
"Yes," she whispered. Now was a good a time as any-- no one was home and she never had to face Roger again.
Roger... oh, Roger! Would he miss her? No, he'd be too high to notice I was gone. Or he'd be to busy slapping around other people, she bitterly thought. Yes, this is the best thing to do now... for everyone.
She uncapped the plastic razor and brought it down heavily on her arm.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
"Fuck! I can't even do this shit right!" she screamed. She angrily threw the razor at the wall and got out of the tub, soaking wet. She took the eyeliner and wrote "P.S. You can't slit your wrists with a fucking plastic razor." Then, she ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife, and went back into the tub.
She winced in pain as the knife broke her skin. It's not like this in the movies. They're committing suicide and it doesn't hurt. Why does this hurt? Tears found their way out of her eyes as she drew it vertically down her veins. The water she was sitting in turned red. There was so much blood... blood everywhere she looked. She felt weazy at the sight of all of her contaminated blood. More slashes, more cuts, more blood. Her head felt light and the room spun around her, moving faster every second.
The knife fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
There was a splash as a lifeless body became buried in bloody water.
There you have it! I hope you enjoyed this fic, and thank you for your great reviews!