Disclaimer: I don't own Rent.
Mark and Roger stop their conversation when they hear the door of the loft swing open and a body enter the room. They look up to see Mark's girlfriend (who made it a recent habit of just walking in) standing in the doorway. Mark immediately brightens at the sight of Maureen, but just Roger rolls his eyes. They had been dating for a year and half and he has been sick of her since six months in.
"Boys!" she announces excitedly, "I think I'm psychic!"
"You're not psychic," Roger replies, obviously annoyed at the interruption of his conversation with Mark, "you're just plain psycho."
Maureen narrows her eyes at him and Mark whacks him on the leg and gives him that look. He looks up at his girlfriend, giving her a smile to make her feel better. "What makes you psychic? Did you make a prediction?"
"Okay," she begins, taking a seat in the beat up recliner across from the couch, "I can never tell exactly what day I'm going to get my period on. Ever. But on Monday, I thought 'Hm, I think I'm going to get it Wednesday' and what do you know! Today is Wednesday and I woke up and BAM there it was. I'm psychic, I'm telling ya!" She smiles brightly, oblivious to the looks of discomfort on the boys faces, not to mention the deep crimson blush that was slowly making it's way onto his cheeks.
"Well, I could have told you that," Roger rolls his eyes again. He's getting more and more pissed off.
"Are you psychic too?" Maureen asks, missing the sarcasm by a mile.
"No, I'm just smart," he retorts. "Girls are always bitchy right before they get their period. And you've been a bitch for the past four days. I mean, it's common sense."
The hurt look returns to her face once more. "Maybe I wouldn't be such a bitch to you if you were a little nicer."
"Maybe I'd be nicer if you weren't so god damn annoying."
"Roger. Maureen. Stop it," Mark interjects. "Apologize and stop arguing."
They both ignore him, continuing their verbal battle.
"I bet I can make another prediction," she says, rising to her feet.
"Try me."
"I predict that April's going to come home high tonight. I predict you're going to fight and argue about her condition. I predict she'll pull out some smack and persuade you to shoot up with her. I predict you'll become a junkie just like her."
This time, it's Roger's turn to look hurt. He hates when people unnecessarily bring April's bad habits into the conversation. He narrows his eyes at her, preparing a snarky comment.
She returns the glare. She hit a touchy spot with him and she knows it.
Instead of a witty reply, he gets up and stomps off towards his room. Before he disappears through the door, he turns to Maureen. "You ever say shit about my April again, I swear I'll…"
"You'll what?"
"I'll… I'll…" He doesn't know what he'll do. He can't physically threaten her; he has the decency not to hit a girl. He can't take Mark away from her; he's not his mother.
"Roger, don't you get? I'm only saying this because…"
Roger starts talking before she can say anymore. "You don't even know the situation." He turns to Mark. "Are you really going to let her talk to me, your best friend, like this?"
"She's right." His voice is quiet. Mark doesn't want to get in the middle of this. He doesn't want his girlfriend or best friend pissed at him because of their own big mouths. "That's been happening more often," he adds.
Roger shakes his head in disbelief. "So much for best friends."
"It's only because I care." She tries one last time.
But Roger slams the door as she speaks. His ears don't want to listen anymore.
-Fin