Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, wish I did. :(
Okay, I know, I have a lot of Mark and Maureen crap, so I'm gonna write a Roger one. And like, have some fun. This one is writing itself…
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Roger slowly strummed the strings to that guitar. The chords to Musetta's Waltz, the one song. The only song he was worthy of playing. He let his long blond hair fall into his eyes, as he looked down at the strings. In the bare moonlight, he could see dried blood on the strings, and then, flowing slowly over the guitar, was fresh blood.
"Damn," he muttered. Roger grabbed some random shirt off the floor, and held it against his fingers, applying all the pressure he could to it. Make it stop…just please…stop bleeding.
Just like his life. He had to stop bleeding. Everything that happened to him, scratched him, and it hurt. He could see the scratches on his arms. Some scratches deeper than others, some scars. Some of them, scars from the things that happened to him. He turned his arm over, and saw the one place he hated looking at it. It was raw still, even though the lost time he shot up was over two years ago. It was raw from the needles shoved at it, and the pressure applied. It was raw from the drug that ruled his life. The false god he worshipped. Heroin.
Heroin.
April.
Blood.
Mimi.
Dead.
Both of them, gone. It seemed like every time Roger loved someone, they died. Physically or spiritually. He loved April, and she committed suicide.
Suicide. Doesn't that sound so sweet? That word, it just rolls off the tongue, a simple word. A word that can replenish the spirit, it can heal everything. All he needed to do was do it. The sweet, tangling word that vibrated on his tongue.
Roger looked away from his arm. How could he? Think of such stupid things like that. He had better things to do than . He still had Collins, and Mark. Everything wasn't lost. Just hold on a little longer, seize the day. Carpe Diem!
That's what Mimi would say. Since Collins taught them that phrase, and what Carpe Diem meant, she said it. When those two foreign, dead words rolled off her tongue, it was like all was complete. She had always made Roger freeze, and rethink things. She was magic. She was like air, he had to have Mimi. How the hell did Roger survive before? How did he survive without his Mimi? She was always there to caress his cheek, to comfort him in the darkest hours, and he returned it. So what if he acted like an around her most of the time. He loved her, and wasn't that all that mattered? Wasn't that a good reason? Wasn't that enough?
Suicide.
The word, so simple to say. So fun to say. So deadly to feel.
Roger saw the door open, and he looked at it. Mark came in, camera strapped around him, with a sad look on his face. Roger looked at him, and Mark froze. Mark could feel the heat of Roger's stare. It was, almost as if Roger was burning a hole right through his body.
"Roger you okay?" Mark asked. Roger closed his eyes, and nodded his head. He opened his eyes. "You sure?"
"Yes, I'm fine," he said. Roger continued looking at Mark, and he knew the reason why he still had to keep living. Just how Mimi's epitaph read on that stone:
Carpe Diem.
Seize the Day.
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