Roger, please call your mother...INACTIVE

[cuervo]

It suddenly started to hurt so badly, and the sorrow I felt became so intense that I almost choked on my own saliva. Joanne's soft words were intended to comfort and ease the suffering, simple words to bring light into my perspective. But it was useless. I could hear what she was saying but I just couldn't make a sound. I shook my head against her neck and then finally pulled myself away from her grip enough to look at her, my frazzled hair hanging a little in my face. It came in handy just now, to shield my cloudy eyes.

"...And w-where is he now?" I croaked very quietly. That was all I could bear.

I sprang to my feet once more, but immediately regretted it as I tumbled back on my knees. Slowly and carefully I tried again, sucking in a breath and tighetning my core as I relied on the muscles in my thighs to steady me. After a moment I felt secure on my feet, and I saw no black dots and didn't feel so dizzy as I had a moment before.

I started to walk quickly down the stairs again, not daring to glance over my shoulder. If Joanne followed me, I'd be surprised. She seemed the type to leave you alone when you were obviously in need of privacy. Though if she did trail after, I wouldn't hold it against her. She was worried about me. So I kept going, trying to empty my whirlwind head. There were only two things that I could possible want right now and they were either solitary peace and quiet, or Roger to say, "Fuck April, I want you and always will want you." And whole-heartedly mean it.

[joannejefferson]

and w-where is he now?

Joanne was in the worst possible place. Helpless and trapped in between two people she loved dearly and the one thing that could tear them apart. There was nothing she could say and nothing she could do to bring the words out of them. She couldn't speak for Roger, nor could she be Mimi's voice. No, Roger and Mimi had to do it for themselves.

She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the only thing she could do was watch as Mimi quickly descended the stairs. Joanne was intimately aware of the need for solitude when emotions ran high, knew how heavy the desire was to run, to escape, to find a place where the scars couldn't hurt you. That was why she stayed where she was, sitting on the steps watching the latina run, and feeling the presence of Roger behind her.

April came back into her thoughts, and she turned to regard Roger. She could see on his face that he was expecting harsh words to come from her. A brutal onslaught was her typical response in a situation like this, but she could see that it wasn't what was needed. Not anymore. No, Roger needed to feel something other than a verbal situation.

This was tearing him up inside, she knew. He was trying to hold on to something that was too painful to keep, and yet forgiving April for what she'd done was never going to be enough to make it all okay. It was like trying to play a guitar with broken strings, like running through fire when nothing was left to save. Something was missing, and for all he tried Roger was never going to get that thing back.

Joanne just wished that he could see that he didn't need it. He had something else, something better that could seal up the holes in his heart. No one loved like Mimi and Roger loved. It was almost enviable how hard they fought for each other, and if Joanne ever believed two people were destined to be together it was Roger and Mimi. Love came easily for Angel and Collins, and hell even though she fought with Maureen like a dog for a bone, their romance was easy because they so willingly loved each other. Roger and Mimi were different. She couldn't say how, but it was in her mind like they fought to love, rather than to stay in love.

Sighing, she looked at her broken friend long and hard before finally deciding what to say to him. Her expression softened to one full of compassion.

"Don't run this time."

Nothing else need be added to that simple phrase. He would know what it meant and he would make his choice. Whatever he did, Joanne would stay right where she was, exactly where she was needed.

[ROGER DAVIS]

Don't run this time.

I felt like running. I felt like grabbing a bag and stuffing it with anything and just running away. It was a go-to for me, the running. I always ran. Sometimes, I didn't run far; when April died, I ran off inside myself to where I thought no one could get to me. When the last time Mimi and I got into a fight, I left for Santa Fe. Santa Fe was sounding more and more like a plan, even though I'd have to probably sell my guitar and sell my soul just to get a car again.

Like I had a soul to sell.

My stomach shifted as I looked up, seeing Joanne looking down at me. I wanted to just get up and run, go anywhere but here, but her words echoed in my mind.

Don't run this time.

I heard footsteps hard against the stairs, tumbling down and seemingly out of the building, and my brows came together. Mimi. She was leaving.

Oh, fuck that.

If I didn't get to leave, neither did Mimi. I jerked up, faster than I really should have, and in the end, I regretted it because my stomach shifted once more and for a second, I felt like hurling all over the stairs. But I regained my balence and the hold over my stomach contents (what was left of them) and raced after her. She wasn't going to get away.

I've been told I'm also very stubborn and very selfish. If I can't do something, no one else should be able to, either. So if I can't run away, Mimi doesn't get that right. She doesn't get to escape it because I'm not able to. Even though I try and I beg and I plead, I can't get away from it.

I saw the barest outline of her as she turned the corner, and my lungs never burned so much. My legs never screamed out in pain as much as they did. Mimi's smaller than me and it makes it much easier for her to run. I really should cut down on the smoking; I felt like a fat kid running after a fucking twinkie.

Her outline turned into a full version, a little ways in front of me. I called out her name in a yell, my voice sounding frustrated. Tired.

I was fucking tired. Tired of running. Tired of aching. Something was missing inside of me, and the fucked up thing? Was I realised it right when she left. I realised it when I was halfway across the country, driving in the stars with the top down. Everything fucking reminded me of her...and I realised that when things reminded me of Mimi, I forgot about April. Or maybe I didn't forget, but that hole inside of me was filled whenever I thought about her. April dying was a peice of me that had been torn out. It hadn't been cut out in a nice, neat little shape; it was jagged. Violent. Carved out and sewn half-assed back together, as if that would fix it. And of course, like anything, the sitches broke down, and I was left with an open, tender wound. Then, Mimi came. For whatever reason, she could fit that hole. She wasn't a perfect match; I never expected anyone to be ever again, but she settled herself in the wound and tried to form around it. Tried to heal it.

Even if she didn't even know what she was healing. She tried. I realised then, that's why I loved her. Because she tried. She hadn't even known me from Adam when she had first met me, but she had smiled at me. Told me she wanted to have breakfast the next morning. Brunch. Just the two of us. She saw inside me to what I didn't even realise was still there all along. I'm always going to be fucked up. It just happens that way. But it's nice to be fucked up with someone. It's nice to have someone to pick you up off the ground when you fall.

I didn't even realise that April's bracelet had slipped off my wrist and clattered to the floor. I was too busy trying to catch up to her. I managed to get close enough to grab her by the upper arm.

"Stop!" I was slightly breathless after running block after block to try to catch up to her. I felt like heaving, and yeah, that was probably from the alcohol. But then again. Fat kid and a twinkie feeling was in full effect here. "Just--just fucking stop!" I wasn't sure what came over me next. Maybe I was just so frustrated with everything. Maybe I was unable to say anything at all, so the next logical thing was to do it. But whatever it was, I leaned in quickly, my hands moving to her waist as my lips met hers. Violently. Passionately.

I don't know if I had been kissing her for ten seconds or ten years, but something reminded me about all that had just happened, and my lips broke from hers, breaths ragged, as I leaned my forehead against hers for a brief moment. It had reminded me of the kiss in the back alley of the Life; something had just...came over me, and I went in. Just went for it. I pulled my head back slowly, released my hands from her hips, and slowly opened my eyes. And realised I had no fucking idea what to say to her after that. I didn't feel exactly zen or anything, but...

"I'm just--tired." My voice was almost exasperated, though I almost said it in a whisper. "I know you are, too. I know--" However, I didn't know a fucking thing. 'Cause I never talked to her. A sad laugh escaped my lips and I extended my hands out wide from my sides. "I don't know anything, alright!? I--I don't know anything. I don't know how to talk to people and I'm a complete fuck up in relationships and I'm a fucking idiot and you can call me whatever you want; you can call me a prick and a jerk and a fucking loser but I'm sorry and please, just don't leave."

Well, there it was. Mark, get your camera. You'll see this is a fucking photo oppertunity. Sound-bite and movie at ten on Buzzline.

If she left, I'd tear myself apart. Little bits and peices of what was left of Roger Davis would be scattered all around the floor.

The Loft'd look like the fuckin' beaches of Normandy, for serious.

Realising I had said more in two seconds than I had really actually said in two years, I stood there, slightly shocked at myself. Slightly proud. But really? I was waiting for her to hate me. Maybe I wanted her to hate me. Yell and scream and kick me in the nuts if you wanted to, but stay with me.

I can take a kick to the nuts if I know you'll be around tomarrow.

[cuervo]

It was dizzying, all these turns in the staircase that I had to make. I don't recall descending these stairs to be such a physically demanding task. I knew if I didn't have a drink of water or take some medication soon that I'd probably black out. I couldn't have much time left. Either AZT or methadone could do it. I didn't have a preference, I just needed to find a remedy and fast. So I kept going, though every muscle in my body was beginning to scream at me. Only a short hour ago I could stand this, I could move and dance and walk...although not perfectly.

Oh, fuck, he's following me! I can hear his voice! His breathing...sounding more like the laboured panting of a dog in heat. He really was barrelling after me but he couldn't keep up. He can't be serious. Why is he even bothering? After that show back there, how could he honestly think I'll just come running back like last time? I'll forgive him on the drop of a dime? What, I don't have the right to a few moments of privacy to collect my thoughts and even have a little cry? That meltdown I just had on Joanne was humiliating enough. I hardly ever talk to Joanne! She's always busy handling her lawyer business, complicated money issues and all sorts of things I wouldn't know the first thing about. Plus, she's got Maureen, and I'm sure she'd love to keep her on a leash. She does try.

I was thankful when I stepped off the final stair, and I was so close to exiting the building altogether until I felt his hands grab me and throw me around, his lips pressing against mine more passionately than they had in a long time.

I succumbed, only because I didn't have the strength to fight back. He parted from me and I sucked in the air deeply, desperately seeking oxygen.

"Roger..." I said warningly. He launched into a long rant about how sorry he was, about how he was such a loser and how this was entirely his fault. But I could see dots now.

"Roger!" I tried again. He kept on going. My eyes widenned and I gasped, the room beginning to spin again. I was losing ground and fast. Shit, I should've at least bought some water on the way home!

"ROGER! Roger, I don't feel so good!"

Those were my last words, because after that, my eyes rolled and I saw nothing but a dark red flash. Everyone says that they see black before they faint, but you really just see a dark shade of maroon. I hit the floor.

[ROGER DAVIS]

She was looking pale, but so was I. I figured that I was looking as pale as she was, and she swayed on her feet. I felt like I had vomited out years of pain and torture that he had been holding in, so I was sure I was as pale as she was. I watched her sway again, and my brows narrowed deeply.

Roger...

But I was in a mode, in a mood and--she swayed again, and I stopped. "Honey?"

Roger, I don't feel so good.

She collapsed faster than I realised, but I managed to catch her, my stomach shifting as I lowered her limp body down to the ground quickly. "Baby?!" My voice was raw, shocked as I knelt with her in my arms, too shocked to even move. "Baby. Baby, please wake up."

My voice was panicked, twisted with fear, and for a moment, I thought that I was back in the bathroom, or even back in the Loft after Maureen and Joanne had brought her back. After she had closed her eyes and...and died.

What's sad is that she looked fucking beautiful lying there. She ust looked like she was sleeping. "Baby." I repeated in almost a whisper, my eyes wide as I pressed my hand to her cheek. "Mimi, please, wake up. C'mon, baby, wake up."

This wasn't fucking funny anymore. My hands were shaking again as I tapped at her cheek. "Baby, c'mon." I couldn't stop the begging from my voice, the pleading through the tears. Tears dripped from my eyes down onto her cheeks. Why wasn't she fucking waking up?

"This isn't funny!" The words escaped my lips in a frustrated yell. If this was her idea of a joke, or something to punish me, it wasn't fucking funny. Maybe I sounded like a child just then, but I didn't care. I was fucking terrified. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't a fucking doctor, I didn't know anything about medicine. Sure, I knew how to slip a syrenge in an arm and I knew how to cook up drugs, but fuck, I didn't know anything about this.

I didn't know anything.

The tears started harder then. Maybe she just needed water. Maybe she needed hard drugs. Maybe she just needed me, but I didn't fucking know. I lifted her up into my arms, her body feeling as limp as it had when she had died or passed out or whatever had happened after I had came back from Santa Fe.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry, please. Please, open your eyes. Please? Please?!" I just wanted to see her eyes. She could hate me when she woke up. She could ever want to see me again and I'd be okay with it. But she just needed to wake up.

"JOANNE! MIMI's--" I didn't know what had happened. Did she just faint? Did she go into some sort of like, fucking coma or something? I brought her back from holding her tightly to me, laying her down on the ground once more as I brushed her hair back from her face with shaking hands. "Honey. Oh god, please. Don't do this to me right now, okay? Just open your eyes for me. I know you can hear me, baby, so open your eyes, huh?"

She needed to upstairs. I don't know why, but she needed to be upstairs. I lifted her small body into my arms--god, she was so small--and carried her up the stairs, running into Joanne as I did.

"There's something wrong."

[joannejefferson]

The bracelet dropped from his wrist, a forgotten symbol of life long gone. What an odd thing to zoom in on right? Yet, that was exactly what Joanne focused on. The simple bracelet falling from his wrist as he ran after Mimi, trying to stop her. The action was so forgettable, so not even worth attention at all, that it melded perfectly with the intense passion of the last few minutes.

Minutes? Had it really only been that long? Suddenly, Joanne felt like it had been hours since she’d stepped into the Loft, like years had passed in a span of seconds. Oh it was a really horrible feeling, being so tired of life in a single moment that a millisecond was like an eternity.

That’s exactly what it felt like too. It was agonizingly slow, the fall of the bracelet from Roger’s wrist, dramatic in a way that it shouldn’t have been and yet his ignorance of what had happened cemented something so deep and profound within her that Joanne found herself walking over to the bracelet and picking it up reverently. How could something so small matter so much? She didn’t know, but as she began to make her way up the stairs she hear Roger and Mimi’s voices dimly behind her, more an echo of their passion than a true understanding of the words.

JOANNE! MIMI’S--

She spun on her heels at the sound of the panic in Roger’s voice, and before she could take a single step it seemed he was in front of her, a limp Mimi in his arms. Oh, the hatred God had for them. First, the shit with the dead ginger girl, and now once again a seemingly lifeless Mimi was laying before her, held tightly in Roger’s arms.

It was a good thing she was preprogrammed to not panic, otherwise they’d have been in serious trouble. She stepped out of his way, taking the stairs two at a time as she headed up back to the Loft. When had Mimi eaten last? What had she had to drink last? Honestly, Joanne wasn’t quite sure what to do in this situation beyond keep Roger calm. That was the problem of being the only person completely inexperienced with drugs in the group. She was a bit dependent on Roger’s knowledge of the stages of withdrawal to guide her through this. God, when she got home, she was cracking open her health books, and calling a doctor to find out everything they could tell her.

“Roger, get her in her and lay her down somewhere, comfortable. Couch, bed, I don’t care which one.” Leaving him momentarily to his own devices, she went looking around for towels and a cup, if she could find one, so she could get some water. More than likely, if Joanne could believe her own limited knowledge, Mimi was a bit dehydrated and her body was shutting itself down to conserve energy. “She needs some food, Rog.” She called back to him.

Oh this was just turning into the day from hell. Luckily, she spent enough time vacationing there that she could handle it. Hopefully.

Wait a second. Where the hell had the bonfire come from?

(ooc: sorry for the wait, bbs. life ... well it hates me. )

[ROGER DAVIS]

My heart thundered, pounding in my chest and I wanted to scream. It always amazed me how quickly a person's life could completely fall apart. Mine had fallen apart so much that I wasn't sure my scotch-taped heart and mind would be able to handle any more. I felt like cracking then, going into the bathroom and just breaking down. But Mimi was limp in my arms and I needed to wake her up. I needed to tell her I was sorry. She needed to be okay and then I could break.

Because I knew I hadn't had a complete break yet. Usually, after the break I felt...something. Right now, sure, I felt panic, but another part of me felt nothing. Completely and utterly nothing. Maybe this was post traumatic stress. For all of the times before. When April died, when Angel got sick, when Mimi died and came back and fuck I wanted to puke. I wanted to scream and puke and cry.

Joanne spoke, her voice breaking me out of the near maddening thoughts I had found myself in. Lay her down. Right. I rushed into the bedroom, Mimi's limp body in my arms. How the fuck did she weigh as little as she did? How did so much passion and so much sexiness and so much...strength come from the limp, small girl under me? It was then that I realised how small she was as I laid her down on the bed, shoving all the shit I had put on the bed out of the way. I wanted to scream at her to wake up, just in case she was faking it, however, I knew she wasn't faking it.

"Honey, please. C'mon. Please just wake up for me, huh?" I pleaded, my voice horse. She was withdrawaling, I knew that, but still, it terrified me to no end. I hadn't dealt with this the few times April and I had tried to quit, and I didn't remember much of what I had actually gone through. I was fucking useless right now. Leaning over, I pressed my lips against the top of her sweat-soaked forehead. "I didn't mean it." I told her, lacing my fingers through hers and giving her hand a squeeze. "Please, baby. I didn't mean it. You know you're the only one for me. You're the only one who puts up with my shit, you know that. I'm sorry, baby. If you can hear me, baby, I'm so sorry." A breath escaped my lips against her forehead, and tears dripped from my eyes. I pulled back enough to trace my finger along her cheek and then across her extremely dry lips. Fuck you, I though. Fuck you for still looking beautiful and sexy even unconcious.

I dipped my head, kissing her lips that met no resistance, only pulling back when I heard Joanne's voice talk about food.

Food. Right.

"Gotta have food, first. I'll get right on that. Pulling food right out of my fucking ass." I muttered against Mimi before I stood, and moved to the main room, seeing the fire still burning wildly in the steel drum.

A breath escaped my lips harshly as I looked at Joanne. My voice was harsh, though it wasn't harsh with anger. It was harsh with complete and utter tiredness. "We don't have any food. We haven't had food for two days." I looked over at the roaring fire, stairing at it for a moment before I looked over at Joanne.

"If she doesn't wake up, we gotta call the ambulance." I said, my voice suddenly devoid of almost all emotion. Mimi could shut down? I could shut down, too. It wasn't healthy, but it'll keep me from passing out. It'll keep me from leaving.

It'll keep me from losing what's left of my mind.