Disclaimer: I don't own Rent

Mark sighed as his eyes fluttered open to reveal a blurred vision of the nightstand. Feeling around for his black-framed glasses, he cursed himself for having to face another day on his own. "Why was I born?" he asked no one as he sat up, shivering when his bare feet made contact with the cold hardwood of the floor. Mark robotically walked out of his room and toward the bathroom of the loft.

He took a good look at himself in the mirror. He looked much more wise than his twenty-seven years. Wise. It was a much better classification for the premature wrinkles decorating his face. In reality, Mark would trade every bit of wisdom for the old days when he still had friends. Over the years, he learned not to trust drugs, disease, or women. They take away the people you love most. April, Angel, Mimi, Collins, Roger, and Maureen.

He rifled through the medicine cabinet to find his razor and shaving cream. The razor glinted in the sun, catching Mark's eye and putting an idea in his head. Why not? He thought, picking the razor out of the plastic. His existence wasn't crucial to the world. His parents barely talked to him, his friends were dead or had long since abandoned him, and he couldn't get a job. What motivation was there for life? Mark laid the razor against his pale skin. Pushing down, the blade made a small incision in his wrist. Her winced and looked down at what he had done. The cut was barely bleeding. "Wimp," he muttered. He turned his head toward the door as the phone started ringing. Assuming it was his mother, he ignored it. "I have to do this…" He held the silver blade against his wrist, closing his eyes as he prepared to do the deed.

"Mark. Don't!" The voice was familiar, one from Mark's past.

Turning around slowly, he came face to face with the voice. "A-Angel?"

She smiled sweetly, nodding. She was dressed in a beautiful white gown, her favorite black wig adorning her head.

"But Angel… you're dead." He wasn't sure if she should be scared shitless that his dead friend was standing in front of him or happy to see her. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to save you."

Mark shook his head, newly formed tears fogging up his glasses. "No, I don't want to be saved."

Angel looked at him knowingly. "But you have so much to live for! Just think what the world would be like without you!"

"A much better place," he muttered.

Extending a perfectly manicured hand, she offered her most beautiful smile. "Let's find out."

They were in a smoky bar, music blaring in the background.

"Remember this night?" Angel asked, bobbing her head to the music.

Mark looked around. He could see Roger rocking the building on state with the band. He saw a pretty brunette and a wild redhead near the stage. "This is the night when Roger's drummer introduced us to his sister and her friend. This is the night we met April and Maureen."

Angel nodded. "This is also the night when Roger and April first shot up. And the night that you saved Maureen."

It was all coming back to him. Maureen had talked him into coming back to her apartment. Walking back there, a mugger appeared in an alley. He had pulled Maureen from Mark's grasp, tugging her into the alley and groping at her. Scared more for Maureen than himself, Mark's fist struck the back of the mugger's head. Startled by the clumsy punch, the attacker fell against the wall, releasing his victim. Mark grabbed Maureen, taking her to safety. He spent the night with her, comforting and holding her. When he got home the next morning, Roger and April were just starting to come down off their high.

"You weren't there to save Maureen," Angel said. She snapped her fingers, transporting the two to a quiet New York street.

Mark could see Maureen walking down the familiar street alone. As expected, the mugger surprised Maureen, pulling her into the alley, grabbing at her jeans.

"No! No!" Mark buried his face in Angel's shoulder. "Help her! Don't let him do this to her!"

Angel softly touched the sobbing filmmaker. "Maureen was raped and murdered that night because you weren't there to save her."

"Mark it stop!" Mark sobbed, unable to watch his girlfriend suffer.

With another snap of Angel's fingers, they were in an unfamiliar apartment.

"Where are we?" Mark inquired.

"Roger, April, and Collins couldn't pay the rent. Mr. Grey evicted them. They weren't able to get away with it because you weren't there to introduce them to Benny because you never went to Brown. Here comes Collins now." She smiled affectionately as the anarchist entered.

Collins was somber as he entered with a piece of paper in his hand.

"This is when he was diagnosed with HIV," Mark recalled. "Roger was high; he didn't find out until later. I was the one that comforted him because Maureen was… out."

Angel nodded. "But since you weren't there, Collins had to deal with it on his own, plus two junkies."

"Oh god…"

With another snap, Mark and Angel were in a bathroom with a bloody body on the floor. There was a jiggling of the doorknob and Roger's voice yelling April's name. Finally, he broke through the door. Collapsing on the ground, Roger held his dead girlfriend close, sobbing her name.

"I was there!" Mark cried. "I was there with him. I stopped him from killing himself the same way April did."

Collins entered the bathroom, startled by the commotion. "Roger! No!" He dove at the musician, prying the dead body and razor from his hands.

"I'm gonna die!" Roger flailed in the strong man's arms. "I'm sick like you! I wanna die now!" He waved his arms wildly, trying to escape. Collins was eventually able to drag Roger away.

Mark was crying on Angel's shoulder again. "No! No!"

"Roger died a month later," Angel informed softly. "He slipped deeper and deeper into drugs until he finally OD-ed. You weren't there to save him. Collins died alone because you weren't there to heighten his morale. I died alone because you weren't there to help Collins. Mimi didn't live past that Christmas because you weren't there to save Roger. Joanne, though alive, is alone too because you weren't alive to rescue Maureen. Collins died on the streets because you didn't know Benny to let you slide on the rent. Don't you see how important you were Mark? You're the reason our family held together for so long."

"Take me back! Take me back!" he wailed. "I want my life back! I want my memories."

Angel nodded, snapping her fingers to transport them back to the bathroom of the loft where they first started. "See? You're life wasn't that bad."

Mark nodded, wiping his wet eyes. "Thank you."

She smiled sweetly. "I'll see you when it's your time." She turned, disappearing through the door.

Mark looked at the cut on his arm. A scar, a memory that taught him more wisdom than any of the wrinkles on his face had taught him.

He walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen for breakfast. The blinking of the answering machine caught his attention as he took the cereal out of the cabinet. Walking towards the answering machine, he hit a button. He was grateful to be alive to hear what was probably his mother's voice at least one more time. Mark was surprised when it was a male's voice on the machine.

"Hello, Mark Cohen, this is John Smith of NBC. My colleagues and I were highly impressed with your footage…"

Mark smiled to himself as the man continued speaking, leaving a phone number and an interview date. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe there was some motivation for life.

-Fin