Disclaimer: Let's think now… why do people write 'disclaimers'? I hate writing these every single chapter, haha.
A/N: I'm pleased to find that the review total has gone up since I posted the second chapter. I appreciate each and every comment and I'm overjoyed that you all found this idea to be original. I was so paranoid when I thought it up that someone would have the same idea as me and type it down faster, but luckily for me that hasn't happened. I'm sorry if I offended some of you with the whole 'disposing of Mimi' thing, but let me tell you that whatever happens happened because that's how I had it planned all along. Though your reviews inspire me to write more they don't influence me in changing the plot. So if something happens that you don't like, just know that it's how I originally intended to have it happen, not because I was persuaded otherwise. The story's all written out in my head; I'm just putting it down into the words and chapters that you now read a little bit at a time. As for pairings, right now it's just Mimi and Roger. Angel is dead and Mark is alone. Maureen and Joanne will only make a few appearances and they will be together. Now, without further ado, here's chapter three! Have fun!
---
Slamming the door behind her, Mimi proceeded up the stairs, driving her feet with unexpected force into each and ever step. Her pounding footsteps echoed throughout the stairwell, announcing to her neighbors that she wasn't in the best of moods. Clasping her purse in one hand and swiping at an unruly strand of hair dangling before her eyes with the other, Mimi came to the landing of Roger and Mark's apartment. Seeing that the door was loose, she kicked it open violently and entered the loft.
Mark and Collins were sitting on the couch, and they looked up, startled, as she made her entrance. Before Mark could even open his mouth, Mimi flung her purse at the wall and stomped her feet agitatedly. "I just had the most terrible day ever."
"It's about to get worse…" Collins muttered dryly, but Mimi talked right over him.
"They fired me! Of all people! Me, the very life of the Catscratch!" Mimi continued, tramping angrily into the kitchen area and throwing open the fridge, in search of alcohol. "Now what the fuck am I supposed to do? I've had that job for so long. I've relied on that job since-"
"Mimi," Mark interrupted gently, his voice serious and quiet, sounding foreign to Mimi's ears and commanding her immediate attention as a result.
Quietly placing the can of beer she had found down on the counter, Mimi turned around, her eyes locked intently on Mark so he'd know that she was ready to listen. Yet-to-be-spoken complaints gurgled up in her throat like bitter bile, but she kept her mouth clamped shut and switched her mind in listening mode. "Yes?"
"You might want to, um…" Collins beckoned her to come closer, then motioned to the chair beside the couch, which she promptly perched herself on.
The severity of her own situation seemed to wither in the face of what Mark and Collins had to say, even before they began to speak. Mimi watched as Mark removed his glasses and cleaned them with trembling hands for the ninth time since she had arrived, and Collins kept clearing his throat and shifting about anxiously. Their mannerisms weren't right at all, and their unspoken words hung above her head, too high to be seen or understood but nevertheless casting a foreboding shadow that she couldn't help but fear. "What is it?" she asked, feigning a calm composure.
It suddenly occurred to her that it could be anything. There was no longer any room for her distress over being fired as her mind was flooded with horrible assumptions. Maybe they were being threatened with eviction again. Was somebody sick? Suddenly she remembered Roger. He had been really sick for a couple weeks now, and he had been asleep when she left for work earlier. Perhaps… perhaps he never woke up again?
"Tell me," she demanded harshly when the two men failed to respond to her first interrogation. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Roger… Roger's gone deaf," Mark said blatantly, not in the mood to beat around the bush, though his voice was fluctuating nonetheless.
At first Mimi was relieved. He hasn't died, not yet… but then wait. Deaf? Had she heard correctly? Roger, her Roger, her musician… deaf? A life without music to Roger was like banishment to Romeo; both would willingly have accepted death instead. And Mimi knew the story very well; Romeo got his wish in the end. What of Roger? When would his wish come true?
He wouldn't even be able to live his last days happily. Instead he'd die alone, without voices to comfort him. Deaf. She felt tears welling up as she tried this word out loud. "Deaf?"
Mark nodded solemnly. Collins said nothing, but pretended to be engrossed in kicking a dust bunny back and forth between his feet. Mimi repeated the word over and over again in her mind. Deaf… deaf…
"Where is he?" she asked suddenly.
Both Mark's and Collins's eyes darted past Mimi's shoulders, coming to rest on Roger's bedroom door. At once Mimi slid out of her chair, nearly sprinting towards the door. Deaf… my musician, my angel, my Roger… "Mimi, he's asleep!"
Ignoring Mark's shouts, Mimi pried open the door to Roger's room and stepped in, pausing before the mattress on which Roger lie. The first thing her eyes landed on was not Roger but his guitar, placed in the corner and shrouded in darkness where it would most likely remain. She couldn't help but give a little squeal of agony, and quickly she clasped both her hands over her mouth as she began to sob. My angel…
There was slight movement beneath the covers, and Mimi's watery eyes averted to the bed. Roger's head was working its way out from beneath the covers, and with tousled hair and a forlorn expression he gazed at Mimi. This pathetic sight only made her wail louder, and with the image before her blurring she hurled herself at Roger. My angel, my poor angel…
She was received with open arms, and Roger nuzzled his head into the hollow of Mimi's neck. He made no sound but she could tell he was crying from the rapid, violent way his breath was expelled against her skin, with his chest shuddering against hers. She could feel his tears sliding down her neck, curving around her collarbone and breasts as they descended. They clung to each other as though Death himself was hovering above them, threatening to tear them apart the very second their embrace weakened.
"Roger," she squeaked between shaking gasps, her sobs muffled as she buried her face in Roger's hair.
He burrowed further into Mimi and continued to cry. Mimi rarely heard him cry before, maybe once or twice, but this… this was something she'd never heard in her entire life, and never wanted to hear again. He was making some noise now, a very slight whining, but as subtle as it was it was the most hopeless sound in the world to Mimi. It sounded as though every breath he took left him in a world of pain, as though every second longer he stayed alive made him a little more dead inside. Give me your pain, my angel. I'll gladly make your burden my own. What does a dancer need with hearing anyway?
By now Mark and Collins were in background, standing in the doorway and just watching Mimi and Roger as their world crumbled into pieces, incapable of saving them. The two held each other deep into the night, never once letting go, their bond never weakening.
My angel…
My angel of music…
No longer…