A/N: This is my second rentfic and the other one I wrote was really short so I'm kind of new to this. I hope you like this one and I really hope you review. You have no idea how happy it makes me to get reviews, it motivates me to continue my writing :-) And I just want to say that the RENT Movie is coming to my country (Sweden) in a month or so and I'm finally getting to se it! I'm so excited! Well, enough with the babbling and on to the story, but first...
Many thanks to burn to emerge for helping me out with this story. You did a wonderful job with the editing, thank you!
Disclaimer: I don't own Mark and Roger, or any other boy for that matter... :-(
Cold Scent of Roses
Mark's POV
I sent a disapproving glare at the gathering clouds outside the window, hoping I looked intimidating enough to scare them away. Their unaltered state told me that I probably didn't. Great, this was just what I needed to calm my nerves; an incoming storm. Just as if the storm in my heart wasn't enough. The sight of Roger, fussing over his clothes in front of the mirror wasn't exactly helping me either. Why did he have to look so damn nervous? If he didn't want to go he could just tell me and I would gladly stay at home with him.
"You sure about this?" I asked, shooting him a quick glance from my spot on the couch to try and judge his reaction. "If you're not, just tell me."
He stopped fiddling with his torn shirtsleeve long enough to shoot me a stare that told me he thought I was asking the most stupid question in the world.
"Of course I'm sure. Why wouldn't I be?" Despite the words, and attempt at a carefree tone, Roger didn't sound entirely convinced. I let that pass, shifting my gaze to the window with a parting shrug.
"I think it may start raining," I explained carefully, hoping he would hear my underlying unwillingness to the whole thing. "Maybe we could wait until tomorrow."
Roger frowned, stepping out of the bathroom so he could glare at me properly. "Her birthday is today Mark. That's the reason why we're going today."
It wasn't like she would notice any difference, but I was wise enough not to press the matter. "Fine," I muttered, bowing my head in resignation. "Get ready then."
He just shot me a last sideways look before walking into his room. I listened to the rustles of him searching through the piles of clothes I knew were strewn about on his floor and wondered what he was up to. Probably more fussing, since he'd been acting that way all morning.
Changes, Mark. The downward spiral always starts with changes.
No.
Sometimes I thought about the arrogant boy Roger had once been. The boy who had danced through life without letting anything bother him. Who had smiled when things were rough and told me that he didn't give a fuck. It was that attitude that caused things to go so wrong, but I missed him anyway.
With a sigh I turned away from his door and started to pick at a loose thread on my scarf. Why was I being so selfish and reluctant? Of course he wanted to visit her; it was her birthday after all. And I should support him, I really should. It was one of the obligations that came with being his best friend- and she had become my friend too, hadn't she? He needed me today and he needed me to come with him.
But that place; I hated everything about it. It was nothing but a black hole that swallowed every single one I cared about. Slowly and painfully, for the ones going through it and for myself. It's not likely to swallow me anytime soon, but I still hated that place more than all of my friends combined. Being alone was worse than being dead.
A few quickly stifled coughs broke the buzzing silence and Roger walked out of his room again, this time wearing black jeans and a beige shirt that looked way too clean to belong to him. I frowned and looked away, not wanting him to see my bitter expression. The fact that this was the third time he had changed clothes this morning was starting to get me worried. And why the hell was he wearing a tie?
Changes.
Without sending me as much as a glance he shuffled towards the bathroom, probably to once again examine himself in the cracked mirror. From my spot on the couch I could see him inspecting his reflection carefully, trying to decide whether it would do or not. The unfamiliar behavior from his side would be comical under normal circumstances, but these weren't normal circumstances, and I sure as hell wasn't laughing. Living with dying people for years had taught me to be fearful of sudden changes. For me, they'd never led into anything good. As stupid as it sounded, watching my best friend stand in front of a mirror dwelling over what to wear just like some kind of teenage girl was a change big enough to make me terrified.
"Roger, what are you doing?" I asked suddenly, biting my lip as I forced myself not to look away from him.
He turned towards me, obviously surprised by my presence though I'd been sitting in the same exact spot for over twenty minutes now.
"What?"
"I asked what you were doing. You keep changing clothes."
And it's not like you.
"Oh." He lowered his eyes, looking almost ashamed. "I don't know what to wear."
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "It doesn't matter. Just make sure you dress warm."
I knew I was sounding like his mother (like my mother, more like) but I didn't really care. This day was going to be bad enough as it was and I didn't need him to catch a cold just to top it all off. I shot him a quick glance to gauge his reaction and couldn't help but roll my eyes again at the sight. Roger was standing hesitantly in the doorway to the bathroom. To my eyes, he seemed to be arguing with himself whether he should listen to my advice or change his clothes again.
"You gonna bring the guitar?" I asked abruptly, in a pretty lame attempt to change the subject. "You could play her a song." Even though I wasn't watching him I could still sense his body tensing up.
"No," he said firmly, and I looked up just in time to catch his eyes flicker to the corner where his once revered Fender now stood abandoned, covered with a thick layer of dust. "I told you Mark, I'm not touching that thing again."
That thing? He used to love his guitar more than he loved people. Well, most people.
"You could do it for her." I continued, knowing very well that I was probably overstepping my boundaries by pushing him like this. "I'm sure she would like it."
Roger frowned and turned his gaze from the guitar and back at me. Underneath the hollow gaze that had marred his gaze for the past few days I could see a tiny spark of anger blazing. And, somehow, I felt satisfied with the fact that I'd gained some sort of reaction from my apathetic friend.
"You know as well as I do, Mark," he ground out, "That she can't fucking like it because she can't fucking hear it!"
I narrowed my eyes, too tired of this bullshit to consider my words. "You know what? She can't see what fucking clothes you wear either, but that doesn't seem to bother you!"
I wasn't quite prepared with his reaction. Roger immediately winced and shifted his gaze to the wall. I was immediately filled with remorse. Since when did he become so vulnerable? I waited for one of the nasty comments he always used to spit back into my face when we argued, but not even a soft "fuck you" that he always resorted to when he didn't have a proper argument escaped from his lips. He just stood there silently, his eyes glued to the wall as if my comment had sent his mind off to some far away place. A place where I probably didn't even exist.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled finally, pretending to be enthralled with whether or not the lens cap of my camera was stuck on tight enough. He remained silent and I couldn't push away the wave of fear successfully this time. Lately he had started to behave like this far too often for my liking, becoming distant and introverted as if he wasn't even here, mentally, at least. I hated it. It made me feel like he was already leaving me; not even waiting for the virus to sink its claws into him. I wasn't ready yet. It was way too soon for me to even think about a life without Roger.
"Are you ready to leave yet?" I asked, flinching when I realized what I had just said. No, no, no, that's not what I meant. Standing up, I quickly retrieved my coat from the floor besides the door and put it on. I tried not to look at his pained expression as he slowly returned to the reality I was sure he didn't want to live in anymore. "Roger?" I prompted.
He blinked a couple of times, either to clear his mind or get rid of unwanted tears, and gave me a sad smile. "Yeah," he whispered. "I'll be ready in a minute."
I wanted to scream in frustration as he once again turned his back towards me and walked into his room in search for other clothes. I probably would have (maybe it would garner some kind of a reaction from him), but I couldn't quite summon up the energy.
--
After what seemed like forever we were finally out of the stuffy loft and surrounded by chilly September air. We walked through the streets of East Village, me peering up into the sky in search for dark storm clouds and Roger staring so hard at his dirty black boots that I was surprised he hadn't walked into someone yet. All I could think about was the rain that would most likely start any minute and Roger's reduced immune system that would never get any better. And myself. Even if I worried about Roger I couldn't help but wonder what would happen to me when his life also had been taken. How could my life continue when my world- my family- was crumbling around me? He was dying, but somehow I felt as if I was too. And the place we were heading to reminded me of everything I wanted to forget.
Suddenly Roger stopped short in his tracks and focused his eyes on the building next to us.
"What is it?" I asked, turning around to look at him. His face was pale and serious as he studied the sign of a nearby flower store.
"I was just thinking," he mumbled hesitantly. "Maybe I should buy her flowers."
I couldn't recall Roger ever buying flowers to anyone. It hurt to think that the one who would get to receive a gift from him was someone who couldn't appreciate it.
"Yeah." I nodded and started searching through my pockets for cash. I handed him a few crumpled bills and gave him a reassuring shove towards the entrance. "You go in there and buy her flowers and I'll wait right here."
He shuffled slowly towards the door while I debated whether he wanted me to follow him or not. This was probably even harder for him than it was for me and I wanted to make sure that he got some space to do this in his own way, without me breathing down his neck constantly. I was here to support him after all, not to make it any harder. Once he was inside I lifted my camera to my face, feeling the knot of tension ebb slightly. Roger's way to deal with it might be to clam up, but mine had always been slightly different.
I started to absently film some passers-by to keep myself relaxed and entertained while waiting for him to return. It was working fairly well the first ten minutes, but then I got restless and started to pace back and forth just to have something to do. This was bad; not even my camera could calm me down. I looked at my cracked watch impatiently, the seconds turning into minutes, but no Roger was in sight. What was taking him so long? Twenty minutes later I'd had enough of waiting and walked into the store to see what he was up to.
I spotted him immediately as I stepped over the threshold and was hit by a strong scent of flowers. He was standing frozen just a few meters from the entrance, staring blankly straight ahead. He looked like a lost tourist. This fragile man before me seemed completely unconnected with the arrogant rock star who used to tell me that life was easy if you just wanted it to be.
The spiral is going downwards, downwards.
Stop.
I walked up to him, trying my best to hide the irritation that was rising within me. It wasn't Roger's fault a voice in my head was bothering me.
"What are you doing, Rog?" I asked, still harsh enough to make him flinch.
He looked at me almost panicky and I tried to soften my tone. "Have you found any flowers yet?
He shook his head and started to study the very fascinating floor. Why was he starting to remind me of myself on my very first day in New York? "I just… I don't know what kind of flowers she likes. I never asked her… " His weak voice was so overwhelmed with guilt that I immediately forgot about the half an hour I had to wait for him outside (not to mention the expensive film I'd wasted).
I took a quick look around the store. "How about roses?" I asked, picking up a bouquet to hold up in front of him. "Everyone likes roses."
He nodded hesitantly and as I paid at the desk I could see him already leaving the store. I sighed and followed him outside.
"Why don't you carry them?" I told him as I walked up to his side and handed him the flowers. They felt cold and unnatural in my hands and I was relieved when he finally took them from me.
We continued walking and I noticed how he was squeezing around the stalks way to hard, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. I nudged him in the side to get his attention.
"Hey, don't choke them, okay?"
He looked startled. "Choke who?"
I chuckled softly - a noise that sounded strange and unfamiliar in my ears -and pointed at his right hand. "The flowers."
"Oh." He sent the fading roses a look of pity as he bit his lip thoughtfully. "I'm sorry."
I sighed soundlessly, not really knowing whom he was apologizing to. Roger was never one to apologize anyway. I chanced one more glance at him as we walked on in silence.
His death grip around the stalks hadn't loosened a bit.
--
We arrived all too soon. Roger walked before me into the gloomy area, into the garden of death. Striding past the rows of neatly lined up headstones he seemed to gather determination, like he finally recognized his surroundings and knew his destination. I hurried after, way more hesitant, and with an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me I was completely alone. Roger was walking only a few steps in front of me and I could simply reach out my arm and touch him if I wanted to. Technically he was right here, but I was still alone. A wall had been created between us and we were now standing on opposite sides of something impenetrable. It might help if he tried to break down the wall, but Roger's thoughts were with her now, and that made him relax. He belonged here in a way that I didn't and the terror that thought filled me sent a cold shiver down my spine. If he belonged here it meant that he had accepted his faith and was waiting to die. Acceptance meant no more fighting, no more resistance and maybe soon no more Roger.
The spiral is about to hit it's bottom.
No, no, no, no.
Roger's steps slowed down and finally stopped as we reached our goal; a single headstone, white with golden engraved letters and winding roses. It looked like a princess's grave, and maybe that's what her parents had wanted. Maybe their picture of her was the sweet little girl with curly hair and pink dresses, who smiled shyly at adults and played nicely with her dolls. Maybe they just remember how she was before she had to confront life, before she had to grow up faster than she was ready for. My picture of the wild girl with burning eyes and a smile that could light up the world was nothing like their little princess.
Roger dropped to his knees in front of the stone with a strained look on his face. "Happy birthday," he whispered softly and placed the flowers in a green, ugly, plastic vase that already stood by the stone. He bowed his head and I could see his mouth starting to move. It looked like he was praying, but I knew he was talking to her.
I shifted uncomfortably, rubbing my arms to keep myself warm even in the coldest of places. Roger was just wearing his thin leather jacket and the worry immediately started gnawing at me again. Luckily he didn't look like he was freezing though. But he looked sad. So very broken. I wanted to go and sit by him, to hug him, but I knew I'd just be intruding. This was his time with her after all, what right did I have to disturb him?
I looked away when the pain of seeing him so distressed became too much for me to take. Instead my eyes unwillingly strayed to the right and landed on the empty area beside her grave. I swallowed and felt a new sting. That was the way they had wanted it. Roger had promised her before she died that he would settle so that he got to be buried next to her. Not even death could tear them apart, he had told her. I had cried back then and I wanted to cry now. Would I ever get to hear such words?
Who will you be you buried next to, Mark?
Shut up.
Angrily I cleared my head of those thoughts with a firm shake and pressed my camera closer to my side. Cemeteries always managed to wake these feelings in me that I'd worked so hard to suppress.
"Roger?" I asked hesitantly, looking over at his hunched figure. "Should we be getting home soon?"
He glanced at me briefly over his shoulder, before turning back to her without a word. Story of my life.
"Do you think it's cold?" he asked abruptly, stroking the grass that was growing in front of the stone. I assumed he was talking to me and was just about to answer when he spoke again.
"I wonder if you're alone."
I took a deep breath and watched him cautiously. His fingers were tracing the golden letters of her name now. "I am," he mumbled. "I am all alone."
I had to look away yet again. The way he had suddenly turned me into a stranger- a useless nobody that didn't count in his eyes, hurt more than I could have predicted. Why was he doing that to me? Didn't he realize I was standing right behind him, listening to every word?
I felt drops of water in my hair and slide down the back of my neck. The rain had finally arrived.
"We should get inside, Rog," I said shakily, though I knew he wasn't listening. He had that blank look on his face again. The clouds turned darker and the rain was getting heavier.
"Do you think it's cold?" he asked again, in a monotonous tone that made the rain seem to pelt harder.
I kneeled beside him, reaching out my hand to touch his arm. The contact startled him and he immediately jumped up and backed away.
At least I got his attention.
"We should get going," I repeated, blinking as some of the raindrops landed on my eyelashes.
Roger just continued to stare down at the gravestone, this time focusing his eyes on the roses resting in the ugly plastic vase. A heavy gust of wind caused them to quiver roughly and some of the red petals lost their grip and escaped in the air.
"I don't think she likes roses, Mark." He whispered hoarsely.
I couldn't do anything but grab a hold of his arm and drag him away.
--
We were both soaked before we were halfway to the loft. I forced him to change his clothes the minute we got in and then tucked him into bed beneath several layers of blankets. The thought that his immune system was so reduced that this downpour could get him seriously sick wouldn't go away- not when I was watching his shivering frame trying to find peace underneath the sheets.
I had to watch out or else he would be gone sooner than I could handle.
No, don't think about it.
"I'm gonna make something hot for you to drink," I said quietly, knowing that it was probably pointless to talk to Roger at all today. I was starting to get used to never having my friend's full attention. Maybe it had always been that way.
He was even paler than usual. Maybe the short trip had been just too much for him. And I couldn't fight the feeling that he would be gone before I got back. Even though I knew that was unrealistic. But could anyone really blame me for being so negative?
I cleared my throat and made to stand up from the edge of the bed. He sat up then, his green eyes darting around the room until they came to rest on me.
"You never answered before," he whispered hoarsely, coughing a little to clear his throat.
I blinked and sat down again, surprised that he was actually talking but more because of what he had said. He'd barely spoken to me at all today, and I couldn't remember him specifically asking me anything. "What do you mean?"
"Before," he clarified impatiently. "At the cemetery, you didn't answer me."
"Answer what?"
"Never mind," he muttered, obviously annoyed. "If you don't wanna talk about it, it's fine."
I blinked again, feeling very confused. And Roger was acting weird again, it was starting to creep me out. Not to mention that him lecturing me on being anti-social was unbelievably hypocritical.
"Do you want tea?" I asked, breaking the awkward silence that had started to overtake the room. "I think I'm gonna make some. Or coffee. I think we have coffee…"
"Mark," He sighed in frustration, rubbing his hands over his blankets in a way that made me feel nervous. "I think sometimes… we should talk, right? You keep it all inside you and when I ask, you don't answer. I think it's no good. It's gonna kill you, Mark. When I'm not here, it's too late to talk. You can't wait forever 'cause forever don't exist for us." He paused. "Not for me at least…"
He had been looking at his hands while talking but now his eyes flew up to meet mine.
"Wh-Why are you saying this now?" I stammered, trying to swallow the big lump that'd been created in my throat. "You're not dying on me are you? I mean…I know you are, but not now…"
"No Mark, that's not what I meant." he interjected swiftly. "I'm not saying I'm gonna die now, but it's gonna happen. I just don't… want it to be too late. I don't want you to still have it all inside you…"
I looked away then, afraid that I would start crying if I saw into those serious eyes any longer. He had barely talked to me at all for the past few months. He had been distant, absent, oblivious to his surroundings. He had been a walking corpse, hiding from the world, hiding from me. Now he was suddenly telling me that I should open up more? And what was there to say anyway? He already knew everything about me.
"You won't die for many years yet," I said with my most convincing voice. Maybe if I could make him believe it, it would become the truth. "You're healthy," I continued. "I mean… it's just a little coughing now and then, but it could've been worse. Everybody coughs sometimes… and you don't look sick at all."
Keep repeating it and you may even fool yourself.
He sighed, bringing a hand through his hair. "Fuck Mark, why are you making it so hard? Stop that shit and talk to me."
What was the catch? Since when did Roger want to talk about anything?
"If you think-" I burst out angrily, too confused and upset to think rationally. "That I'm going to have some fucking heart-to-heart with you, so that you can go and die in peace, you can just forget it!" My voice was harsh but he didn't even blink this time.
I rose up from the bed, but he quickly reached out and grabbed my wrist before I could escape. I was starting to panic with all the new thoughts running around in my head. Just when I'd started to get used to absent, distant, quiet Roger, he suddenly starts showing his old self again. Just when I'd started to get used to being the anonymous shadow that only exists when he needs me to, he suddenly stops his neglect and wants to know how I'm feeling. Too fucking confusing for my liking.
I looked down at him, knowing that the desperation I was feeling inside was leaking into my eyes.
He's leaving you. That's why.
No.
"You gotta promise me-" I whispered weakly, "that you won't die, not soon. I just couldn't take it, you know I couldn't."
Roger smiled up sadly at me, but shook his head. "You know I can't promise, Mark. It's really not my decision to make."
There it was again, the acceptance in his voice.
"But you gotta fight." I persisted. "At least promise me that. Promise me that you won't give up until you absolutely have to."
His face darkened a bit and he suddenly looked bitter in a way I had never seen before. "I take my AZT, Mark." He said sullenly. "What else is there that I can do?"
I sat down again, resting my face in my hands as acceptance came flooding over me. Acceptance I didn't want.
There were fights no one would win, T-cells that would never multiply and flowers no one would ever appreciate. There were people who would always be alone and there were people who would never be wanted and needed. That was the painful way of life.
Roger yawned, the exhaustion showing on his face. His gaunt face, his bloodshot eyes.
You don't look sick at all.
"I have to sleep," he whispered feebly. "We can talk later, right? I'm really tired."
I nodded and watched him lean back against the pillow, closing his eyes peacefully. Soon he was snoring gently and I had to smile 'cause he looked just like a little kid when he was sleeping, mouth open and all. He would wake up tomorrow, that much I knew. Nothing more.
I could never be satisfied with knowing so little about the future. Not knowing when to say goodbye or when to say all the things I had to say before I said goodbye. Not knowing anything. But I had to accept it, even though acceptance was unsatisfying. Even though acceptance meant that I had to reconcile to the fact that he wasn't going to wake up one morning. I was going to be alone.
I am all alone.
I swallowed and took Roger's hand in mine, slowly lifting it up to my face. The scent of unwanted roses still lingered in his palm.
Yes.
It is cold.
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