Note: Thanks once again for all the wonderful reviews! They're why I keep updating...

CandyBarWrapper, you were wondering about the hints of Maureen having an eating disorder...In the stage version of the song "Rent" when Joanne calls Maureen, she asks if she's eaten anything and then says "You haven't eaten all day...You won't throw up! You won't throw up!" and I believe there's a similar line(s) in "We're Okay" (a Joanne solo cut from the film version), but I could be wrong on that.


Roger sat waiting for Mark.

"Really need a fuckin' hit," he mumbled.

The physical withdrawals were mostly gone. Roger just didn't know how to deal with Maureen. She'd done this before and he hadn't dealt with it well then either. His arm itched with the urge to shoot up. Roger stood up and started to pace the loft. Mark better get home soon.

"Rog? You okay?"

Roger nodded. "Yeah, yeah, fine, Mark."

"You're pacing."

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"Why d'you think?"

"Okay, just, uh, just sit down with me. You've been doing great. And I'm really proud of you that you're here right now."

Roger rolled his eyes.

"You want some tea? Some coffee, maybe?"

"No."

Mark glanced around the loft. "Where's Maureen?"

"She…I don't know."

"She go out?"

"Sort of."

Mark sighed and pulled his glasses off to rub his eyes. "Okay, spill. What happened?"

Roger recounted their fight and showed Mark the notebook. Mark's blue eyes flicked over the words, wincing to read her pain. When he was done, he set it down and sighed again.

"What did I say?"

"You don't remember?"

"Would I ask you if I remembered?"

Mark got up and went to the room. He returned a minute later with a film reel and his camera.

"You fuckin' taped it?"

"Yeah, Rog. You started fighting with her and I knew you wouldn't remember so I filmed it."

Roger sat in silence as Mark set up the projector and tacked up the sheet that served as their screen.

"I'm dying anyway. What difference does it make?"

"It makes a difference to me!" Maureen cried.

"It's just all about you, isn't it?"

Roger winced at the harshness of his own words.

"Pretty fucking ironic that you of all people would tell me to think of someone besides myself…Look at you—you constantly have to be the center of everything…"

Roger felt tears stinging his eyes. Why the hell would he say that? Mark stared at the screen stone faced.

"I'm telling you the truth. The truth that everyone here fucking knows and doesn't have the balls to tell you! You know I'm right. You're a selfish, dramatic, slutty little bitch and the only reason you're even with Mark is because he puts up with your shit!"

Maureen's tears flew down her cheeks. Collins stood up and put his hands in the air. "Enough!"

The tape ended.

Roger shook his head in disbelief. "I didn't mean it."

"I know. But you still said it. And she still took it pretty bad."

"You didn't stop me."

"What?"

"You didn't stop me. Why didn't you stop me?"

"Because you were high—what the hell good would it have done?"

"It would've let her know that you didn't agree!"

"What?"

Roger flipped open the notebook and showed Mark the entry he'd found.

"Oh fuck…" he mumbled.

"What the hell are you doing?" Maureen asked. They hadn't heard her open the door. She grabbed the notebook from Mark's hands. "That's my notebook. My personal, private notebook. Just what the fuck were you two doing?"

"Maureen, baby, calm down. Roger just—"

"Roger did this? Started this? You know what, I don't care. I don't even care who started it. You can both just fuck off."

"Maureen—" Roger reached for her arm.

"Don't. Don't touch me. Don't you dare!"

"Baby, we didn't—"

Maureen grabbed Roger's lighter from the counter. Without a word, she stared silently at her boyfriend and best friend and held the lighter to her notebook. It went up in flames. She dropped it in the sink and went to the bathroom, locking it behind her.

Mark ran to the sink and turned it on, extinguishing the blazing notebook. Roger's urge for a fix chose that instant to manifest itself. He jumped up, uncertain of what he wanted to do. Mark's eyes met his and Roger turned towards the door.

"Don't," he said.

His voice wasn't particularly loud nor was his tone particularly demanding or harsh. Instead, it was almost a plea. That one simple word. Don't. Roger blinked back tears and turned to face Mark. The filmmaker turned off the sink, leaving the ashen notebook there.

"Please, Roger. Don't. Not now…not ever…please…"

Roger's face washed over with something Mark hadn't seen before. Uncertainty, sorrow, remorse—those were all things Roger's face had shown. This was different. This was shame. Mark approached him slowly and gave him a gentle hug.

"Just sit down, Roger. It's okay. It's okay."

Mark bolted the loft door, praying Roger wouldn't leave and went to the bathroom. He could hear Maureen throwing up.

"Baby, you okay?"

"Fuck off."

Mark tried to open the door. He wasn't surprised to find it locked. "Maureen, I'm sorry. Please, just open the door."

"No."

"Maureen, please…I'm sorry…We're just worried about you."

More retching noises.

"Baby? Maureen, please—"

"Go away!"

"Maureen—"

"You don't understand! Just leave me alone!"

She was crying now. Mark felt tears stinging his eyes. He pounded on the door. "Maureen, open the door."

Maureen didn't answer him so he knocked again. "Maureen! Maureen, seriously, you're really freaking me out, okay? I'm sorry! I'm sorry we read your notebook, I'm sorry… Please, baby…"

Mark felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Roger. He stepped aside to let Roger try.

"Mo? Mo, it's Roger. Open the door."

"No."

More vomiting.

"Maureen, I'm telling you open this fucking door right now!"

"Go to hell!"

"Maureen, I'm sorry! I saw Mark's tape and I saw—"

"You watched it? You fucking watched it?"

"Mark had taped—"

"Maureen, please, I wanted him to see—"

More vomiting.

"Maureen, don't get pissed, okay? Please, just open the door."

Roger's mind flashed back to April. April didn't lock the door. If April had locked the door, he would've known something was wrong. He would've kicked it down. He would've saved her. "Maureen, you have three seconds to open the door and then I'm kicking it down."

He started counting to himself and heard a thud. Roger rammed his shoulder into the door. It didn't budge. He kicked at it and it groaned, but held tight.

"Mark! Mark, help me!" Roger said, snapping the filmmaker back to the task at hand. "Mark! I need you to help me knock this down!"

Mark nodded and listened to Roger counting to three before ramming his shoulder into the door, Roger doing the same beside him. The door slammed down. Maureen lay on the ground beside the tub just in front of the toilet.

Roger's mind flashed back to April. April had been in the tub. April's hair falling over her face like that. Only April's hair was red like strawberries, not the dark chocolate color of Maureen's. No, it wasn't the same, he told himself.

Still, his mind couldn't shake the memories. Mark was bent over Maureen, shaking her the same way Roger shook April. And Maureen, just like April, wasn't answering.

Roger blinked back tears, shaking his head, and ran from the loft.


Note: Okay, I know everything's falling apart, but that's the point...our Bohemians aren't exactly in good places at the start of the show...And plus we've got Mark now dealing with Maureen's problems and Roger's...Maybe it's time to call in reinforcements (aka Benny? aka Collins? or someone else...)