DISCLAIMER: This is getting redundant. D; Don't own Rent. It belongs to J. Larson. Don't own "Ghost of You". It belongs to My Chemical Romance. Now, I usually don't ask for reviews, but considering I'm getting a bunch of views on this story, I'd really like to know people's opinions of it. I'm assuming people like it, but we all know what assuming does. Soooo, yeah. Reviews would be wonderful. As always, enjoy.
I find her slumped against the sink, her back turned from me and her face hidden from view. I call her name, but there's no response. I try again, but she doesn't even bother to acknowledge me. Oh, I get it now. She's fucking high and nodding out. Jesus, I told her not to do it here. She knows how Mark gets. I put my hand on her shoulder, but she doesn't move. I call her again. She must be having a bad trip. This time, I shake her, hoping to snap her out of it, but something isn't right... She's not breathing... Just... Just smiling that same wicked smile that stretches from one ear to the other. Horrified, I trace her lips. They're soft and beautiful, but, oh God... the pulse beneath them is completely gone. She's dead.
I never said I'd lie and and wait forever
If I died we'd be together
I can't always just forget her
But she could try
At the end of the world or the last thing I see
You are never coming home
Never coming home
Could I?
Should I?
And all the things that you never ever told me
And all the smiles that are ever ever
I quickly pull my fingers away to find them stained red. I'm not sure if it's lipstick or blood. I reach for the toilet and hug it to my chest, gagging and choking up bile. It stings and burns on the way up and I grab my throat, gasping for breath. This can't be fucking happening... This can't be... "Roger?" Shit, I woke him up. No, Mark, don't come into the bathroom. Don't come into the fucking bathroom... I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my pullover and crawl to the door, struggling to lock it. "Rog, are you alright in there?" I hear a yawn and then footsteps as I desperately fumble with the lock, my hands shaking so bad I'm afraid they'll fall off before it's too late. Thump, thump, thump, one after another and quickening in pace. Finally, I hear the glorifying sound of a click and I know I've got it. Relief washes over me. I smirk to myself and lean back against the bathroom door. He'll never have to know.
Ever
Get the feeling that you're never
All alone and I remember now
At the top of my lungs in my arms she dies
She dies
At the end of the world
Or the last thing I see
You are never coming home
Never coming home
Could I?
Should I?
And all the things that you never ever told me
And all the smiles that are ever gonna hold me
My senses are fucked, but I can still hear light knocking turn into heavy banging and calm coaxing turn into struggled yells of desperation. I hear him tell me that if I don't open the door right now, he'll knock it down himself, but I don't care. I lay against the door and stare at her gorgeous, lifeless body, as I flip the soaked razor over and through my fingers. She's still beautiful, even now... I begin to talk to her, wondering if she can hear me. I tell her that I read the note. We've got AIDS, that's what it says. I chuckle as I rip up the gum wrapper she had written it on. The bitch didn't even have enough fucking decency to write it on real paper. I tell her that I hate her for leaving me here while she took the easy way out. I scream at her, I tell her that we're over. And then I laugh. Of course we're over, she's dead. Dead, dead, dead. I call her a coward, and a whore, and a slew of other names that come out as gasps and slurs as I begin to sob.
Never coming home
Never coming home
Could I?
Should I?
And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me
For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me
If I fall
If I fall
Down
More knocking, more screaming. It's not only Mark now. I'm pretty sure I hear Collins, too, but I won't dare open the door to check. Instead, I crawl back to her body and cradle it in my arms, kissing her, and apologizing for the things I had just said. Her body is limp and her arms hang like those of a ragdoll or marionette. I swallow hard and between the sobs I manage to sing a soft lullaby to her corpse. It's the same one my mother used to sing me: day is done, gone the sun, from the lake, from the hills, from the sky... I stop when I realize that she's bleeding on me. Frantically, I begin to rip off sheets from the roll of toilet paper. I try to clean her up, but it's no use. One after another, the little white squares bleed red and fall to the floor like rose petals. One after another, they fall and I watch them, thinking about the disease that they now hold deep within their fibers. But I turn to her, eyes red from tears, voice cracked from sorrow, and I tell her that it's going to be okay. I tell her it's going to be okay...
At the end of the world
Or the last thing I see
You are never coming home
Never coming home
Never coming home
Never coming home
And all the things that you never ever told me
And all the smiles that are ever gonna hold me
Never coming home
Never coming home
Could I?
Should I?
And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me
For all the ghosts that are never gonna...