Disclaimer: I don't own Rent or Behind These Hazel Eyes, and yes, I know Adam Pascal doesn't have hazel eyes, but my Roger for this story does, just 'cause I have artistic liberties and I'm using them, dammit!
AN: I felt like writing a fic that ACTUALLY HAD A PLOT gazp Actually, I had no inspiration, so I decided to do chapters to go with the songs on my Eargasm (don't ask) playlist on my iPod-chan I love my iPod. Her name is Angel Dumott Schunard, because it said to name my iPod so I decided she was Angel in iPod form Anyway, yeah, I'm obsessive… ; Well, enjoy! I know it's short, but I'm just kinda setting up the story. Ooh, and anyone who gets the title reference gets a cookie!
Here I am, once again
I'm torn into pieces
Can't deny it, can't pretend
Just thought you were the one
Broken up deep inside
But you won't get to see the tears I cry
Behind these hazel eyes
- Behind These Hazel Eyes, Kelly Clarkson
When Mark walks in, at first I try to hide the fact that I'm blubbering like a baby. Books are very useful for this. But when he alerts me to the fact that my book is upside-down, my cover is most definitely blown. "Fine," I say, "You caught me. Now what do you want?"
"I came to ask you if you wanted to go get dinner with me, Maureen, and Joanne, but now I want to know what you were crying about." I don't want to tell him. I'm sick of him always trying to fucking comfort me. I want him to figure it out after Mimi stops visiting and fades out of our lives. I want him to act like it's the most normal thing, that we just kinda fell apart and it's not a big deal. But he won't, and I know it, and he knows it, and I have to tell him.
"Mimi broke up with me."
"What?" He seems surprised. Why? We were fighting all the time; even after Christmas, nothing got better.
"She broke up with me. Said she couldn't deal with my paranoia. But how could I not be? How could I fucking not be when she leaves the loft at night almost every week and comes back the next afternoon in the same trashy lingerie she wears to work and she gets "mysterious marks" on her neck that she thinks her make-up hides and bloodshot eyes and fresh track marks and she's going into that alley where the man works? Did she think I didn't notice that she was using again? She's just so fucking blind!" By the end of this, I'm screaming, and Mark has sat down next to me on the window seat, and his arms around my shaking body. "She's just too weak to stop," I whimper. "Too fucking weak!"
Mark smooths my hair. It feels nice; Mimi never did that. She never did anything but buy her stupid drugs. Mark is more comforting than Angel or Collins would be if they were still here, and even more comforting than Mimi was when Angel passed away in October and Collins wasted away 2 months later. "Shh… it's gonna be okay, Roger… she'll… she'll come back to you… everything will be alright." He's wrong, I know it. She's never coming back.
She's gone.