Rent Fiction: High On The Rush
Title: High On The Rush
Words: 877
Chapters: 2
Characters/Pairings: Roger/April
Summary: You and April own the city, own the night and the sky and those colours of heroin that paint the world. And then comes the way back down.
Author's Note: This is not a very lengthy story, but of all the ones I've written, it's one of my favourites. I wrote it a while back and wanted to share it with everyone on LJ. You can access my fanfiction account @ http://www.fanfiction.net/~enjoyingobsession.
The Wonder of the Night
Three gigs in one night, barely ten minutes each and you can hardly pay the bills. You zoom from seedy nightclubs to bars that reek of marijuana and you're loving every second of it. You're so high, flying above that neon city, zooming through heroin and rock music. And then one gig at Avenue D and thirteenth, some place with cracked mirrors on the walls and drug deals in the bathrooms and you see her. She's looking right up at you, dilated black eyes gleaming with alcohol and she smiles right at you, you just know. Her hair is messy, shoulder length and the dye is fading from it unevenly. But she's wearing a paint splattered tank top, and damn, you love her, starting then and stretching on into forever.
You and April, April and you, like some intoxicatingly beautiful cocktail laced with cocaine and adventure. You tumble around the city together but not alone, for she's mesmerizing the cab drivers and storekeepers and grumpy pedestrians. You kiss her and she laughs that raspy giggle. Nobody else could reach you two on that high pedestal that makes you king of New York, king of the whole fucking world.
Only she could reach you, touch you like that as if those sparkly painted nails could go through your chest and straight to your heart. Could you explain that to anyone, that unerringly wonderful sensation when she touched you?
You feverishly scribble out songs, each better than the last, because you try to match that musical laughter, those arpeggios of heroin that let you climb higher and higher. She listens to you play those songs, your scarred fingers darting quickly over beloved metal strings. April, this is for you...
You are glorious, rocking at those clubs where audiences adore you, as they should. Out of body, you watch yourself and love it, because finally you have defeated your demons, you have won. This you, he's confident and brilliant, glowing like the lights up in Midtown. April exudes light when she walks with you down those private midnight sidewalks.
And Mark and Benny, those bastards, they try to bring you down from that rainbow sky, they try to explain why you can't have your princess, your soaring music or those colourful nights in the alley. But they can't and won't know your joy and April's toothy smile, so you ignore their feeble efforts to control you. She is wild, thus so are you and together you are untameable.
High on the rush you reign, holding every second of it close to you. Together you ride on the waves of beauty that encircle dirty, pretty New York City. Amidst a cloud of needles and kisses and alcohol and love, you come to own yourselves fully. It's a fullness that cannot be explained until three in the morning, drums still pounding in your head and her pale arms around you, so to hell with the rest of the world, because you are in heaven.
***
The Way Back Down
And then amidst a cloud of hazy nights and electric guitar, those glimmering black eyes don't sparkle as they did. You seem to have lost that familiar glory. Is this April, this nervous, thin girl who will not speak to you? You wonder where the laugh went, why she won't whisper throatily in your ear as she once did.
The bubble bursts and suddenly that magnificently addictive cocktail swirls down the mouldy bathroom sink, along with her blood and the rough soap that chafes your musician's hands. The songs have stopped, leaving you only with an echoing tinnitus that tells the story of that year that seemed only a minute long. Your heart thuds and you think of that which runs through your body, disease and imperfection. You hate both, wanting to kill it, kill this monster who has spoiled your music.
Benny is gone and Mark is still here, timidly offering suggestions that you will not take. All you want is another piece of magic, another shot of glory that you inject into your veins. Glory that can bring you up to her, away from everyone down below in that miserable, dirty world that can't taste electricity the way you have. But you will not have wonder until she is with you again, ready to dream and rule the universe once again.
How is the question that goes unanswered, interrupted only by the annoying belch of the phone that you will ignore forever. And Mark shuts himself away from you, as far as he can go because he is afraid of you as he was before, not that you could notice anything but your gorgeous April.
Wishes and dreams you don't want to wake from take the forefront of your mind, running away from the painful starts of withdrawal. Withdrawal from your beloved and the shiny needles that clink when you move your worn backpacks. An ache takes over you in every way, but this pain, this physical discomfort is one thousand times better than the thoughts that nip you towards her, towards the past and the future you know you can't face.
Your crescendo was reached, your spectacular cadence still glowing from afar and now comes the ride back down, all played in the minor key.
Words: 877
Chapters: 2
Characters/Pairings: Roger/April
Summary: You and April own the city, own the night and the sky and those colours of heroin that paint the world. And then comes the way back down.
Author's Note: This is not a very lengthy story, but of all the ones I've written, it's one of my favourites. I wrote it a while back and wanted to share it with everyone on LJ. You can access my fanfiction account @ http://www.fanfiction.net/~enjoyingobsession.
The Wonder of the Night
Three gigs in one night, barely ten minutes each and you can hardly pay the bills. You zoom from seedy nightclubs to bars that reek of marijuana and you're loving every second of it. You're so high, flying above that neon city, zooming through heroin and rock music. And then one gig at Avenue D and thirteenth, some place with cracked mirrors on the walls and drug deals in the bathrooms and you see her. She's looking right up at you, dilated black eyes gleaming with alcohol and she smiles right at you, you just know. Her hair is messy, shoulder length and the dye is fading from it unevenly. But she's wearing a paint splattered tank top, and damn, you love her, starting then and stretching on into forever.
You and April, April and you, like some intoxicatingly beautiful cocktail laced with cocaine and adventure. You tumble around the city together but not alone, for she's mesmerizing the cab drivers and storekeepers and grumpy pedestrians. You kiss her and she laughs that raspy giggle. Nobody else could reach you two on that high pedestal that makes you king of New York, king of the whole fucking world.
Only she could reach you, touch you like that as if those sparkly painted nails could go through your chest and straight to your heart. Could you explain that to anyone, that unerringly wonderful sensation when she touched you?
You feverishly scribble out songs, each better than the last, because you try to match that musical laughter, those arpeggios of heroin that let you climb higher and higher. She listens to you play those songs, your scarred fingers darting quickly over beloved metal strings. April, this is for you...
You are glorious, rocking at those clubs where audiences adore you, as they should. Out of body, you watch yourself and love it, because finally you have defeated your demons, you have won. This you, he's confident and brilliant, glowing like the lights up in Midtown. April exudes light when she walks with you down those private midnight sidewalks.
And Mark and Benny, those bastards, they try to bring you down from that rainbow sky, they try to explain why you can't have your princess, your soaring music or those colourful nights in the alley. But they can't and won't know your joy and April's toothy smile, so you ignore their feeble efforts to control you. She is wild, thus so are you and together you are untameable.
High on the rush you reign, holding every second of it close to you. Together you ride on the waves of beauty that encircle dirty, pretty New York City. Amidst a cloud of needles and kisses and alcohol and love, you come to own yourselves fully. It's a fullness that cannot be explained until three in the morning, drums still pounding in your head and her pale arms around you, so to hell with the rest of the world, because you are in heaven.
***
The Way Back Down
And then amidst a cloud of hazy nights and electric guitar, those glimmering black eyes don't sparkle as they did. You seem to have lost that familiar glory. Is this April, this nervous, thin girl who will not speak to you? You wonder where the laugh went, why she won't whisper throatily in your ear as she once did.
The bubble bursts and suddenly that magnificently addictive cocktail swirls down the mouldy bathroom sink, along with her blood and the rough soap that chafes your musician's hands. The songs have stopped, leaving you only with an echoing tinnitus that tells the story of that year that seemed only a minute long. Your heart thuds and you think of that which runs through your body, disease and imperfection. You hate both, wanting to kill it, kill this monster who has spoiled your music.
Benny is gone and Mark is still here, timidly offering suggestions that you will not take. All you want is another piece of magic, another shot of glory that you inject into your veins. Glory that can bring you up to her, away from everyone down below in that miserable, dirty world that can't taste electricity the way you have. But you will not have wonder until she is with you again, ready to dream and rule the universe once again.
How is the question that goes unanswered, interrupted only by the annoying belch of the phone that you will ignore forever. And Mark shuts himself away from you, as far as he can go because he is afraid of you as he was before, not that you could notice anything but your gorgeous April.
Wishes and dreams you don't want to wake from take the forefront of your mind, running away from the painful starts of withdrawal. Withdrawal from your beloved and the shiny needles that clink when you move your worn backpacks. An ache takes over you in every way, but this pain, this physical discomfort is one thousand times better than the thoughts that nip you towards her, towards the past and the future you know you can't face.
Your crescendo was reached, your spectacular cadence still glowing from afar and now comes the ride back down, all played in the minor key.