Not mine, not now nor ever… I stumbled upon this while packing up to move and I had always loved this story… So I'm finishing it, for my own posterity and for all of us who are grown now and used to play at RENT when we were children… Here's to the good times that we had.

"Backbeat the word was on the street/That the fire in your heart is out/I'm sure you've heard it all before/But you never really had a doubt/I don't believe that anybody feels/The way I do about you now/And all the roads we have to walk along are winding/And all the lights that lead us there are blinding/There are many things that I would like to say to you/But I don't know how/Because maybe/You're gonna be the one that saves me/And after all/You're my wonderwall…"-Oasis-

Chapter 6:

I ran away from the loft, from her… I don't even remember anymore where I went, who I did, what I used to get fucked up with. It's a moot thing now, I guess, even though I'm sure that's when I got us sick. I was gone for weeks, months, with just me and my guitar, wandering in an aimless cloud of high.

It was almost summer when I found myself outside of the marble halls of her dorm; I remember because I snuck in easily while other students carried their crap out to their parent's cars and rented trucks. She might not be there, but it was the best shot I had to find her…

Pushing past a boy almost his age heavy laden with laundry bags, Roger took the stairs two at a time until he reached her floor. More students flowed by him as he squeezed into her hall and around the corner to her room. Skidding to a stop, he almost plowed over Mark in the doorway. "Uh… Hi," he mumbled.

He was answered with a silent glare as Mark dropped the box he was carrying between them. Clearing his throat, Roger managed, "I was looking for April… She hasn't left yet, has she?"

Continuing his glare, Mark stooped to pick the box back up. "I haven't seen her since you ran away… She hasn't been back here or to the loft since then." Adjusting the box on his hip, he continued, "Now if you don't mind, Maureen and I are taking her stuff in case she ever resurfaces." With that, he purposely shoved into Roger, sending him hard into the door frame.

Roger stared in disbelief at Mark as he disappeared down the hall, but spun back and stepped into the open room. He could not believe what Mark had said… She was gone. Looking around the room, he saw everything was either in boxes or gone. He stepped over to her bed and crumbled on it, head in hands as tears shook his shoulders. What had he done?

After sitting there for what felt like an eternity, he pushed himself off her bed and stumbled out of the dorm in a slight haze. Once out of the dorm, he ran past the dazed on lookers, not knowing where he was headed exactly. For hours he wandered, until the weight of his guitar grew too heavy and he was shaking too badly to even think slightly. Looking around, he discovered he was back downtown, in a disreputable park where he knew he could score without much trying. With a soft groan, he plopped on the nearest bench, letting his guitar slide onto the ground in front of him as he closed his eyes in quiet contemplation.

No more than ten minutes later, he felt the bench creak as someone plopped down beside him and a rough voice demanded, "What you need, boy?"

Without even bothering to open his eyes, he slid a few bills out of his pocket and put them in the man's hand. "I need to forget…" he muttered.

As the man stood back up, Roger pulled his hand back, the money now replaced with a small powder filled bag that he quickly slid into his coat pocket. Looking around quickly to make sure no one had seen him, he stretched, cracking his back before moving to stand. As he picked up his guitar, he looked across the park, and saw a thin blonde across the way, brushing into the man nonchalantly before looking around as he had and heading quickly toward an alley.

Blinking a few times because he doubted what he saw, he threw the guitar across his back again and followed her. He did not see where in the alley she went at first, but heard some banging just beyond a dumpster. Barely sure that his voice would work, he chanced softly, "April?"

A trash can lid slid violently across the concrete, and he saw her start to run. He took after her, grabbing her arm as she skidded into a stop at the chain link fence at the end of the alley. "April, it's me…" he managed, spinning her to face him. "What are you doing?"

She smirked slightly, her already thin face gaunt. "Hi Roger. You still remember my name."

Mouth agape, he looked her up and down. Her clothes were dirty and torn, and there were bags under her eyes that led him to believe she had not slept in weeks. "What are you doing?" he repeated, more forcefully than before.

"Well, what does it look like I'm doing, Roger?" she spat, waving a small baggie of her own in front of his eyes. "You should be well familiar with it yourself, you left me for it."

His hand dropped lifelessly from her arm as he continued to stare at her. "What the fuck do you mean? Don't tell me that you're…"

Shaking her head, she looked past him towards the street. "And don't you get fucking high and mighty on me, Roger. You left, I dealt. I've become what I have because of you, and you don't have to like it 'cause I'm not asking you to. I don't need your permission because you certainly never asked for mine." With that she pushed past him unceremoniously, causing him to fall back a bit.

"W-wait!" he called, reaching for her again.

She spun to face him, her eyes on fire. "What do you want from me now, after all this time? What can you possibly want? What do I owe you now?" When he did not answer, she shook her head again. "I can't believe you," she muttered, trying to shake free from his grasp.

He held onto her, forcing her to stand and look at him. "I want you to stay…"

She laughed lightly, continuing to shake her head in disbelief. "And what fucking right do you have to want that?"

"I love y-" he began.

"How dare you, how fucking dare you!" she demanded, pushing him hard on the chest. "Don't ever fucking say that to me, Roger! You don't even know what love is."

He watched as a few tears slipped down her cheeks, washing a thin path through the dirt smudges. He dropped his hand away as if her arm burned. "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, not knowing what else to say to her. "I shouldn't have left…"

"You're damn right you shouldn't have!" she spat back at him. Inhaling deeply, she turned away from him, walking deeper into the alley instead of out. She slid down the wall, perching on the edge of the curb as she stared down at her hands, turning the bag over and over again between her fingers.

Steeling himself to the chance of further insult, he followed her, dropping to his knees in front of her and pulling her hands into his. "I'm sorry," he whispered with as much sincerity as he could muster. "It doesn't make it right, but I'm sorry…" With one hand, he pushed her sleeve up and stared down at her arm and all the bruising in the bend of her elbow. Licking his lips as he continued to gaze down, he managed, "You should start using the other one; with all the tracks… It won't work as well."

Leaning over, she brushed her lips near his ear as she muttered, "Then do it for me, I always fuck it up when I try…"

I'm not proud of what I did then… I shot her up and then fucked her in an alley in the middle of the Village. Twice. And, God help me, I loved every minute of it. I got us both ridiculously high, and led her back to the loft where I did it again, knowing Mark could hear every minute of it and hate me more for it. But he didn't understand, he never could. I can't believe he ever forgave me for killing her.

A/N: I'm gonna finish it as it was begun, in chapter form instead of put it all up in one long run on paragraph. More to come.