Pretty Boy Front Man|Roger's Journal

[ROGER DAVIS]

July 28th, 1988

I am a mother fucking rock god. That is all.

My girlfriend's creaming her panties because I named my CD after her. I'm fucking jizzing 'cause seriously?! FIRST ACTUAL RECORD? LIKE, CUT AND STUDIO-ED AND EVERYTHING? FUCK YES.

I was promised a party by my friends. I'm also promised a mind-blowing fuck-a-thon from my girlfriend.

I love my life.

[ROGER DAVIS]

August 3rd, 1988

I found this on my nightstand when I woke up. It's pretty siginifacant, because April doesn't take pictures. But she surprised me with a picture and a note for my birthday.

I don't think I can say enough how in love with this woman I am. 'Cause I am. Completely and utterly disgustingly in love with one April Ericcson. She says that they bought cake and there's alcohol and fuck that it's only like, 1 in the afternoon. It's happy hour somewhere.

Time to get completely wasted for Roger Davis. Happy Birthday to me.

[ROGER DAVIS]

August 3rd, 1988

sex and drugs and alcohol and i need more. more drugs, more alcohol. more sex. i can feel the coke wearing off. the rest of the guys are sleeping and it's just me and april and i don't know who she's had to fuck to get the amount of drugs that we have but we have a fucking shitload and i'm going through them like a fucking buffet line. she has coke and speed and probably some E too 'cause she kissed me and tongued a small little pill into my mouth but i was too busy trying to taste the back of her teeth to notice until i started feeling everything she was doing to me ten times over. i spent the next three hours coming over and over and over again by the simple action of her lips on the middle of my throat and fuck i think we've just woken up the entire fucking island because we can't stop screaming.

she tied me to the bed and told me to trust her. tied my hands with one of collins' ties and i'm sure he'll be looking for it in the morning. she tied my hands above my head and told me to trust her as she ran her lips across every single inch of my body and sank her teeth into my inner thighs and her lips are like fire and god she's so fucking good. we started at 1 and now it's 4 in the morning and i still want to fuck her until she can't sit straight. we're both going to be so sore when we wake up but i don't give fuck. this is fucking worth it. she wraps her arms and legs around me and it's like she's trying to bury me inside her and i try to get deeper and deeper and maybe it's just the drugs but every time a push i feel like i'm going to just be swallowed up by her. death by pussy. epic way to go.

i came for the final time thirty minutes ago and christ i'm fucking spent but she's still high on E so she's fingering herself almost as if the world would end if she stopped. i'm not sure if i can get up anymore but that doesn't stop me from grabbing her and digging my tongue into every inch of her. she's pulling and grabbing and tugging on my hair and i think she's pulled fistfulls of it out but i don't give a fuck. it's worth it to hear her scream and to feel her buck against me. i think she almost broke my face a few times.

she's coming down but she's shaking so hard that big fat tears are rolling down her cheeks, and she tells me to cook her up a hit 'cause her heart's racing and she can still feel herself coming. her hips buck and twitch against the bed and there's little groans coming from her that i really don't want to stop with heroin but i know that if she doesn't get it soon, her heart may explode.

my hands are shaking and my heart's thundering against my chest and all i can taste in my mouth is April. i kiss her as i slide the needle into her arm and she moans as she tastes herself, but it doesn't last long because soon, she's slumped against the pillow, a red flush covering her entire body and soon i'm slipping the needle into my own arm and my heart slows and i'm sinking and i feel her slide on top of me and she feels so heavy then everything turns black.

[ROGER DAVIS]

August 4th, 1988

I've got rings around my wrists from Collins' tie and a bite mark on my inner thigh that's in the perfect shape of April's teeth. April's got hickeys and bite marks on her shoulder and one on her breast near her nipple that she said if it hadn't felt so good, she'd probably be pissed at me. I told her I hope that it scared over so I always have something to remind me of her. She laughed and told me that she's already carved her name on my heart with the razorblade in the bathroom when I was asleep one night. I just sleep really deep and didn't know it. She woke me up by whispering in my ear, and it almost was like she slipped into my dreams and brought me back to life.

April is the worst thing that's ever happened to me and I love every minute of it.

We spent a couple hours in bed, trying to fuck again. She told me to make her come, but five minutes going down on her, I wanted to go back to sleep again. We were just so fucking exausted. She says she doesn't remember half of last night, and I don't remember much but a blur of lips and tongues and sticky sheets and the way she growled my name out and 'fuck me' over and over against my ear and the way she nearly felt like she had a seziure on top of me. If I lick my lips I can still taste her on them, sticky and salty and sweet and she runs her tongue across my chin and says that she tastes good, even hours later.

I'm not one to disagree.

I've got a show tomarrow night, which always means backstage sex from April before and after the show. She says she's always turned on when she sees me on stage, and I'm not gonna lie, the bass is usually thumping so hard that it gets me hard by the time we're finished. We're running out of money, so the money from the gig'll be good because I think we ran out of smack and blow last night. Yeah, we kinda went overboard, so sue us. We're young and stupid.

April's in the bathroom right now taking a bath. I'm debating on joining her, but seriously, I think I really have to take a re-charge from last night. If I get anywhere near April, I'll end up fucking her again, and I'm afraid my dick's gonna fall off. But I can control myself. Self control. I have it. I mean, a bath wont be that bad, right? I mean, sure, when she's naked and I'm naked in the bath, of course shit is going to happen, but we have had moments where we're just...still. I kiss her and it's not like we're kissing like the world will end. It's slow and steady and it fucking rocks my god damn world, I tell you. I mean, I love it rough. I'm not going to lie. Kick my ass in the bedroom...but every now and then, I love just kissing her.

We don't stay still for long, but those moments are fucking gold.

Okay, I'm going. Maybe we'll share a hit of heroin and pass out for a few hours, though the last time we did that, Mark kept pounding on the door saying he needed to piss.

How was I to know we were in there for like, two hours?

Okay, warm bath with my super sexy girlfriend is calling my name.

[ROGER DAVIS]

September 28th, 1988

We have to stop.

Two days ago, April was in the bath. It was probably like, noon, and I was just getting up. The night before, Mark had told me he was getting up early with Maureen and going to Tompkins to take some video. Collins had school. Benny was permanantly fixed over at Muffy's apartment. That just left April and I. I remembered her getting out of the bed, kissing the top of my head and then I drifted off to sleep.

I wasn't sure whether I was asleep for two minutes or ten hours, but I remember waking up to silence. I called her name and heard absolutely nothing. I don't know what told me that there was something wrong, but I knew. She was lying naked in the bathtub with the needle still hanging out of her arm. She wasn't moving.

I'm not going to lie when I said that my world stopped when I thought she was dead. She wasn't dead, just seriously, seriously stoned. She didn't even flinch when I had slapped her over and over again to try to get her to open her eyes. I'm sure all of Manhattan probably heard me screaming. She finally opened her eyes after ten minutes.

After she came off the hit, after I had yelled and screamed at her and she had yelled and screamed at me, we told each other that we needed to quit. It was killing us both. We needed to have better days that didn't revolve around where we'd get the money to score. There was more to life.

So we went to the store and bought shit for our future hell. We bought tomato soup, because that's what Frankie had told us he bought. Stomach medicine. We went to all the drug dealers in town and bought Darvocets and Clonidine and Bensodiazepines. We bought Valerian Root and Chamomile tea and mixed them together in the middle of the chinese ladies shop, telling her we needed to get to sleep and quick. If we were going to go through hell, April told me, then we were going to go through it as unconcious as possible.

We got home, piled our pills and food and buckets on the bed, sat down, and waited.

The sad thing is that it only took 3 hours for it to start. Mine was slow, maybe because of my weight, I don't know. Maybe there was some heroin still floating around in my system, but April started quickly. She started pacing, saying that she needed it. She smoked more. We both smoked more. 5 hours in and she was already starting to shake, telling me that we couldn't go through it anymore. Tomarrow, she said. Tomarrow was another day. The minutes ticked by so slowly, every flick of the clock's hand was getting soo loud in the silence of the room. I told her we should do something to take our mind off of it. We could try to fuck. We tried to kiss but her skin tasted like sweaty salt and she said I tasted funny. She said that her arms felt like they were being squished through a vise, and when I tried to slide my fingers into her she nearly screamed. She said it felt like everything was aching and on fire and she couldn't do it anymore.

It had only been five hours, she sobbed, and she couldn't do it. We tried to take the anger out on each other, hitting our fists against each other's bodies until large, angry bruises formed on our legs and chest and back but nothing could stop the ache. We couldn't make ourself hurt enough to make the other hurt go away.

It was hour seven that we said we couldn't do it anymore. Tomarrow was another day. We took a hit of heroin each like people finding water in the middle of the desert, and we chased it down with the tea that we had bought.

We have to stop, I know we do. This morning, after we woke up afraid to look at even each other, we told each other that we needed to stop. We needed to go down to the clinic and get some methadone and be done with it.

I mean, what was the point of living if one of us fucked up and died? And we couldn't do that.

We say things. We say alot of things. I say I'm going to be famous and she says she's gonna buy all those handbags and fur coats and she's going to be dripping jewels.

We're young. We're stupid. We're just addicts and we'll never amount to anything but we're together.

We're always going to be together. Even if we're stoned out of our minds, we're still together. I told her that I'd die without her and she knows it's true. She'd die without me and I'd die without her.

I need to go to sleep. I'm exausted.

I'm just tired.

[ROGER DAVIS]

November 1st, 1988

Awesome costume party was awesome. My girlfriend was Ariel from the Little Mermaid. Maureen was Dorthy from Wizard of Oz. Mark was a nerdy filmmaker 'cause he didn't want to dress up 'cause he's lame. Benny was labeled as 'that new-rich black guy who never shows up' 'cause he never showed up, and Collins was a drug dealer. Natch.

Met two drag queens who looked better in dresses than April did. She was quite frustrated over that fact and told me about it all night. Maureen's Dorthy costume was short enough that it showed her ruffled panties and her boobs popped out of the top, and I mentioned to April that Maureen looked better in her costume than the drag queens. Because she didn't have a dick, and that April looked good in her Ariel costume because her boobs were like, threatening to pop out of her top. The drag queens didn't have boobs. Real ones, at least. I told her their boobs probably felt like two hard lumps of sand or something. Or plastic. Or like, the shit that they fill bean bags with.

Pot was smoked. Alcohol was drunk....drank? Drunk. PEOPLE GOT SHITFACED. Good times were had. Got April drunk and she told me later that she felt one of the drag queen's boobs and they did feel like the things they fill bean bags with. I said I was happy with how her boobs felt, and proceeded to feel them all night long.

I feel a change in the air. Better times are coming. 1989 is almost here, one more year 'till we get closer to the end of the millennium. I told April that in 20 years, we'll all be flying around in cars and like, vacationing on the Moon or Mars or some shit. She says she'd be happy if she could vacation in upstate New York. Mars was too far away.

We heard from the New York Times that the lovely Allison Grey of the Westport Greys had gotten married to a fine young gentleman named Benjamin Coffin the Third. He moved out a month ago. It's not really like anything's changed; he never was around really anyway. None of us have ever even met Muffy. I think he's ashamed, honestly. I don't see why; we're not bad people. Sure, we may be poor, but dude, you were poor right along with us. It doesn't matter, though. He wants to go and live an expensive life shitting on 100 dollar bills, that's cool. He doesn't have it in him to be rich, though. He'll always be Benny Coffin no matter how much he tries to make himself Benjamin Coffin the Third. He'll still be that guy that waited tables at the Moondance Diner and who used to give us free food when we visited and who once ate four-day old Chinese food because there was nothing else to eat in the Loft.

Whatever. I don't care. I hope he's happy with his new life. May he have hundreds of fat children.

On a good note: We may have money for actual christmas presents this year if Collins gets the teaching job and I get a few more gigs. At least we'll have money for a decent christmas meal.

Other upside to Christmas time? The yearly sweater from Mark's Mom. The last one she knitted for me had a big giant R on the front of it.

You know, in case I forgot.

[ROGER DAVIS]

November 23rd, 1988

April jumped up on me this morning at 9AM and demanded I get up. I open my eyes and she's dressed like a military solider. She's stolen one of Collins' hats, used some sort of make-up under her eyes, and too-large commando pants with a black tank top. It was time, she told me, her voice serious. They needed to stop it before it entered the Loft.

Now, mind you, I had just been woken up by my girlfriend straddling my waist and telling me that, her face entirely fucking serious that we needed to catch it. I asked her what she had taken, 'cause I wanted some.

She proceeded to drag me out of bed (I'm not a morning person) and to the hallway that lead to the living room, only to be met by Maureen, who was dressed in the same military garb that April was. In her left hand, she held a water-gun, filled with water. In the other, she held a small painted black box. We're in the middle of winter, I want to remind everyone that. The Loft is fucking freezing. Are we under attack? I asked April, still trying to rub the sleep from my eyes. Should I be calling someone?

I went to sleep at like, two in the morning and it was not like this before I went to sleep, I had told Maureen seriously, though her expression was even more serious. That's it, I told them. I want the drugs you two are on. Drugs. Hand them over. Guys, when the fuck did the Loft turn into Desert fucking Storm, and should I be worried about air strikes?

Standing behind me, April had aimed her watergun on my shoulder towards the large, red door. There's a problem, she told me. Thanksgiving dinner is tonight.

I know, I told her. Please don't tell me there's a 60-foot mutant turkey running through New York City, hellbent on destroying everyone in it's path. 'Cause I just woke up and that would put a damper on my entire day.

No, Maureen had interjected with a shake of her head, aiming the watergun at the door. She was waiting very still for something. Christ himself probably had no clue what these two girls were waiting for. It's much worse than that, she said.

It's Collins.

He has Tofurkey.

Oh, fuck that, I remember thinking, grabbing up a watergun from the waiting hand of my girlfriend. I was not gonna eat another slice of Tofurkey again. Not this day. Not this year.

The poor bastard never knew what hit him when he entered the Loft. Three well aimed shots to his midsection, and the Tofurkey was down.

Another year, another victory for Team Meat.

And I am here to say that it was not without casualties. The enemy, a large, towering black figure, came charging at us. We managed to run as fast as we could, but my two other comrades...

I'll miss my girlfriend and her extremely sexy best friend. I'll miss them alot.

I totally called dibs on the marshmellows on top of the sweet potatoes before Collins went all hulk-rage on Maureen and April. I locked myself in the bathroom. The last thing I heard my girlfriend say was, You run like a fucking girl, Rog!. I'll cherish those words forever.

I'm a shitty boyfriend, I know. But seriously. Collins is a big giant black man. I'm a skinny white dude.

Those are shit odds no matter where you are. Thank god Mark went to go get the Turkey from down the street. Collins will just have to suck it up and eat meat.

That's what she said.

[ROGER DAVIS]

December 25rd, 1988

We woke up early (surprisingly, maybe it was just the kid in both of us) and from my bedroom window I could easily see that it was snowing. Believe me, I hate the snow, but there's something about snow on Christmas Morning. We heard noises, so we made our way to the living room.

And we saw this:

I don't know who Collins had to fuck to get this christmas trees, but as all of us came out to the dark living room, we were met by seemingly dozens of lights and a smiling Collins.

Merry Christmas, bitches.

April starting crying, saying it looked like the Christmas tree that she had the christmas before her grandma had died. She wrapped her arms around my waist and laid her head on my shoulder as the tears from her eyes made a wet spot on my grey sweater. Maureen wrapped her arms around Mark and told him that it was okay, pookie. We could put a star of David on top of the tree for the Jews.

We all had coffee and Collins brought out some sort of fruit cake and I had no clue what was in it, but it tasted good with the coffee. We opened presents after that. Mark had gotten me guitar strings. I had gotten Mark a little baby jesus figurine that I had found in a second-hand store and taped a little word-bubble above his head from his mouth that I wrote DON'T HATE ME, I'M JUST A BABY on it. I got Maureen a licorace panties and she had got me more paper for my journal. April had gotten make-up from Maureen and Mark and Collins had gotten her a flower pin for her hair. I had got her a bracelet with flowers on it and a note that promised her I.O.U orgasms. Mark's mom had sent all of us sweaters which we gladly used because it was fucking freezing.

It's not much, really. I mean, by anyone elses standards, it would have been a shitty christmas. But it was the first time we've had an actual Christmas tree, and actual coffee and cake in the morning.

We braved the cold later on in the day and made snow angels in Tompkins Square. April hit me on the side of the head with a snowball and then screamed as I tackled her in the snow. Maureen danced in the snow and April and Maureen tried to catch snowflakes on their toungues while Collins and I smoked on the benches and Mark filmed.

Sure, there's people eating steak dinners in their heated houses and apartments and condos and they'd laugh at us because we had a small pitiful tree and we had hardly any presents and we'll probably have an even pitiful christmas dinner, but you know what? This is family. This is what life is about. Family and friends and laughter. Who cares if we're poor. We're happy.

It's not much. But it's enough.

And fuck, I cannot wait for New Years. We are going to tear it up, in natural fashion. And I promise, I wont sleep with Maureen this time. Promise. I'm really not gonna. I'll make sure Mark's sleeping with her first.

[ROGER DAVIS]

January 1st, 1989

I don't remember much of what happened. I remember there were drugs and alcohol and I didn't sleep with Maureen but I think I might have thrown up on the couch. Possibly. I think that was me.

April and I made a New Years Resolution; we're gonna kick Heroin for good by her birthday. April 1st. We've even told the guys we've got a goal. Everyone seems happy. I'm actually happy. I don't think I've ever been this happy before. I've got a girlfriend who loves me, friends who care about me, a roof over my head and occational pot. If only I could kick smack then I'd be fine.

We're gonna do it. I know we are. Because I can't be weighed down by this anymore. I can't keep searching for and stealing money for this shit. Mark said he hoped that this wasn't just a momentary ephiphany. I told him it wasn't. but the problem is that we're down to hitting the needle two or three times a day. We're gonna get an appointment at the clinic to try to get some methadone, but the problem is that the wait is about a month.

I guess that tells you that we're not alone in wanting to change, right?

April's sorta sick, and it probably didn't help that she drank too much last night. I think the cold is getting to her. She says she feels tired all the time. Run down. I just told her it's because of the drugs. Everything that happens to us is because of the drugs. She was running a fever two days ago, but she felt well enough to drink last night. We didn't have sex 'cause she was drunk but she wasn't the usual party-hardy that she normally is. She's sleeping right now. I'll check on her in a few.

But yes. To New Years. To happiness and life and wonderfulness.

I have a feeling that I will remember this year until I die.

[ROGER DAVIS]

Feburary 15th, 1989

((OOC: Song is HERE: "Take Me With You" by Secondhand Serenade)))

I did it.

I fucking did it.

I had told myself I was gonna ask her and then I did. I mean, it wasn't exactly the words, 'you wanna get married?' or anything like that, but it was close enough. Valentine's day was yesterday. April was sleeping in and I was up. I know, surprised the hell outta me. I woke her up the the smell of chocolate. She said she still felt like shit, but the rose made her smile. I told her I had been up since two writing a song for her, and I saw her blush. She's been with me for more than a year and yet I can still make her blush. I sang her a song and she cried and I asked her if she'd spend the rest of her life with me. I didn't ask her to marry me, because really? There was no point, plus, we didn't have the money for the court costs or the church or anything. But I asked her if she'd be mine forever and she said that I didn't even ask to ask. She was already a part of me.

I don't know how long this is going to last, because we're off and on so many times that I lost count, but...but I know she meant it. I asked her if she'd die for me, and she smiled and kissed the tip of my nose and told me she'd die a thousand times for me if she could.

I swear, I'm like a fucking girl right now. I can't stop smiling. I gave Maureen some of the chocolates because April said she had a stomach ache from eating too much, and Maureen squeeled when I told her.

It's like you're married now, she had told me, jumping up and down. We have to have a ceremony! Oh my god, I can get April dressed up in white!

There wasn't a point, I told her honestly. April wasn't a virgin.

Maureen scoffed and rolled her eyes. Well, duh. Anyone could realise that if they stuck an ear to the door to my room. April screamed loud enough that she thought people in Jersey could hear. Maureen told Mark who told Collins. It was like we were already married anyway, we spent every waking moment with each other, so why was this different?

Y'ain't gonna get her knocked up now that you're like, not-married-but-married, right? Collins had asked me between drags of a cigarette, and I told him we weren't married. I didn't have a ring. She had just said that she'd die for me. That's better than marriage, I told him. Besides, she had told me if she got married, she'd get fat. She heard girls who got married got really fat 'cause they didn't care anymore. I didn't want to see April fat.

No, I told Collins. We're getting off Heroin. We're down to like, two hits a day. We're getting off Heroin and we're going to clean up our act and it's gonna be awesome.

April's still sleeping. She's been sleeping alot lately. I think it's just 'cause we aren't doing as much drugs as we were. She said she feels sick, but I told her it's just the slow ween. She said she thinks I'm right and went back to sleep.

I think I'm gonna call her parents and see maybe if they could spare a few bucks. It's not for drugs; I want to go to California. I want to go actually meet her parents. I know she's gonna like, completely shoot the idea down, but I really want to go to California.

She says it's warmer there. Maybe warm is what she needs to feel better.

[ROGER DAVIS]

Feburary 29th, 1989

It's getting easier to go without Heroin. Sure, we're still using, but only maybe twice a day. We used to be five, six times a day. Even more.

Call it completely and utterly fucking queer, but I know I'm doing this because I love her so god damn much. I want my love for April Ericcson to overcome by love for Heroin. And I think it's working.

She's feeling better finally. I told her I think she had the flu or something. She said she hadn't a clue, but she was feeling better. It's stupid how much of a fucking teenager she makes me feel like, but she makes me feel good. Whole. Complete.

Not to mention she sucks like a fucking hoover. But you know...devil's in the details.

[ROGER DAVIS]

March 26th, 1989

April's missing.

She said she was going out early this morning; I barely remember her getting ready in the bathroom, and she hasn't been back. It's not like her. I've been asking around the city; no one's seen her.

It isn't like April to just up and leave. I'm worried. She'd call or she'd just come home. She'd tell someone that she was out and sooner or later, word would get back to one of us who would get back to me. It's like a little phone-tree we all have in Alphabet City, but no one's fucking calling.

Mark thinks we should wait a few more hours. It's been 10 hours. She left at 8 this morning and now it's 6 and in a few hours it'll be 12 hours and we can call the cops. Collins says it's not like April, but she's done weirder shit. Yeah, I told him. She's done weirder shit WITH ME.

Maureen's worried, I can see it. She said she was going to look in the Park. That was two hours ago, and Maureen's still not back. Mark said he's gonna go out and look for HIS girlfriend and then go with her to find MY girlfriend. There's no point in having both of our girlfriend's missing. Collins told Sunny, who's looking around the upper half of the East Village. Erica's taking the lower half. Sunny's boyfriend Frankie's got three brothers looking for her, too.

My girlfriend's missing in New York City. What if something happened to her? What if she was dead or dying or something? What if someone hurt her?

I gotta go. It's getting colder outside.

[ROGER DAVIS]

March 27th, 1989

Three o'clock this morning, April stumbled into the Loft through the window. Of course, I was awake, staring at one of the dozen candles on the metal coffee table. It had been storming and the power had gotten knocked out. She was soaked from head to toe with rain. Needless to say, I was fucking shocked. And when I'm shocked, I'm instantly defensive and angry. Where the fuck had she been? I had half of Alphabet City looking for her!

Walking! Her voice was filled with venom, and I had no clue why. Fucking walking and jesus, could I stop being a little bitch for five seconds?

She was shaking. Like, litterly convlusing and instantly, I wanted to snap back at her voice, but the look on her face made me stop. She was freezing, I had told her. Her make-up was smeared all over her face, by water or tears, I wasn't sure. By this time, my yelling and her yelling had woken up Mark and Maureen and Collins, and they had came into the living room. Maureen squeeked in surprise and ran over to April, saying that she needed a warm bath. That she was freezing, honey, and was gonna catch her death. Collins said he'd put on a pot of Coffee to warm her up.

We managed to get her in the bath, and her shivers slowly stopped as her body sucked up the heat from the warm water. I sat down on the cold concrete, leaning my chin on the edge of the bathtub. She didn't look up at me. The power was still out, so I could only see dancing shadows on her face, but I didn't see her eyes look up at me. She curled her knees to her chest silently.

Where did she go?

She was silent for a long time and then she started telling me about what had happened. Her mom had called the Loft early in the morning. Her brother had died. I stopped her there; I didn't know she had a brother?

Yeah, she told me. She had a brother. But he was dead, so it didn't matter, did it? It wasn't like I could meet him.

So she decided to go walking. She got on the subway and went to Central Park and lost track of time. Then she had gotten lost in the Park. Then it started to rain. She had to sneak her way onto the subway because she didn't have anymore money, and it had just been a really shitty night, okay?

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, really. Except that I was sorry. But she had me worried, I had told her. Worried like, wicked crazy. She told me she was sorry. She didn't want to make me worried. She loved me, did I know that?

Of course I knew that, I told her. And I hadn't meant to yell earlier. I was sorry I yelled. I was just really worried. I thought she had been stabbed or robbed or gangraped or something.

She asked why I automatically went to being gang raped as a possible option, and I shrugged.

This was New York. Was she going to the funeral?

She scoffed and sunk down into the water until it reached the top of her chin. She couldn't go back to California. Not even for that. She was an addict. A drugged, cracked out addict.

I reminded her that we shot up heroin. Not crack.

It was the same difference, she told me. Everything was the same. Smack, X, Blow, Meth. It was all the same. She knew her parents didn't know she was a junkie. She asked if my parents did. I shook my head no. My dad was a deadbeat and my mom's a sweet old lady on her way to like, sainthood. Well, maybe not saint-hood, but she was too sweet for her own good. She pointed a thin finger at me, as if to say, A-ha! Your parents don't know, either, she said, shaking head. She wasn't going back to California, because they were better off not knowing about how their little girl was a crack whore.

Heroin Junkie, I reminded her. And if she was anyone's whore, she was mine. And being my whore was not a bad thing. I like when she's a whore.

She looked over at me as if she could burn holes into me with her eyes. Come on, I had told her, leaning my chin against the tub. Then fine, they don't have to know. Funerals are boring, anyway. Boring and sad and her brother would have wanted her to remember him happy. Not all dead in a coffin and shit.

She smiled at me and ran her fingers through my hair. She wanted me to remember her happy, she told me. Not all dead in a coffin. Would I go to her funeral?

I told her they'd probably have to make it a double feature if she died, because I'd be in the coffin right next to her. They could even bury us together. Save on the funeral costs. If they really wanted to be cheap, they could bury her on top of me. That was her favourite place to be. She smiled slightly and shook her head. Her voice was a sigh.

Oh, Roger.

The water was getting cold, she said, holding her arms out to me. I lifted her up and out of he water, and she brushed her cheek against mine. I told her that we had some pills left, and she said she wanted one. I dried her off and laid her down on the bed, as she took the pill, and traced every stray drop of water I had missed from her skin as it slid down her body. She shuttered and a soft sob escaped her lips and I had lifted my head up, asking her if she didn't want this.

Was it disrespectful to fuck someone who's brother just died?

Through her silent tears, she had shook her head. Why would it be disrespectful? He was the one that died, not her. Keep licking.

So, I did. And it made sense in a strange way; he was the one that was dead. I wasn't dead. April wasn't dead. We were both very much alive and so was the taste on my tongue as I sank it into her. I'm not going to say that it was amazing or life altering, but after a while, she grabbed my hands, climbed on top of me, and we made love.

We didn't fuck. We made fucking love.

Cliche as fuck, but yeah, we did. It was slow and deep and wonderful and god, we even fucking came together and shit. I told her how much I loved her and I could never live without her and she told me how beautiful I looked just then, and she'd always remember the way I said her name and the way my eyes sparkled when I thought of her. It was fucking perfect.

I ran my fingers along the crook of her arm and felt a scab. I asked if she had been shooting up without me and felt her tense only for a short moment before she shook her head. Never, she told me. She'd never do anything without me. I'd always be a part of her. I knew that.

By the way before she forgot, she told me, as she slowly drifted off to sleep lying on top of me with me still inside her; She had woken up with burns on the inside of her thighs. From the stubble on my chin. It was burning the inside of her thighs and it wasn't hot, nor was it comfortable. I should tend to that, she told me through a yawn. She spoke in a lazy, tired tone against my chest.

We needed to go buy a razor tomarrow.

[ROGER DAVIS]

March 28th, 1989

Grocery shopping could have been better if we had more money, so it was basically Ramen and whatever we could steal. April managed to steal a couple bars of chocolate and Collins snagged some more candles for the Loft since we were nearly out. I used the little money I had to get April the razor, since I knew it'd get me more sex if I shaved, and I could live without food. I can't live without sex. We all had lunch at the Life. April's a little better today, I think. I asked if she was going to call her parents, and she said no. I asked her when the funeral was going to be; maybe we could at least send a card or something? She said we didn't have any money, so how could we send a card?

Touche.

We went to the New York Theatre Workshop in the afternoon to see a really low-tech and low-budget version of La Boheme. Mark introduced me to a dude named Jonathan that he said he had met at the Life and said they had bonded over films and we all talked and smoked for a bit until the play started. He said he had liked the Well Hungarians and was sad that we weren't playing anymore. I lied and told him that we had taken a break 'cause our drummer had a baby. I didn't have the heart to tell him that the band broke up because of drugs. I was seriously already like, not down with the idea because I don't speak Latin. Or Italian. Or whatever the fuck they're speaking. Maureen kept hitting me to try to keep me awake, but I remember hearing some sort of woman singing about...something. I woke up right before the end. I guess the chick died.

Maureen was crying, saying it was sad that the girl died. April was crying too, but she was sorta silent. Mark said that the direction could have been better, and Collins said the guy that played Marcello was cute, but he couldn't sing for shit and he needed some pot, STAT, to pick him up from that sob-fest he had just witnessed.

Maureen spent the rest of the night calling me Rodolfo and she called Mark Marcello, and Collins just laughed and said she was just like Musetta, just as spoiled. The only song I really remembered was Musetta's Waltz. It had a nice sorta sound to it, you know, if the girl wasn't like singing and shit. Played it on the guitar and Maureen tried to sing along with it, but I told her she shouldn't quit her day job.

She laughed and said if she had one, she wouldn't.

We all smoked pot and watched a rough cut of Mark's new film. April groaned as reels of her face came on the screen and she buried her head in my neck and said she hated pictures. Pictures stole people's souls. I told her she was a ginger, and that I heard in some news documentary that gingers didn't have souls, so how could hers get stolen? She punched me in the shoulder and said I was a jerk. That Mark had to burn those reels. Cut them out, she told him. Mark said he'd think about it, and I told Mark he'd probably just end up shooting more tomarrow, so just do what she says.

We were all pretty stoned by the time midnight rolled around, and Collins said that he had to be at MIT for an interview tomarrow. We all got excited about that. MIT? Really? That was awesome! So he turned in at about 1. Maureen always got horny when she got stoned, so she dragged Mark into the bedroom for a little midnight action. April said she was tired and wanted to go to bed, so we did.

We laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling and I asked her what she wanted for her birthday. She said she didn't want anything, and to not get her anything. Of course, I protested, but she silenced me with a kiss and told me to surprise her. I told her I'd surprise her with a trip to California and a wedding ring.

She didn't laugh but rolled over and brought the blankets up. Sure you would, Rockstar, she said with a sigh. We'd all go to California. Right after you won the powerball.

Like I'd win the powerball. But then again, I'm feeling sorta lucky. Maybe I'll go scrounge up some money tomarrow and go get a ticket.

[ROGER DAVIS]

March 29th, 1989