Still Life

Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, nor any of the characters contained therein.

Mark sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the box in front of him. Cautiously, he looked around, going so far as to open his door to check that no one was currently in the loft with him. Satisfied, he crept back into his room, and sat down again. He picked up the box, and held it, cradling it in his arms, feeling its weight. He laid it down again, gently, and almost fearfully, removed its cover. He looked at the small fortune he had amassed within. Everyday after his fight with Mimi, Mark had gone back to the dealer. Each day he bought the same thing. And each day, he brought back the goods, and stored them in his battered shoebox. Mark picked up a needle reverently, and watched the glaring fluorescent light from his lamp glance off it. He put it back into the box, and sat back again, thinking.

He didn't use any of the drugs; he wasn't stupid, he reasoned with himself. It was the thrill of buying them, the way they made him feel alive, feel dangerous. He went back every day for the rush, the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. He craved it, he needed the feeling. Mark chuckled bitterly to himself. It was pathetic to think that the only thing keeping him going was the rush of buying illegal drugs.

Mark sighed, and lay back on the bed. He knew all the risks, and they were what made his daily excursions worth it. He wondered if he was doing it to get caught, if he wanted to get caught. He turned over on his side, and faced the wall. How would he explain this to someone? That he didn't buy the drugs to get high, that he didn't even use the drugs! How would he explain that he bought them purely for the sake of buying them, for feeling dangerous, feeling energetic, feeling like a different person, Mark concluded glumly. He rolled back over onto his back, and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes.

He was playing a dangerous game, he reflected, and sooner or later, he was going to lose. Just as he had closed his eyes, he heard the door to the loft slam shut.

"Mark?" That was Roger's voice. Mark panicked, and said nothing, willing him to disappear. "Mark?" He called again, and received no reply. Mark suddenly sprang into action, and grabbed for his precious shoebox, scrambling to put it away, when he spilled its contents all over the floor. Mark froze, and the door to his room opened.

"Hey, Mark." Roger said, casually, leaning in the doorframe. "What's up?" Mark feigned nonchalance.

"Nothing…how was practice?" Roger snorted.

"Our drummer had to go to the ER after one of the drumsticks he threw in the air hit him in the eye." He smiled, and Mark chuckled nervously.

Don't come in, don't come in, Mark pleaded silently. Roger came in.

"Have you seen my lucky guitar pick?" Roger inquired.

"Uh…no." Mark replied, distracted, as he stared at the needle that lay on the ground behind Roger.

"Are you okay, Mark?" Roger asked. "You're acting really weird…"

"Oh…sorry." Mark apologized, but continued to stare at the spot a foot from Roger's black Dr. Martens. Roger followed his gaze, and turned around. Mark shut his eyes, and willed the earth to swallow him whole.

"Hey, what's that?" Roger asked, curiously. He bent down to pick it up, and Mark stumbled backwards, kneading his eyes with his knuckles. Roger picked up the needle, Mark grasped at the doorframe. Roger held it up to the light, Mark let out a soft moan, and slumped against the wooden frame. Roger's face went from bemused to shocked, to nothing. Mark watched him with frightened eyes. Roger turned away from him and seemed to be trying to get control of his temper. Roger looked at the needles covering the floor, and picked them up, one by one, and placed them in the battered shoebox. When he was satisfied that there were no more needles or little, white packets lurking in the dank interior of Mark's bedroom, he picked up the carefully-maintained box, and flung it against the wall. Mark winced, and his head reverberated with the piercing sound of glass shattering. Roger looked at him, and when he didn't say anything, he picked up Mark's lamp and threw it as hard as he could at him, Mark dodged it just in time, and barely avoided slicing his hand to ribbons on the fragments. He closed his eyes, and waited for Roger's temper to really erupt.

Roger seemed incapable of speech, and simply began throwing anything he could get his hands on, crying as he did so. Mark watched, detached, as pieces of his life shattered against the stained walls. Old tapes, camera parts, pictures, even the hot plate his mother had given him for Christmas. Roger stopped, shoulders heaving, and turned to face Mark, Mark looked back at him, unwavering. Roger's eyes were pleading with him to do something, say something to explain. When Mark was silent, his pleading gave way to anger once more, as he picked up Mark's camera and smashed it against the floor, grinding it into the wood with the heel of his boot. Mimi came running into the room. Roger stared at her. Mark stared at the remains of his camera. Mimi looked at both of them.

'What the hell are you two doing?" She asked, sounding more concerned than angry. Roger's eyes were burning a hole into Mark, commanding him to explain to Mimi. When Mark remained mute, Roger let out a primal roar of frustration, and pushed past both of them, storming out of the loft, and slamming the door. Mimi watched him go, and turned to Mark, eyes begging him to tell her what happened. Something in Mark rebelled, and he refused to speak once more. He walked calmly out of the wreckage of his room, out of the loft, down the street, and into a dark, nameless bar two blocks over, leaving Mimi alone in the loft to discover what had torn two best friends apart, for what seemed like the final time.

A/N: All right! SparkilyDragnStikers, rentjunkie6688, the-frauleinand bubblesnbrooms all get shout-outs for being awesome reviewers. And I'm going to revamp Roger's chapter soon, but I thought you all might like a new chapter first! And for all of you who were hoping that Mark would be taking the drugs…well, let's just say the story isn't over yet.

This was definitely one of the more angst-heavy chapters, but I like it all the same.

Next Chapter—guess whom Mark meets in a dark bar? Well, whom would you expect to find in a random bar at any time of day? That's right! MAUREEN! Should be an interesting chapter, to say the least, if it comes out right.

Right, well, you lot know the deal, read and review! (Please)