His first thought was that it wasn't real. It was just a nightmare that he would wake up from at any moment…And straight on the heels of that thought came the one that said April had the right of it. This was a death sentence. Wouldn't it be better to go quick and by your own choice? This thought seemed so right that he collapsed to his knees next to his love, heedless of the blood he was getting all over himself. He reached for the bloody shard of glass. The same one April had used to take her life. He would be with her one way or another.
He was mesmerized by the way the light reflected off the glass, the way the whole room seemed to look red. Like some scene out of a horror movie or something. Still in a kind of trance, he brought the glass to his wrist. As he drew the first drops of blood, he was shocked by the sudden grip on his hands.
He hadn't heard anyone come home, but here was Collins…"Don't you even think about joining her, brother. This isn't worth that."
Wasn't worth it? How could he say that? He had the death sentence, too! April had been right, Collins was a fool. They all were. Trying to pretend that this was no big deal, that everything would be fine. Nothing was ever going to be fine again.
This was his fault. April was his fault…He hadn't been enough for her. He'd chosen the road of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, and he'd taken her down with him. Her parents had been right all along in their disapproval of him, their opinion that he was bad for their daughter…
He'd dropped the glass when Collins had grabbed him and now he pulled away. "Not worth it?" He snarled. "Not worth it?" He shifted to move away from Collins, wincing as he felt the blood, April's blood, cover his hands. "My girlfriend gives me a death sentence and then splatters herself all over the bathroom, and it's not worth it?" He'd swung from depression to near hysteria in the space of seconds. "I'll tell you what's not worth it. This. Life! What's left for me now?" He continued before Collins could reply. "Nothing, that's what!"
Collins reached for him again and he avoided the touch. "Get out!" And when that got no results: "Fine! I'll get out!" Despite Collins trying to stop him, he scrambled to his feet and managed to make it to his bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind him.
He leaned on the door and ignored the pounding. Ignored the shouting, the orders, the pleas…anything to get him to open the door. He ignored the fact that it wasn't just Collins, but Mark as well, trying to get in.
He pushed away from the door and went to the place where he kept his stash. "Fuck!" It was empty. Not only had April taken his love and his life, she'd taken the one thing that could make him feel better…or be his downfall depending on how he chose to use it.
This revelation threw him into a destructive rage, which he took out on everything in the room that even remotely reminded him of the girl. Which was pretty much everything there. He was shredding the last of his sheet music and on his way to smash the guitar to pieces when Mark flung himself in front of the instrument. "Roger, no!"
He hadn't even noticed that they'd gotten the door open, but suddenly Mark was there. Not a smart place for him to be. Roger gripped Mark roughly and literally threw him out of the way, heedless of the grunt of pain as Mark hit the dresser or of Collins picking Mark up and telling him to let Roger destroy whatever he wanted. Telling him they could always buy more of the stuff before pulling Mark back out of the room.
Later Roger would often wonder why he spared that guitar. In his grief and pain and madness…something had gotten through. He never knew if it had been the look of devastation on Mark's face as he attempted to protect the instrument or something else entirely. But, it didn't seem to matter. The guitar had survived intact even if nothing and no one else had.