RENT: Someone Else's Story (Chapter One)
Title: Someone Else's Story
Chapter: One
Characters/Pairing: April/Mimi, Mark, Benny, Collins, Joanne, Maureen, mention of Roger
Word Count: 2355
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I could be in someone else's story, in someone else's life, and she could be in mine... April lived. Roger didn't. Mimi still knocks on the door of the loft on Christmas Eve.
Notes: Started for speed_rent challenge #166. Never really finished, and probably won't be.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rent. Plus, I kind of half-stole some lines from the show. Half-stole, because most of them I've kind of altered.
i. the night you came into my life
April stared at her hands. She wasn't sure why she was staring at her hands, exactly, except maybe for the fact that in one of them she held her pen, and maybe because it was easier to stare at her hands than at the blank page in her notebook where nothing had been written despite hours of sitting there, thinking about it. Trying to find something to write that had some value beyond herself and her friends. Nothing had been written in that notebook for a year.
She didn't notice Mark moving around the loft, pulling on his coat, winding his scarf around his neck, preparing to go out, until he said softly, "April?" She lifted her eyes slowly to his face, and found a small, cautious, hopeful smile there. "Do you want to come to the lot with me? Maybe stay for the show? Maureen will be happy to see you."
April shook her head and glanced back own, to her hands, then to the notebook in front of her, laid out so that the blank page glared up at her accusingly. "No, thanks. I think I'll just stay home and… try to write."
Had she been looking up, she would have seen Mark's pained, worried expression, the way he thumbed at his camera as if considering turning it on but never actually doing so. She didn't. "We're going to go to dinner afterward, and you know there's nothing to eat in the house."
"'m not hungry," she mumbled, head down over her paper.
Mark sighed and headed for the door, but stopped in the doorway. "I'll check up on you later," he said quietly. "Just in case you change your mind, okay?"
No answer from April, and another sigh from Mark.
"You have to get out of the house."
She looked up at him again, at last, and shot him a look that made it clear he was better off leaving this alone. "Go help Maureen."
Without another word, he turned away, closing the door behind him. April stared after him for a minute, then shook her head. Mark didn't get it, couldn't. Sure, Roger had been his best friend, but nevertheless… Not his boyfriend, and Roger hadn't left him on his own to deal with a disease that terrified him.
She dropped her pen onto the notebook alongside abruptly with a soft thump and stood up, unceremoniously, dumping both off her lap and onto the floor.
Bastard didn't even leave a note.
But then again, what could he have written, even if there had been a note? "We've got AIDS?" No. Now that she thought about it, there was nothing that could have been said. That was Roger, though, running from his problems whenever he could. He'd run too far from this one for her to follow.
She wrapped her arms around herself over her thin sweater, trying to combat the temperature in the unheated loft. She rubbed her arms as she turned slowly to survey the room, pained by how empty the room seemed now. A year ago, Roger's things would have been strewn around the room, his jacket over the back of the couch, shoes kicked on the floor, papers with scribbled song lyrics all over the table. Now there were just inconsequential things scattered around - a few crumpled up papers around the trashcan, some of Mark's failed screenplays, a mostly-deflated balloon over in the corner, lying on the floor, that Maureen had given Mark for his birthday three weeks ago, the half full can of diet Coke on the table that had been April's approximation of breakfast (she hadn't eaten all day, and didn't particularly care). Now there was just his guitar, leaning against the wall in her bedroom and never touched. Her eyes skimmed over that, visible through her open bedroom door, and over the bathroom door, and she flinched away from both, still rubbing her arms.
It had been cold like this when Roger died. A little over a year now, and if it weren't for the visible indicators time had passed - the date on the calendar on the otherwise bare wall, the absence of anything of Roger's visible in the loft, the memory of changing seasons - she wouldn't have believed a day had gone by since then. "Time flies," she murmured to herself, walking slowly to the window to peer out. Even the weather was the same, dark clouds dominating the sky although April didn't quite believe their threat of snow.
It never snows on Christmas Eve.
She turned away from the window slowly, finding herself almost wishing she'd gone with Mark after all. When everything here reminded her of a man dead a year… Then again, she couldn't go out, couldn't face the accusing looks, the unspoken words in the eyes of everyone who'd known him - You're the reason he's dead, it's your fault, yours… She even saw it in Mark's eyes, from time to time, though she never mentioned it, and Mark would never admit it. It was hard to argue when the words were never actually said. Or when she didn't particularly disagree with them.
Well. If it was her fault - or even if it wasn't - she'd get her punishment for that, sooner, she thought, rather than later. The virus would make sure of that. Thoughts like that made her wonder why Mark trusted her enough to leave her in the house alone, why she hadn't taken Roger's way out, why she bothered to endure waiting to die. The answer leapt into her mind immediately.
Because it won't be that long to endure anyway.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the table, drawing a slow breath, but it hitched in her throat, and she had to take a second, shallow, gulping breath to try to gain some calm. She hated knowing the truth with no maybes or doubts. Mark could find ways to hide in the truth. For April, it was just there, staring her in the face, hard and unforgiving, all sharp corners and no place at all to hide, in it or from it. For April, the truth was an enemy.
Three sharp raps on the door startled her, and she opened her eyes, lifting her head quickly. She wondered vaguely why Mark would knock, but no one else ever came by the loft these days. Maybe he'd lost his key again. She pushed herself off the table with a sigh and walked slowly to pull the door open.
"What'd you forget?"
The person on the other side of the door was most definitely not Mark. Not unless Mark had somehow turned into a gorgeous dark-eyed Hispanic girl with a wicked, playful smile that promised both danger and excitement. So… no. Not Mark. April blinked down at her - the girl was a couple inches shorter than April, and looked so young - and finally said cautiously, "Um. Hi."
The girl's smile broadened a bit, and she slipped by April into the room, pressing herself against the doorframe to get past. April spun to face her, a little startled. "Hi," she said brightly, and she sounded young too. April found herself wondering how old this girl really was, and that surely she couldn't be any older than seventeen or so, just barely out of school, if that. "The power's out in my apartment and I'm out of matches, so… Got a light?" She held up a candle that April realized she had been rolling between her hands.
April watched her for a second, and then stepped away from the door, walking across the room to rummage through a drawer in search of matches - funny that she couldn't find them, when Mark had less than an hour ago lit as many candles as he could find and placed them all around the loft. While she did, she jerked her head to one side, indicating for the girl to follow her, though she had a feeling that perhaps the indication was unnecessary.
"The power's out in the whole building," she said softly. "The landlord…" She trailed off, unwilling to explain the whole situation to this stranger.
"I know," the girl answered. "He's a jackass."
April glanced up at her. "You know Benny?"
"You could say that."
Deciding not to pursue the question, April looked back to the drawer, after a moment locating a box of matches. She turned and struck one, cupping her free hand around the candle the girl held out to her as she lit it, and then took a step back, blowing out the match as she did. "Well, um…"
"I'm Mimi, by the way," the girl said abruptly, holding her hand out to shake. "I live right below you."
Cautiously, April shook her hand. "April. And I know you do. I've seen you before."
Mimi's lips curved into a teasing smile. "Have you?" she asked, her voice low, practically a purr. There was a time April might have wanted to know what was behind that smile, and the question. Not now.
"Yes," she answered, more curtly than she'd really meant to. "When I used to get out of the house. A while ago." She frowned down at the girl quietly for several moments, taking in the beautiful eyes, dark curly hair framing her face, skin the color of bronze and burnt caramel, lips curved into that dangerous, flirtatious smile that was so convincing April almost wanted to take the silent invitation there… No. "Well. I'll see you around then."
Not really likely - that would require leaving the house, that would require rejoining the world - but she had to say something to get the girl to leave. Anything at all. April walked to the door and held it open for Mimi, attempting a bit of a smile. It fell flat. Mimi sidled past her, still with that smile. April glanced away, unwilling to look at her, closed the door the instant Mimi was out the door, and leaned heavily against it, closing her eyes. This was too much. All of this was too much.
She froze at the sound of another three raps on the door, opening her eyes. Not again… With a sigh, she pushed herself away from the door and turned around to pull it open, looking down at Mimi once more. "What is it?"
Again, Mimi pushed her way past April, frowning at the floor as she paced across the loft. "I think I dropped my stash."
"Your stash," April repeated, watching her with a frown as she dropped to the ground, presumably to search for it.
"Yes." Mimi glanced over her shoulder at her. "You got a problem with that?"
April bit her lower lip. "It's just… you're so young. That stuff's bad for you."
Mimi smirked and went back to searching. "I'm nineteen," she insisted, in a way that somehow oddly reminded April of the way a little girl would point out her age - nine and a half. "And I'll keep that in mind. Would you mind helping me look?"
Her arms folded over her chest, April didn't move. "You should just leave it alone, you know."
"And what do you know about it?"
April grimaced and closed her eyes, wishing she had been able to avoid this topic of discussion. "I used to be a junkie. Me and my boyfriend."
Mimi sat back on her heels, peering up at April quietly. "Your boyfriend? What happened to him?"
"He died." April looked down, away from Mimi's eyes, noticing dimly when Mimi turned away, scanning the floor once more. April's eyes fell on a small packet of white powder on the floor, and she quickly leaned down to pick it up, shoving it into her back pocket.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Mimi murmured softly. There was a moment of silence that held an expectancy, as if Mimi were about to say something, and then that expectancy fell off, leaving only a weighty silence. April watched her for a moment longer before she said anything.
"You're candle's out," she remarked at last. Mimi glanced up at her and got quickly to her feet, tilting her head to one side, and she had to know just how charming that was, with curls falling across her cheek, smile playing over her lips.
"Do you have another match?"
"Yeah, um…" April walked back to the counter to pick up the box of matches from where she'd left it. When she turned around, Mimi was standing there directly in front of her, uncomfortably close. April was tempted to move away from her, but there was the counter right behind her to prevent her from stepping back, and Mimi blocking any other avenue of escape, so… She struck a match and lit Mimi's candle, giving her a strained smile and hoping that the girl would move away from her, because with her standing so close she was finding it hard to breathe, to think…
It didn't help when Mimi moved a little closer - April had thought she couldn't possibly get closer, but apparently she had been wrong. It didn't help either when Mimi's free hand touched April's hip, slid down and back, and April found she couldn't breathe…
Mimi stepped back with a triumphant smile, dangling the packet of smack in front of April's face. "Don't tell me you thought I wouldn't notice that," she said brightly. "I'll see you later." She twirled in a circle and half danced to the door, still smiling. April stared after her long after the door had closed behind her, trying to decide if she'd been simply trying to keep the smack from Mimi, who reminded her so much of a little girl and at the same time, not a little girl at all, far from it… or if she'd wanted it for another reason altogether.
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Chapter: One
Characters/Pairing: April/Mimi, Mark, Benny, Collins, Joanne, Maureen, mention of Roger
Word Count: 2355
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I could be in someone else's story, in someone else's life, and she could be in mine... April lived. Roger didn't. Mimi still knocks on the door of the loft on Christmas Eve.
Notes: Started for speed_rent challenge #166. Never really finished, and probably won't be.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rent. Plus, I kind of half-stole some lines from the show. Half-stole, because most of them I've kind of altered.
i. the night you came into my life
April stared at her hands. She wasn't sure why she was staring at her hands, exactly, except maybe for the fact that in one of them she held her pen, and maybe because it was easier to stare at her hands than at the blank page in her notebook where nothing had been written despite hours of sitting there, thinking about it. Trying to find something to write that had some value beyond herself and her friends. Nothing had been written in that notebook for a year.
She didn't notice Mark moving around the loft, pulling on his coat, winding his scarf around his neck, preparing to go out, until he said softly, "April?" She lifted her eyes slowly to his face, and found a small, cautious, hopeful smile there. "Do you want to come to the lot with me? Maybe stay for the show? Maureen will be happy to see you."
April shook her head and glanced back own, to her hands, then to the notebook in front of her, laid out so that the blank page glared up at her accusingly. "No, thanks. I think I'll just stay home and… try to write."
Had she been looking up, she would have seen Mark's pained, worried expression, the way he thumbed at his camera as if considering turning it on but never actually doing so. She didn't. "We're going to go to dinner afterward, and you know there's nothing to eat in the house."
"'m not hungry," she mumbled, head down over her paper.
Mark sighed and headed for the door, but stopped in the doorway. "I'll check up on you later," he said quietly. "Just in case you change your mind, okay?"
No answer from April, and another sigh from Mark.
"You have to get out of the house."
She looked up at him again, at last, and shot him a look that made it clear he was better off leaving this alone. "Go help Maureen."
Without another word, he turned away, closing the door behind him. April stared after him for a minute, then shook her head. Mark didn't get it, couldn't. Sure, Roger had been his best friend, but nevertheless… Not his boyfriend, and Roger hadn't left him on his own to deal with a disease that terrified him.
She dropped her pen onto the notebook alongside abruptly with a soft thump and stood up, unceremoniously, dumping both off her lap and onto the floor.
Bastard didn't even leave a note.
But then again, what could he have written, even if there had been a note? "We've got AIDS?" No. Now that she thought about it, there was nothing that could have been said. That was Roger, though, running from his problems whenever he could. He'd run too far from this one for her to follow.
She wrapped her arms around herself over her thin sweater, trying to combat the temperature in the unheated loft. She rubbed her arms as she turned slowly to survey the room, pained by how empty the room seemed now. A year ago, Roger's things would have been strewn around the room, his jacket over the back of the couch, shoes kicked on the floor, papers with scribbled song lyrics all over the table. Now there were just inconsequential things scattered around - a few crumpled up papers around the trashcan, some of Mark's failed screenplays, a mostly-deflated balloon over in the corner, lying on the floor, that Maureen had given Mark for his birthday three weeks ago, the half full can of diet Coke on the table that had been April's approximation of breakfast (she hadn't eaten all day, and didn't particularly care). Now there was just his guitar, leaning against the wall in her bedroom and never touched. Her eyes skimmed over that, visible through her open bedroom door, and over the bathroom door, and she flinched away from both, still rubbing her arms.
It had been cold like this when Roger died. A little over a year now, and if it weren't for the visible indicators time had passed - the date on the calendar on the otherwise bare wall, the absence of anything of Roger's visible in the loft, the memory of changing seasons - she wouldn't have believed a day had gone by since then. "Time flies," she murmured to herself, walking slowly to the window to peer out. Even the weather was the same, dark clouds dominating the sky although April didn't quite believe their threat of snow.
It never snows on Christmas Eve.
She turned away from the window slowly, finding herself almost wishing she'd gone with Mark after all. When everything here reminded her of a man dead a year… Then again, she couldn't go out, couldn't face the accusing looks, the unspoken words in the eyes of everyone who'd known him - You're the reason he's dead, it's your fault, yours… She even saw it in Mark's eyes, from time to time, though she never mentioned it, and Mark would never admit it. It was hard to argue when the words were never actually said. Or when she didn't particularly disagree with them.
Well. If it was her fault - or even if it wasn't - she'd get her punishment for that, sooner, she thought, rather than later. The virus would make sure of that. Thoughts like that made her wonder why Mark trusted her enough to leave her in the house alone, why she hadn't taken Roger's way out, why she bothered to endure waiting to die. The answer leapt into her mind immediately.
Because it won't be that long to endure anyway.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the table, drawing a slow breath, but it hitched in her throat, and she had to take a second, shallow, gulping breath to try to gain some calm. She hated knowing the truth with no maybes or doubts. Mark could find ways to hide in the truth. For April, it was just there, staring her in the face, hard and unforgiving, all sharp corners and no place at all to hide, in it or from it. For April, the truth was an enemy.
Three sharp raps on the door startled her, and she opened her eyes, lifting her head quickly. She wondered vaguely why Mark would knock, but no one else ever came by the loft these days. Maybe he'd lost his key again. She pushed herself off the table with a sigh and walked slowly to pull the door open.
"What'd you forget?"
The person on the other side of the door was most definitely not Mark. Not unless Mark had somehow turned into a gorgeous dark-eyed Hispanic girl with a wicked, playful smile that promised both danger and excitement. So… no. Not Mark. April blinked down at her - the girl was a couple inches shorter than April, and looked so young - and finally said cautiously, "Um. Hi."
The girl's smile broadened a bit, and she slipped by April into the room, pressing herself against the doorframe to get past. April spun to face her, a little startled. "Hi," she said brightly, and she sounded young too. April found herself wondering how old this girl really was, and that surely she couldn't be any older than seventeen or so, just barely out of school, if that. "The power's out in my apartment and I'm out of matches, so… Got a light?" She held up a candle that April realized she had been rolling between her hands.
April watched her for a second, and then stepped away from the door, walking across the room to rummage through a drawer in search of matches - funny that she couldn't find them, when Mark had less than an hour ago lit as many candles as he could find and placed them all around the loft. While she did, she jerked her head to one side, indicating for the girl to follow her, though she had a feeling that perhaps the indication was unnecessary.
"The power's out in the whole building," she said softly. "The landlord…" She trailed off, unwilling to explain the whole situation to this stranger.
"I know," the girl answered. "He's a jackass."
April glanced up at her. "You know Benny?"
"You could say that."
Deciding not to pursue the question, April looked back to the drawer, after a moment locating a box of matches. She turned and struck one, cupping her free hand around the candle the girl held out to her as she lit it, and then took a step back, blowing out the match as she did. "Well, um…"
"I'm Mimi, by the way," the girl said abruptly, holding her hand out to shake. "I live right below you."
Cautiously, April shook her hand. "April. And I know you do. I've seen you before."
Mimi's lips curved into a teasing smile. "Have you?" she asked, her voice low, practically a purr. There was a time April might have wanted to know what was behind that smile, and the question. Not now.
"Yes," she answered, more curtly than she'd really meant to. "When I used to get out of the house. A while ago." She frowned down at the girl quietly for several moments, taking in the beautiful eyes, dark curly hair framing her face, skin the color of bronze and burnt caramel, lips curved into that dangerous, flirtatious smile that was so convincing April almost wanted to take the silent invitation there… No. "Well. I'll see you around then."
Not really likely - that would require leaving the house, that would require rejoining the world - but she had to say something to get the girl to leave. Anything at all. April walked to the door and held it open for Mimi, attempting a bit of a smile. It fell flat. Mimi sidled past her, still with that smile. April glanced away, unwilling to look at her, closed the door the instant Mimi was out the door, and leaned heavily against it, closing her eyes. This was too much. All of this was too much.
She froze at the sound of another three raps on the door, opening her eyes. Not again… With a sigh, she pushed herself away from the door and turned around to pull it open, looking down at Mimi once more. "What is it?"
Again, Mimi pushed her way past April, frowning at the floor as she paced across the loft. "I think I dropped my stash."
"Your stash," April repeated, watching her with a frown as she dropped to the ground, presumably to search for it.
"Yes." Mimi glanced over her shoulder at her. "You got a problem with that?"
April bit her lower lip. "It's just… you're so young. That stuff's bad for you."
Mimi smirked and went back to searching. "I'm nineteen," she insisted, in a way that somehow oddly reminded April of the way a little girl would point out her age - nine and a half. "And I'll keep that in mind. Would you mind helping me look?"
Her arms folded over her chest, April didn't move. "You should just leave it alone, you know."
"And what do you know about it?"
April grimaced and closed her eyes, wishing she had been able to avoid this topic of discussion. "I used to be a junkie. Me and my boyfriend."
Mimi sat back on her heels, peering up at April quietly. "Your boyfriend? What happened to him?"
"He died." April looked down, away from Mimi's eyes, noticing dimly when Mimi turned away, scanning the floor once more. April's eyes fell on a small packet of white powder on the floor, and she quickly leaned down to pick it up, shoving it into her back pocket.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Mimi murmured softly. There was a moment of silence that held an expectancy, as if Mimi were about to say something, and then that expectancy fell off, leaving only a weighty silence. April watched her for a moment longer before she said anything.
"You're candle's out," she remarked at last. Mimi glanced up at her and got quickly to her feet, tilting her head to one side, and she had to know just how charming that was, with curls falling across her cheek, smile playing over her lips.
"Do you have another match?"
"Yeah, um…" April walked back to the counter to pick up the box of matches from where she'd left it. When she turned around, Mimi was standing there directly in front of her, uncomfortably close. April was tempted to move away from her, but there was the counter right behind her to prevent her from stepping back, and Mimi blocking any other avenue of escape, so… She struck a match and lit Mimi's candle, giving her a strained smile and hoping that the girl would move away from her, because with her standing so close she was finding it hard to breathe, to think…
It didn't help when Mimi moved a little closer - April had thought she couldn't possibly get closer, but apparently she had been wrong. It didn't help either when Mimi's free hand touched April's hip, slid down and back, and April found she couldn't breathe…
Mimi stepped back with a triumphant smile, dangling the packet of smack in front of April's face. "Don't tell me you thought I wouldn't notice that," she said brightly. "I'll see you later." She twirled in a circle and half danced to the door, still smiling. April stared after her long after the door had closed behind her, trying to decide if she'd been simply trying to keep the smack from Mimi, who reminded her so much of a little girl and at the same time, not a little girl at all, far from it… or if she'd wanted it for another reason altogether.
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