Disclaimer: I don't own Roger Davis, he belongs to Jonathan or the lyrics to "The Phrase That Pays", it belongs to The Academy Is.
A/N: I'm still working on Before I Go, I just thought of this after I heard this song. Italics are song lyrics, bold print and italics are Roger's thoughts. Basically, my take on how Roger took learning he really was positive.
"The Phrase That Pays"
My eyes can't believe what they have seen.
In the corner of your room you've stockpiled millions of my memories.
Oh Doctor, Doctor, I must have gotten this sick somehow.
I'm going to ask you a series of questions,
And I want them answered on the spot, right now.
Is it serious?
I'm afraid it is.
Am I gonna die?
Well son, death is gonna catch up to all one day,
But yours is coming quicker than ours, than ours.
The doctor's office was freezing, and the walls were painted in the most disgusting color pink. Roger Davis sat on the examining table in nothing but a gown. He couldn't believe he was here. He buried the love his life yesterday and Mark suggested he come here for his own health but he knew what was happening. At least he thought he did.
How could she leave me like this? Why didn't she just tell me, we could have worked through it. How could she let me find her like that? "We've Got AIDS" is all she left me. What the hell. Isn't that what homos get? This can't be happening to me, how could she be dead? All that goddamn blood…
The doctor walked in a moment later with a brown envelope.
"I've got your test results right here Mr. Davis and I'm sorry to say that you are indeed HIV positive,"
"I used a condom every time, I mean are you absolutely sure?" he asked desperately.
"Yes I am. You were a junkie correct?" the doctor asked him.
"Yes…" said Roger.
"The needles are probably how you became infected," said the doctor.
"But I didn't use anybody's needles except April's," he said.
"April was most likely infected by needles that she used from other people. When she didn't sanitize them correctly and you used them, they in turn infected you," said the doctor.
"Tell me the truth, am I going to die soon?" asked Roger.
"Well, sooner than most, yes. However, there are many people who still live fulfilling lives with the illness as long as they properly take care of themselves," said the doctor.
"So what should I do?" Roger said.
"First of all, you need to quit heroin. It'll kill you sooner and the needles might have a more advanced HIV infection contaminating them. You also need to make sure you bundle up and take your AZT every single day, which can prolong your life by a couple of years,"
"Thanks doc," said Roger weakly and began getting dressed. Before he left, the doctor handed him a packet that said Life Support-Living, not dying, from disease.
I don't need to go to some support group and whine to complete strangers.
He threw the pamphlet on the ground as soon as he got outside.
Some things I may have taken for granted again and again,
well here's what was said then
He walked down the street in complete shell shock and bumped into a few people. He mumbled apologies but walked more like a zombie than a human being. His eyes were glued to the ground.
This can't be happening to me, I'm only twenty-three! I might not make it to thirty. I can't die, not yet. It's too soon. I can't get married. I can't have kids. I can't be a rock star and make history. How is Mark gonna feel? Collins is positive too, how many more people does Mark have to lose?
Hold your head high heavy heart.
So take a chance and make it big,
Cause it's the last you'll ever get.
If we don't take it, when will we make it?
I make plans to break plans,
And I've been planning something big, planning something big, planning.
Roger raised his gaze when he got to the loft. He was grateful no one was home and locked himself in the bathroom. He sat in the very same tub he found April in and didn't know why.
This is where she did it. This is where the bitch ruined my life. No, I can't call her a bitch, I loved her. I still love her. Why did you do this to me April! Why are you such a coward?
Roger began sobbing. He hated crying in front of people and didn't even cry at April's funeral. This was the first chance he had to let it out. He got up after some more sobbing, and punched the mirror, breaking it with his fist. He watched the blood seep from his knuckles.
So is this how you felt? Did the pain make you cry or did you enjoy it before you died? This is what I found all over my walls and floor. This is what is killing me.
He cleaned his hand up before Mark could question him about it and wrapped it in a towel. He walked into the living room and saw his guitar on the couch.
The one thing I can count on. Starting now, I'm gonna make history. I'm gonna write a great song that will blow everyone away. I'm gonna start living my life right and experience everything I can. Except love. I've had plenty of that and look where it got me now.
I've never tried to make the best of my time,
When I thought that I had plenty of it.
Is this serious?
I don't know what to think.
Is it all a lie?
Well one thing is for sure
I'm taken back to the glory days
When we were kids without a brash or bitter thing to say.
Roger sat on the couch strummed on his guitar and thought of his younger days. He used to play sold out shows at tiny clubs but enjoyed every minute of it.
I'm dying. DYING. I wonder what people would think if they found out. Whenever I played a song would they say "It's that guy who has AIDS, what a shame," and not hear a damn lyric of my song? And then there's the night I met April. Boy, did I not know what I was getting into. I dived headfirst into my grave with that one. Was our whole relationship a lie? Was it so superficial that it was based on drugs and rock shows and baggage? Did we use each other to feel better? Why did I let her pull me in, or down I should say. That fucking needle with that fucking powder that she loved so damn much, more than me. She obviously did if she couldn't even tell me we were positive herself. I used to have everything I wanted, sold out shows, a great girlfriend (so I thought), and this old guitar.
Now my life is one big make it, or break it.
I'm not going to let this cripple me. I have one chance now before the timer's up and I'm gone. I'm going to write something, even if it fails. No matter how bad the withdrawal is or how sick I become. No more sappy fake ballads without meaning and no more fake angst "I hate my dad," songs. I'm going to create something worth living for.
THE END