It Could Have Been Different, a rent fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Roger or April or Rent… unfortunately.

April had been feeling sick for a while now. She just assumed it was the heroin. Roger would come home from a show with some, and they'd shoot up every weekend. She had been warned of all the dangers when she was a kid. Drugs can kill you. You can get diseases. You can mess up your brain. When Roger first introduced her to them, she was scared. She didn't want to hurt herself, but she didn't want to lose Roger. After all, he'd been doing drugs for almost a year now and he was fine. April consented and let him slip the cold needle through her skin. At first, it hurt. But then all the pain just faded away. She couldn't feel anything. Her worries were washed away by one prick of a needle. After a few more times, she just figured that all the bad things that came along with the risky business of drugs couldn't hurt her. Things like that don't happen to Daddy's girls from Manhattan. She was invincible.

April had been using heroin for over a year and more recently picked up cocaine. It felt good. Roger liked it. They were happy.

More recently, April had been growing weaker. She wasn't eating. She was thin and pale. Roger didn't notice. He was too busy playing his guitar and getting high to notice. But he gave her drugs. The drugs made her happy. The sex was good, so April shook off Roger's moodiness and solitude, thankful that she at least had someone. Lately, Roger had been coming home later than usual, high and smelling like beer, smoke, and sex. She figured he was shooting up with his band. The thought of someone else never crossed her mind.

"I have to do something about this," April said at last, pulling herself out of her thoughts. She continued pacing her apartment, trying to think of a solution. She finally settled on calling her parents for money. She needed a doctor.

April sat on the table of the doctor's office. The poking and prodding was rather uncomfortable, but not as bad as explaining her sex life and drug habits to the seventy-year-old man who was doing the testing. He drew some blood. At first, the needle freaked her out. Sure, she had been using heroin for a long time now, but something about the needle, taking something out of her rather than giving her something, scared her.

"All done, sweetie," the doctor said at last with a smile.

"Thanks," April answered, getting up and dressing.

"I'll see you in two weeks for your results."

The walk home was nerve-wracking. Should she tell Roger where she was? Would he care? Would he leave her? Pushing the thoughts out of her mind, she entered her boyfriend's loft.

Later that night, when Mark and Maureen had gone out for a walk, April decided to have a go at talking to Roger.

"Roger, baby?" she sat next to him.

He looked up from his guitar. The look on his face hurt. April felt like she was a horribly annoying distraction. "Yes?"

"What's that look for?" she sat back, crossing her arms.

"Are you trying to pick a fight?" Roger asked, sliding the guitar off his lap. "Because I really don't feel like dealing with that right now."

"No, I wasn't, you just gave me…" April stammered. "Nevermind."

"So you bother me to tell me nothing?"

"God, Roger, what is wrong with you?" April stood up, arms waving. "I want to have a conversation with my boyfriend and you just assume I'm mad at you. What made your life so hard? God…"

"Wait, April," he stood up and followed her to the door, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I … just… the guys want to break up and pursue solo careers and I…"

"You can tell me this stuff," April turned to face him. "I can try and make you feel better, like girlfriends usually do."

"Baby…" he tried to hug her. She did her best to wiggle out of his grip but he was too strong. He pulled her into a tight hug, kissing her and inching towards the bedroom. Typical Roger. Sex always did make him feel better… for a little while.

The two weeks had passed. April wasn't so sure about her relationship. Despite the band's break up, Roger had been out later than usual. April sat up waiting for him, Mark next to her telling her everything would be all right.

"What if he's shooting up without me?" April asked. "Or dead in alley somewhere?"

"Roger's smarter than that," Mark assured, hugging her. "I think you should get some sleep."

April woke up on the morning of her appointment with Roger beside her. His arm was draped across her stomach, fresh track marks running up his limb. Brushing it off her, she prepared for the long walk to the depths of the city.

The time in the waiting room seemed endless. She almost forgot the stand up when the nurse called her name. Walking back to the room, April didn't want to see her results. She knew she had been tested for HIV and a few other STD's, but now she would rather go on living not knowing if she was infected.

The next hour was a blur. A diagnosis, a prescription, and wishes of good luck.

"I regret to inform you that you are HIV positive," the doctor said, handing April a slip of paper with test results printed.

Tears flooded her eyes and she took in the truth. "Will—will my boyfriend be sick too?"

"There is a chance," the doctor answered. "Although it is difficult for you to give him AIDS, sharing a needle with him will do it. Unless of course he gave it to you."

"I've never shared my needle with anyone but him," April answered, "but I can't say the same for Roger. Who knows what he does with his band."

"Here is a prescription for AZT," another slip of paper fell into her hands. "Best of luck with this, and have your boyfriend tested."

All she could do was nod as she walked out of the office.

She pondered how to break the news to Roger. Maybe over dinner. During sex? No, that's not right. Should she tell Mark? Maybe he'd know what to do. No, she'd tell Roger first. After all, he could be infected. He deserved to know.

April jammed her key into the door of her own loft, located in the same building as Roger's. Laying on the couch, she continued thinking about how to break the news. She couldn't think straight, the tears flooded her eyes and memory.

"I regret to inform you that you are HIV positive…"

The words played over and over in her head. Sitting up, she wiped away her tears. She walked towards the phone and dialed Roger's number.

"Speak."

She sighed. "Hey Roger. It's me. I need to…"

"Baby?" He picked up the phone when he heard her voice.

"Roger, do you – do you have a minute?" April stammered. "I think we should talk."

"Um, baby, this really isn't a good day," Roger replied. "We're trying to get in one last gig and you know how the fans get. I have to go soon and I won't be back til late. Sorry, babe, can it wait?"

"Whatever, Rog," April sighed, hanging up. He sounded high. Shocker.

She decided to take a nap and mull everything over in her sleep.

April woke up a few hours later, rested and with a clearer mind. She knew she couldn't handle this alone. Roger needed to know before he did anymore messing around with his band.

"I'll surprise him," she decided. Dressing in her favorite fleece pants and a black sweatshirt, she made her way up to Roger's loft.

Letting herself in, she was surprised to see Mark still awake. "Hey, Mark."

"Hey," Mark looked up, "Roger's not home."

"I know, I was going to wait up for him," April replied, sitting beside him. "I have something to tell him." Her voice was shaky and uneasy.

"Don't hold your breath," Mark replied with a smile. "The couch is yours to crash on if he isn't home soon."

"Thanks, hon," she ruffled the Jewish boy's hair. "Where's Maureen?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I've learned to stop worrying."

"Oh," April looked away.

"I'm going to bed," Mark said at last. "Have fun."

April laughed. "Good night."

It was hours before April was jolted awake by a thud on the door. Looking at the clock, she realized it was well past 4 am. Another jolt. This time, the door opened and bodies fell inside. Roger was being pushed in, a girl up against him. April let out a surprised cry. So this is where he was, messing around with some blonde.

Roger pulled himself away when he heard April. "Oh fuck," was all he could get out.

"Roger!" April cried, tears streaming down her face. "I – I – who is this? What are you doing?"

"I told you I was busy and not come around," Roger cried in his defense.

"So you're cheating on me?" April asked, pushing past the two and stepping out of the apartment. "Then fuck you, you don't deserve to hear this."

Roger hit his head against the wall once April was gone. "Fuck…"

"Come on, babe," the blonde wrapped her arms around his waist, "can your girlfriend give you this?" She waved a small bag of white powder in his face.

"No, April gave me…" Roger couldn't finish that sentence. April had given him love. And what had he given her? "Shoot me up; I'm going to need it."

The drugs and the blonde took away his problems for the night, but tomorrow, he'd have to deal with it on his own.

Once back in her own loft, April fell down crying. "How could he…" She crawled to the bathroom to clear her face. Looking at herself in the mirror, she noticed how shitty she looked. Makeup was streaked over her thin, pale face. "What have I done to myself? What did I let him do to me?" It was Roger who introduced her to drugs. Sure, she could have said no, but she loved Roger too much to let him go through the addiction alone. In hindsight, he had never really loved her at all. She was just there. Something for him to fuck.

Dragging herself away from the mirror, a shiny gleam caught her eye. A razor. Walking over towards the bathtub, April picked it up and examined it.

"He doesn't deserve to hear it and I don't deserve to go through this alone," April announced to herself. Putting the razor back, she left the bathroom to find some paper. After scrawling a few heartless words, she placed the note on the bathroom sink. Taking a deep breath, she went back to the razor. Taking it in her hands, she rolled up her sleeves and thrust it deep into her wrist.

"Ahh," she cried, cringing at the pain. "I don't deserve this," she said again, cutting deeper. Before she could switch arms, April collapsed off the side of bathtub and onto the floor. Her head hit the tile hard before everything went black.

Roger woke up with only a headache to accompany him, the blonde having let herself out hours ago. Rubbing his temples, he recalled last night's events

The band rocked their final show, he met a girl, he brought her home, April, drugs and sex. April. April had seen them and stormed out.

"Fuck," he muttered. "April." Rolling out of bed and into clean clothes, he barreled out of his room and into the living room.

"You okay?" Mark asked. He had been sitting on the couch.

"Where's April?" Roger stumbled forward, sitting next to Mark.

"She stayed here last night I think," Mark answered, "to wait up for you. Who was that girl that left a few hours ago?"

"Shit!" Roger buried his face in his hands. "That was… I don't remember, but April saw us. And the girl had drugs and we fucked and now April…"

"You asshole," Mark stood up, "she's probably crying her eyes out downstairs. Do you have any idea how big of a dick you've been these past weeks to her? She doesn't deserve that. She doesn't deserve the hell you put her through."

"I've got to apologize," Roger headed for the door, "she needs to know I love her."

"Good luck," Mark replied. He caught the look in Roger's eyes. The one that said help me. "Fine," he followed him downstairs, hovering in April's doorway.

"Baby?" Roger called, finding an empty living space and bedroom.

"The bathroom," Mark pointed, seeing the light.

"April, I'm sorry," Roger said, opening the door. "Baby, I… holy fuck."

"What's… oh God," Mark's eyes widened.

"Baby…" Roger, tears forming in his eyes, made his way over to the bloody body on the floor. "April…" He took her in his arms and sobbed into hair redder than the bloody floor. "Oh God what did I do?"

"Roger," Mark draped an arm around his friend, something in his other hand.

"She had something to tell me, she said she wanted to talk," Roger sobbed. "Then she saw me and… and that girl and that I didn't deserve to hear something and she left, and oh God this all my fault."

"Um, Rog," Mark forced a slip of paper into his hand, "I think this is what she wanted to tell you."

"We've got AIDS," Roger read allowed. "Oh God, she wanted to tell me… and she was…"

"I'm sorry," Mark replied. "You can get through this."

"No, now I'm going to die alone," Roger sobbed. "I'm going to die alone just like she did."

"I won't let you die alone," Mark reassured. "You won't suffer like she did, as much as you deserve to."

"Thanks Mark," Roger gulped, clutching his dead girlfriend closer, "I – I appreciate your honesty."

Standing up to call 911, Mark left the room. "It will be different," he whispered. "I'll make sure you don't go like she did."