A/N: I obviously don't own RENT, I was really bored, and it was really just supposed to be general but then I remembered that Mark is so cute when he's nervous… and I couldn't help myself!
The Younger They Are
When I say the soul of a young girl I mean I always end up falling for the young ones. April, Mimi, the ones that have just gotten out of Mommy and Daddy's clutches and want everything quickly. They want everything at one time. Smoke weed, make out, snort a line, blow someone, shoot heroin, have sex.
It happens to everyone. I went through it too right after I dropped out of high school in Jersey I moved here. Smoked weed, made out, snorted a line, got a blow job, shot up heroin, had sex. I ended up being the play toy of some Park Avenue Princess gone teen starlet who had emancipated from her money grubbing parents.. Every night she would come to the large loft she had rented for me. I would play a song that had come to me when was high, or when I was hurting, or when I was coming down. She would clap happily and kiss me. I was nineteen, for while I was smart I never applied myself, and ended up being held back. She convinced me that I could be famous, that I could be a star, before pulling out a lighter and needle and saying that it would be from now on.
Then she died.
I ended up staying in the apartment before the police came and arrested me for never leaving the apartment even after she died. I stayed there for three months before a pair of cops came and threw me into the slammer. This was how I met Collins.
When we got out we went to a party where we realized we had a lot in common. He smoked weed, he made out, he snorted a line, he got a blow job, he had sex, and he snorted another line, saying that shooting up was to hardcore. I smoked, I made out, I snorted a line, I got a blow job, I shot up, I had sex. At the party the girl who I had sex with had a boyfriend. He punched me, I punched him, then we went out for a drink. Turns out the guy was in a band looking for a lead singer. I was exactly what they needed.
Two months of practice and four live gigs later we were at the bar were I met April. April with her tatty hair, cheap fur coat and short, short skirt. April with her track marks on her left arm and leg. April with her cheap red lipstick and kohl lined eyes. April, 17, three months away from being able to vote, yet she already was dancing on tables for jello shots. She caught my eye sitting at that bar, drinking a beer and leaning back, flirting with the bar tender and smiling seductively at me. I sang to her that night, singing of drugs and booze I sang to, of sex and love I sang to her, of death and life I sang to her. I sang to her and no one else.
We went to an after party after talking for an hour. We smoked weed, we made out, we did a lie, she gave me a blow job, we shot up, we had sex. Really good sex. It was pretty fucking amazing sex. That might have been the drugs, but it was amazingly good sex, even when I was high I realized that it was probably the best fucking sex I would ever have in my entire life. Which was rather depressing, but oh well.
We did that almost every day for seven months before she off-ed herself. Mark read out, "Sorry, we have AIDS." I was high, so I didn't remember him telling me that. I remembered some things. I remembered April's scent, her leopard print coat, the way she would just be able to go and go and go.
I stayed inside for a year, except when I was getting high for the first month after her death. I stayed inside and played Musetta's Waltz until my fingers started to bleed and I felt my ears would fall out, along with the ears of all my flat mates. I had more blood stains on the strings then I do stickers and paint scratches.
Then Mimi waltzed in with that feline like grin, and her eyes shadowed, and her hair strewn down her back, making her look like a goddess on smack, because you could see the lurking haziness in her eyes. She asked me to light her candle, and I wasted a match on her because her patent leather skirt was two sizes too small. On closer examination of her nails they where chipped bright blue, and I was hers forever. Even when she offered me smack, and I told her never to come back, I was really hers forever, no matter however forever lasted. She came back and we kissed, we smoked a joint, she did a line, I watched in envy, she gave me a blow job, she shot up, I felt my veins scream, we had sex and she cried out in drug hazed ecstasy, which was better then heroin.
Then I went to Sante Fe, and she lived on the street. We ended up not seeing each other until Christmas Eve when she was lying on the table and I sang her my song. She woke up and told us about Angel. We got her to a hospital were she died three weeks later.
It's a day after her funeral already, and my veins are screaming out to me, and I'm holding the keys to her apartment so tight that my hand is starting to bleed. It hurts like a bitch. Mark is standing there behind me, and takes the keys gently out of my hands. He opens up the apartment, and lets me walk in. Benny said we could have as much time as we needed to clear out her stuff, whether it be a day or a year. Collins is talking to her parents at the Life Cafe, because really he is the only one who can keep up a decent conversation in Spanish.
"You can come back later Roger." He says gently.
"It's your birthday is today isn't it?" I asked, looking at Mark. His glasses were on crooked, and one of lenses is taped in. He really needed to call his parents, his Mom had left three messages just yesterday.
"We can go upstairs right now."
"I can't believe your 23 it makes me feel old."
"Or we can go to the life cafe."
He starts shuffling from foot to foot, and straightens his scarf. "Stop staring at me." He says finally.
"Fine." I reply.
I kiss him.
He kisses back.
He's three years younger than me.
He has no vices.
He maybe perfect.