A/N: I am so sorry I didn't have this up two days ago. I went out of town, and I lost my computer, and I know I'm just rambling and making excuses so I'll shut up now. Anyway. Enjoy!
Four days had passed. Maureen's state of depression had barely improved- but she was home, she was safe...
"Give it to me!"
...and she was in a horrible state of withdrawal.
"No, Maureen."
"GIVE IT, DAVIS!"
"Come on, Mo, you're stronger than this!"
"I need it! I'm dying! I swear, Roger, if you don't fork it over I'm going to-"
"What the crap is happening in here?" The two whirled around, eyes widening at the sight of Mimi standing in the doorway of Roger's bedroom, arms folded and a questioning look on her face.
"How much of that did you hear?" Roger asked, holding the confiscated needle behind him so that his girlfriend wouldn't see.
"Well, all of us heard every word of it," she said, "but we have no fricking clue what you're talking about." The latina raised her eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.
"We, uh...well...she..." Roger stuttered, trying to make up an excuse. His girlfriend just stared expectantly from him to Maureen and back again. The musician was so preoccupied with covering the argument that he didn't notice Maureen slowly pull the needle out of his grasp, running for the bathroom; by the time he did it was too late. The musician banged on the door, jiggling the doorknob and praying that it would open. "Mo, open up! For god's sakes, open the door!"
"Roger, what the hell is going on?" Mimi asked, grabbing his arm.
"Hang on a sec," he ordered, holding up a hand to shush her. "MO, IF YOU DON'T GET YOU BUTT OUT HERE IN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS, I SWEAR TO GOD-"
"I DON'T GIVE A CRAP WHAT YOU DO! IT'S MY LIFE AND I'LL DO WITH IT WHAT I WANT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. AND YOU CAN STOP ACTING LIKE MY MOTHER, DAVIS, BECAUSE I DON'T NEED HER, OR YOU, OR ANYONE ELSE! I CAN TAKE CARE OF MY OWN FUCKING SELF!"
It was times like these, Mark thought from his seat on the couch, that he was glad Mimi owned the apartment below them.
"Maureen, Roger, somebody just tell me what the heck is going on!" Mimi shouted.
Suddenly, Roger sighed. "Maureen Johnson, listen to me," he said in a dangerously calm tone. "If you don't come out, I'm going to tell them."
There was a pause. "No." Her voice was closer to the door now. You could hear the hollowness of her tone, the desperation packed into the single word. It sent chills down Roger's spine.
Collins and Mark were standing a few feet away, trying (and failing) to make it look like they weren't eavesdropping. Mimi had her arms folded, looking like she was going to snap if someone didn't explain in the next five minutes.
"Mo, come out here," Roger repeated. "I need to talk to you. In private," he added, throwing his roommates and girlfriend an 'eavesdrop-and-I'll-kill-you' look.
After a few moments, the door creaked open. "Fine." The performer slipped out into the hallway, closing the bathroom door behind her. As soon as the loft's door slid shut, Roger turned toward her.
"You need help."
The brunette glared. "What I need is what you want to keep away from me." After a moment, a look of realization appeared on her face. "That's why you're so protective! You want to get it away from me so you can have it for yourself! Oh my god, Roger, you're such a jackass!"
"That's insane, Maureen."
"Yeah, well, so are you." She made a move to go back inside the loft, but Roger grabbed her arm.
"Listen to me. You only took it for a week, and look how out of control you've gotten. This isn't like you. It isn't you. It's the heroin talking.
Maureen stared angrily at her feet.
"Mo, this is bad. If you don't stop this crap right now, it'll get more and more serious. You need help. At least from us. Look, Mimi and I have been through this before- hell, it took her until last month to fully conquer it. We know how it feels. If you'll let me tell her, we-"
"No!" She glared up at him. "You promised you wouldn't tell. Come on, Roger, you fucking promised."
"That was before I knew how bad it was." Maureen averted her eyes, staring at the floor. "Look at me, Maureen!" He growled. After a few moments of stubborn resistance, she raised her eyes to his face, giving him the evil eye. The musician ignored it. "We'll help you."
Folding her arms, she huffed. "Two more days. Give me two more days, and if I've used it again at any point, you can tell her." She had no intention of trying to get clean, but if she admitted that, Roger would never stop bugging her about it.
Roger contemplated it, then exhaled heavily. "All right, fine. Two days, and that's it."
The performer could see a simple plan forming in her head- wait until midnight, sneak out the fire escape, go find the Man. She continued to glower at him for a moment before sliding open the door and storming back inside, heading for the couch; she was almost there when she heard a whisper from across the room.
"Why?" It was Mimi.
Maureen stopped short, mind reeling with the possibilities running through her head. Had Roger told them, even though he'd promised not to? Had they seen her? Summoning her inner actress and forcing a confused expression, she slowly turned to face the latina. "Huh? What're you-" She froze, eyes wide, unable to finish the sentence.
Her heart nearly stopped. Clutched in Mimi's hand was the needle, which had been carelessly left on the bathroom counter.
"Why?" Mimi repeated, louder this time, her eyes locked on the needle. "Why would you do this?"
"I... I didn't...I mean, I...I swear, Mimi, I-"
The dancer strode forward, and before Maureen could process anything her arm had been flipped over, revealing the tracks on her pale skin. Taking in a sharp breath, Mimi let the arm drop, shifting her gaze to her friend's face. "Why didn't you tell us?"
Maureen made a grab for the needle, but Mimi yanked it away before she could get within six inches of it. "I wouldn't even have told Roger, if I'd had the choice," the brunette murmured, staring hungrily at Mimi's fist. "He caught me using it. God, I'm such an idiot!" she moaned. I want it so bad...
Mimi grabbed Maureen by the shoulders, shaking her back and forth. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you know what you could get from that thing?" She wanted to cry and scream, unable to believe this was happening. Maureen on drugs? She'd seen what had happened. She'd been one of the ones to help Roger out of his addiction. It was just hard to believe that after everything the group had been through, she would even consider it.
You have no idea. A few tears started to roll down Maureen face. She gave a tight-lipped nod before turning and running out onto the fire escape. Honestly, she wasn't sure why she was crying- fury, hopelessness, desperation- but it didn't matter. Resisting the urge to throw herself off the fire escape and fall five stories to the ground, she screamed, kicking the rusty metal bars and falling to her knees on the metal floor.
Confused, Mimi looked over at Roger, who just stared grimly at the floor. Mark finally got the sense to put down the camera (which had, as usual, been recording the whole event) and go on some aimless search through the kitchen. While the stripper and the rocker argued, Collins walked outside and sat down next to Maureen, who was crying silently with her head pressed up against the metal bars. Patiently, he rubbed her back, waiting out the storm.
Looking down, Maureen could only see one thing. Joanne. Every voice, every figure, every face on the street turned into Joanne. Every thought led her back to the mocha lawyer, the one she longed to be with right now. Maureen wanted nothing more than to run to Joanne's apartment. To have Joanne forgive her, embrace her, tell her everything would be all right... But Joanne was gone, now. It was over.
Somehow, that thought made her more depressed than she already was- something Maureen didn't think was possible.
After a while the tears subsided, and the only sound was that of car horns honking on the street below and people talking on the sidewalks. The tension was so palpable, you could've cut through it with a knife. "I'm such a fricking retard," Maureen groaned, sniffling. "If it wasn't for me, she'd be here right now, and I wouldn't be out here, and... It's just...it's all too much," she confessed, her voice cracking. "Joanne, the smack, the..." The disease, she added mentally, but kept her mouth shut.
"The what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Maureen shook her head, looking down at the ground and squeezing her eyes shut and kicking herself for nearly letting it slip. Well, that was fast, the brunette thought. It only took...what, four days? They probably already know I have it... She bit her lip, fighting back another stream of tears. The anarchist noticed this, sighing. "Come on, Mo, it's okay."
For another three minutes Maureen just cried into her best friend's shoulder. Eventually, she was able to compose herself, drying her face and breathing deeply. "Collins, Roger made me go to the doctor the other day. The same day he found out about the...the stuff." She couldn't bring herself to say the word again.
In any other situation, Tom Collins would've made some kind of a joke about it, just to lighten the mood. Not now, though. He just nodded.
"And?"
She stared pointedly at the street below, trying to figure out how to say it. She wanted to melt down through the metal floor of the fire escape, down to the street, a meaningless little puddle of Maureen to be swept away in the rain. Anything to keep her from having to face reality, to keep her from having to say the two words that were currently the bane of her existance.
Finally, burying her face in her hands, she forced them out.
"HIV positive."
He might've said something to her, he might not have...Maureen wasn't paying attention. She tuned everything out. All she could think about was how she could die any day now, and she needed Joanne more than ever.
A/N: Right now I just want to thank my review/alert/favoriters: Fanzel, TMOLMRENT, zacxthexvacuum, Maybe-I-Should-Write-Something, Athlantis, Writress, and RIOTonAvenue-B. You guys are the only reason I'm still posting this, so thank you!
Review please!