Pretty Boy Front Man|Roger's Journal

[ROGER DAVIS]

April 1st, 1989

Love of mine
some day you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark

No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark
If heaven and hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles brusied by a lady in black
And I held my toungue as she told me
"Son fear is the heart of love"
So I never went back

You and me have seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary
And the soles of your shoes are all worn down
The time for sleep is now
It's nothing to cry about
Cause we'll hold each other soon
In the blackest of rooms

If heaven and hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

[ROGER DAVIS]

April 3rd, 1989

Dying isn't full of tunnels and white gates. It's darkness. Cold and dark.

I woke up with something hard shoved down my throat, and for a moment, all I saw was dark. Slowly, my eyesight started to adjust. Candles were lit and in the outline of the dark I could see a figure hunched over in the small chair. I tried to lift my hands up to pull the hard thing from my throat, but I tried to lift them up and felt resistance from the straps on my arms. My body felt groggy and numb and I felt sick to my stomach. The figure jerked up to full attention and I realised it was Mark.

Don't try to move, he told me, though his voice sounded almost alien. Watery. I tried to move my lips, tried to speak and found I couldn't. His eyes were puffy and his cheeks were red and he had been crying. I moved my hand in a writing motion, and felt my eyes close. God, moving my hand felt like such a fucking task. Mark must have figured it out, 'cause there was a pen in my hand and paper under it, and I wrote out slowly and probably very sloppy

AM I DEAD?

No, you're not, Mark said, his voice still that same strange tone that didn't sound like him at all. But you were close. What the fuck were you thinking?

WHERE'S APRIL?

Sure, I half expected all of it to have been a dream. Maybe I had taken too much drugs and everything, the last few days, the funeral, everything had been one giant bad trip. Mark's look made me realise that it hadn't been a dream or a bad trip...it had bee real fucking life.

What were you thinking, man? He repeated his words, almost cold now, and I flinched. April died and...and then now you...his voice trailed off, and I saw tears slide down Mark's cheeks. I've never seen him cry. I felt my body shift, trying to life my hands up to pull the damn tube out of my mouth, and then got so frustrated that I simply stopped.

Roger, don't. Look, they said they're gonna take the tube out today. You really--you really fucked up, Roger, what the fuck were you thinking? They said there was enough drugs in your system to kill a small horse. You took a handful of pills and a shot of heroin for what?!

His voice was nearly pleading now, and I wanted to block it out. I wanted to pull the fucking tube out of my throat, get out of the god damn hospital, and jump off the roof. Or do something. Anything. I wrote quickly (as quick as I could with the sedative coursing through me.

SHE'S DEAD.

Mark didn't have anything to say to that, and I knew he wouldn't. He slumped down on the chair, pulling his knees to his chest, and silence fell over the room.

It was only stopped by the click click click of shoes that I saw belonged to Maureen as she entered, carrying a Styrofoam box that had to have held shitty hospital food. Her eyes instantly widened as she saw me awake, and she jerked over, placing the food and soda down onto the empty bed next to me before she launched herself to me. Roger, she nearly screamed, scooting a chair over loudly to the bedside. Baby, I thought--oh god, I thought you were dead! They said you were dead and you're a stupid fucker, you know that?!

And even though her words had been harsh, she was planting kisses on my forehead and cheeks and I glanced over her shoulder with watery eyes to see Collins enter, and then a doctor.

Mr. Davis, the doctor said, we're going to get that tube out. And I need all of you to leave, please, so Mr. Davis and I can have a talk about his test results.

I didn't even consciously think about it, but soon everyone was screaming, Maureen was screaming for me to stop and Mark was telling me to chill! chill the fuck out, man! Roger, please! and Collins' hands were around my wrists and I was still fighting. I wasn't ready to hear it. The last thing I remember was the doctor was yelling for a nurse to get a sedative, and then everything went black.

I woke up later with the tube out and my throat raw and Benny was talking with a doctor before he noticed that I was awake. The doctor and Benny were talking but as he noticed, the doctor nodded and stepped out. Benny was wearing a suit and tie and he looked like a complete douche bag and I would have laughed if it was any other time. Now I felt so groggy that I couldn't even make a half smirk at the man.

You're a fucking idiot, Roger.

And you're a black man in a really fugly suit. My voice was scratchy and I coughed, hearing something rattle around in my chest. I'm glad we're playing the obvious game.

You could have died, Roger. You damn near did. Mark called me over, freaking out 'cause he said you had done it. You were all blue and you weren't breathing and you were fucking dead. I got the call at two in the morning, Roger.

I'm sorry I didn't pick a more opportune time to die. Next time I'll shoot for mid-morning.

Benny gave me a look, lips pursed, as if he wasn't sure whether he wanted to hit me or simply walk out of the room. I paid for your hospital stay, he told me, his voice cold and crisp. I shouldn't even be doing that. He seemed to soften then, and he spoke. Look, man. I know what April did was fuc--

And then I lost it. I glared at him, eyes narrow and willing to burn him alive if I could, or at least kick him in the fucking nuts if I had the motor skills.

Don't. Fucking. Say her name. You have no idea what April did and you have no fucking right to say her name. So shut the fuck up.

A car was coming to pick me up, Benny told me, his voice cold once more, Mark was down signing paperwork. He'd get paperwork in to get me into a rehab--

It hit me then that I hadn't had a single drop of Heroin since April had died. Maybe it was because I was so drugged out on whatever they were giving me, my body didn't have a chance to miss heroin. I didn't want a rehab, I told him. I just want to go home.

Benny scoffed and shook his head. Fine, he told me. If you die, I'm not coming to pay to bring you back to life again.

Whatever, I told him, my voice weak and scratchy and barely there. Go home to your wife. She's probably wondering where you are.

Mark and I went home, and he had to help me up the stairs because it felt worse than heroin. They had knocked me up with every sort of drug, and while it should have felt awesome, it felt horrible and my legs just wouldn't work. He helped me into the Loft and into my bedroom, and I was too numb and stoned to cry. He helped me into bed and I noticed that my room had been completely stripped. The mirrors were gone. My shoes were gone. Guitar and Guitar strings, gone. Everything that I could use to hurt myself was gone. I didn't do it on purpose, Mark, I told him though my words slurred slightly. Even though I was completely and utterly fucking lying to him.

My shoe was dropped with a thunk against the hard floor, and as Mark worked on the other one, he didn't look up at me.

Just go to sleep, Roger.

So, I did.

I woke up a few hours later, and knew that the stuff they gave me at the hospital was wearing off. It's two hours later and my stomach's cramping and I'm starting to get nervous and all I want is one more hit.

One more, and then I'm done.

Because I'm terrified of what this'll become. The doctor had told me I was in a world of hurt coming off of heroin.

He doesn't know the half of it, and I'm fucking terrified.

[ROGER DAVIS]

April 6th, 1989

god it's in my skin and it's crawling inside of me and she wont fucking stop. she's singing to me and smiling and her hair is so fire-red that it's burning me and i don't want to see her anymore.

dont
want
to
see
her
anymore

i'm screaming at her to go away but she giggles and shakes her head and tells me i'm a bad boy in the voice she used to have before she fucked me. now she's dragging her red hair all over my skin, across my legs and across my stomach and my face and i bring my hand up and all i see is blood. blood on my face and my stomach and my legs and i'm bleeding out and the itching just wont stop. it's spreading now. and she's laughing at me, two deep gashes in her arms and please, just stop it. just stop it, i'm sorry i hurt you and i'm sorry for everything, but just please.

stop.

she's screaming now and i'm screaming and there's so much blood.

her blood.
my blood.

i'm going to die. this is going to kill me.

there's ants in the apartment and they're crawling around in my skin and i just want them to go away. i want her to go away.

april's sitting on the edge of the dresser. she's laughing as she files her nails and tells me if i just shut up and stop being a fucking pathetic little bastard, i might be able to get through it. that's why she left me, she tells me. because i'm pathetic. i'm worthless. i'll never amount to anything, and she left because she couldn't stand to look at such a sad creature anymore. she's not wearing any underwear but there's blood on her wrists and on her thighs and i can't stop puking. i barely make the bucket and it seems so full yet i don't know how it could be, i haven't eaten anything in two days.

i want to die. just kill me now. i'm begging her now, begging and pleading, down on my fucking knees with blood all over the floor, and i'm begging the woman sitting on top of the dresser to kill me. kill me. end my life because i can't live like this.

she merely smirks at me, that same 'come fuck me' look.

that's when she stopped speaking.

that's when i realise that the blood on the ground is all mine.

my bedroom door flies open and mark and collins are standing there, eyes wide, and i'm trying to get the blood off the floor and put it back into my arm that i've scratched and dug at so much, it's a gouged-bloody mess.

i need to put it back, i tell them, my voice hitched and on the verge of tears as i run my hand along the dirty floor, trying to scoop up the blood and put it back into my arm, even though the ants are still crawling inside my veins.

i need to put it back inside of me. it's all i have left of her.

[ROGER DAVIS]

May 8th, 1989

It doesn't feel like it's been a month. The days are all blending together anymore and I don't even realise if it's been a minute or an hour or a week. The days go by like a fog.

I've been sleeping a few hours a day. When I sleep, I dream. I dream of her and her laugh and the blood. My dreams are painted red now-a-days. If I think about drugs too much, I start to miss them, but I don't have the shakes anymore. The stomach cramps have nearly completely gone away, but there's always that urge. Though, I think I'm too depressed to even go outside and get drugs. My thoughts don't stick together in a single pattern anymore. I think about April and bright yellow flowers and I think about rainstorms and razorblades and sweet, wet kisses that I miss getting from her.

I barely come out of my room anymore. Mark has taken it upon himself to be my butler, bringing me food and juice though he knows there's no point. I'm not hungry. The medicine's made my appetite go to complete shit. I don't know how I feel about all of this. Mark and Collins had all but forced me to go down to the clinic after two weeks into withdrawal. You need to go, Collins told me. Trust me, boy, this ain't nothin' to play with.

I had to remind myself that I was now more like Collins than I wanted to be. The same tainted blood ran through our veins. Maybe I went just to shut them up. Maybe I went 'cause I wanted them to tell me I was going to die.

Which they did.

Because of my intravenous drug use and promiscuous unprotected sex, I had contracted the human immunodeficiency virus, which could and probably would in due time would leave me with acquired immunodeficiency syndrome, which, in all probability, would be fatal.

Something April had told me two weeks before in a note before she slit her wrists.

Their words hardly phased me. I saw Collins eyes well up with tears. Mark looked blankly at the doctor and then asked him to test again. Roger couldn't be that sick. Maybe they got the tests mixed up? Wasn't there anything they could do?

The doctor said I had five years. Maybe ten. He handed me some pills, some pamphlets, and told me to get regularly checked for my T-Cell counts. He was sorry, son, but you shoulda realised. Livin' the life you did.

Mark looked ready to deck the man, and that coming from the calmest dude I know. Collins looked shocked and ushered me out quickly, as if I'd get mad.

I didn't care, so why should the doctor but I remember nodding and actually thanking the doctor. The walk home was silent between Mark and Collins and me, only breaking when Mark suddenly exclaimed that the doctor was full of fucking shit. These fucking doctors, Mark had seethed, hands stuffed in his pockets. They didn't know anything. I couldn't disagree with him, because I didn't care. Mark must have realised, because he shut up at that, silently steaming. Collins spoke first when we were right outside the Loft's building, saying that it'd be okay. It was gonna be okay, kid. He clapped his hand on my back, large fingers on my thin frame. I had lost so much weight even just in two weeks. Two weeks of not eating anything. Two weeks of complete and utter biological readjustment. I was thin as a rail.

Mark said nothing.

I looked at Collins and nodded, but failed to say anything. What really could you say when you find out you were dying?

We walked up the stairs and into the Loft in complete silence, and not surprisingly, Maureen was no where to be found when we opened the door. I told them I was gonna go sleep.

I was tired. I guess there was a reason for it now, huh? I wanted to laugh, but I couldn't find it in me.

I went into my room, threw the bottle of AZT on the table, and collapsed onto the bed.

Three hours later, I broke into uncontrollable sobs.

It was almost as if someone had flicked a switch. Opened a floodgate. Everything poured out of me, and I screamed. I threw things. Mark must have heard me, 'cause he was instantly at my door, eyes wide and hands up. Later, he'd tell me I looked like a wild animal, scared and frightened and I begged and pleaded with him to make it go away.

Mark shouldn't be my friend anymore. I said the cruelest things to him when I was detoxing. I said I hated him and I wished he'd die. That no one loved him and all he cared about was filming the life he wish he had. That he couldn't have saved April because even she hated him and couldn't stand to be around him.

I replaced myself with Mark and took out all my frustration on him. Mark was now my proxy, and everything I hated about myself, I threw onto Mark.

It's surprising that he stuck around as long as he has. I punched him in the jaw when I was kicking smack and I remembered a week later, he still had a big bruise. Even with the big bruise, he stayed with me while I puked, stayed with me when I told him that I couldn't be alone. For a while, he was a permanent fixture in the chair by my bed.

I told him, once I had calmed down and my mood swings had shifted to numbness once again that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a fuck up and getting sick and I'm sorry that April left. I'm sorry for doing drugs and not being a good friend and that for like, the past year I've treated him like shit.

I'm a total anti-best friend. Like, complete and utter shit of a friend.

He doesn't have to be my friend anymore, you know.

He tells me to shut up and take my AZT. I'm never going to remember, he tells me. I've never had a good memory 'cause of the drugs. He'll have to remember for me. Mark's right. The drugs have fucked with my memory so much that I forget how my songs start. Mark reminds me with a few first words, and I'm off and running. I don't feel like singing anymore. My guitar's collecting dust.

I tell him I'm never playing the guitar again. I tell him he can sell it if he needs more film and he sighs. Give it some time, he tells me. You're being rash right now. I'm not going to sell your guitar. He tells me it'd be like if he sold his camera.

I told him that there's no reason for me to play it anymore. My reason's gone. The snot's running from my nose and it feels like it wont stop leaking. I wipe my nose with my sleeve and take the large pill. It almost gets stuck and I gag for a second before it slides down, hitting my empty stomach. Mark reminds me that I need to eat after taking it. He'll make me some soup. There's a silence that passes in the room.

I tell him, my voice quiet, that, you know...I just wanted him to know that I loved him. We've know each other for years and I never told him that.

He tells me to shut up because it sounds like I'm saying goodbye. If I died, he'd find me in the afterlife and kill me dead. You're a fucking bastard, Roger, he tells me, but you're my best friend. So shut the fuck up.

I want to laugh but I find myself crying. It's dark and Mark doesn't see it. I don't want him to see it.

But I'm sure he knows.

[ROGER DAVIS]

May 15th, 1989

I tried to remember a time before April, but all that's coming up is blank spots.

I tried to remember a time, any time that I'm fucking anyone else but her, but I can't remember anything. There are entire chunks of my life that I have completely and utterly forgotten. Dark, black holes in my life. God only knows what could have happened during them.

I know it's the drugs. They've killed my brain.

Maybe it's because of her, too. I try to think back to the first girl I had sex with, a redhead Irish girl from down the street in the backyard of my mother's house in some dirty wooden tool shed, and I have to wonder, was she really an Irish redhead, or is April bleeding into every memory of every single girl I've ever slept with?

Was she some Jewish girl with brown hair that was from the Bronx, not little Ireland? I try to remember the girl that stayed here in the Loft for a week, the one I fucked senseless without any sense of emotion other than complete and utter lust, and I remember that she had brown hair, but I can't for the life of me remember what she looked like besides that. I remember her best friend had dark red hair and I remember that I liked her more because of her hair. I liked the way it pooled across my stomach as her head bobbed up and down and how it flowed through my fingers as I clenched tightly. But was her friend really a redhead at all?

April's twisting and turning her way through my memories, infecting them like a virus. Everything she touches turns to red. There's no way to tell where she ends and my memories begin. Whether I am slowly bringing her back to life or slowly being possessed by the ghost of her, I don't know.

I think I'm going insane. I've been having mood swings. I've never been happy, but more often than not, I want to go out and lose myself. I'm dying, aren't I? Why not go out in style.

I want to shoot and snort and swallow every single drug I can. I want to mix uppers with downers with uppers and see what happens. I want to feel the blood rush speeding 90 miles an hour through my veins. I want to feel like I'm speeding while standing completely still. I want my spinal fluid to run backwards and my eyes to roll back into my head and I want my body to collapse in on itself like the best fucking orgasm of my life. I want to let go.

I don't want to hit rock bottom. I want to swan dive into fucking hell.

They told me my life was self destructive? Watch this. I can destroy myself until there's nothing left. The doctors, they thought my nature did this to me? What worse could my nature do to me now.

April thought she was ending a problem by killing herself?

She created a monster. Because now? I have nothing to live for, and nothing to gain. They say that true reckless abandon is living your life as if you could die at any second with no care to your own wellbeing.

I feel like living life at a million miles an hour.

I'm praying for death.

Bring it on.

[ROGER DAVIS]

June 8th, 1989

The Loft we live in is brick and metal. Brick and metal never burn, but I can feel everything around me imploding on itself. There's fire, I can feel it, and it's pushing people away. I haven't seen Maureen in days. It's been two months and her and Mark barely talk anymore. I can't remember the last time I saw them kiss.

Collins said he has a teaching job at MIT, that he has to leave and get a place closer 'cause he can't make the commute everyday. The pay is shit, but he needs to do it. It'll be good for him. Good for us. He gives me that frown, claps me on the shoulder and tells me that he'll call. He tells me to be good, kid. Stay strong. He tells me he loves me, we hug and he leaves.

My father left the same way. Except he didn't tell me he loved me. He told me to be good. Dad was leaving for a while and maybe he'd be back when he and Mom worked out some things. Be good, Rog, and stay out of trouble. I never saw him again for, god, at least a year after that. He never came back for good, though.

It's sick but part of me wanted to beg Col not to go. I told Collins once that he was more of a father than my own dad. He just scoffed and shook his head. But you are Thomas. You are and I need you to come back.

Maureen came into my room one morning, early in the morning and sat on my bed. I was half asleep (do I even sleep anymore?) and I rolled over to see her crying above me. She said she just got home from some guy's house. She fucked him and fell asleep at his house and she dreamt about April. I had cried so much in the past two months I didn't even have any more tears to cry. She asked me why this had to happen. Why was April dead and why was I so sad? She missed my smile, she said. She missed my laugh. Laugh, she demanded. She hit me on the shoulder and almost yelled at me to laugh. She tried to tell me a funny joke (though she was crying while she told it), "What did two lesbian frogs say to each other?" (WE DO TASTE LIKE CHICKEN!) but then she broke into sobs and collapsed against me. I held her until she fell asleep, and then I fell into something of a sleep and when I woke up she was gone. I haven't seen her since.

Her and April used to be little butterflies who just went and did everything they wanted together, following each other as they floated along in the wind. Now Maureen was trying to find something to fill that hole. To fly with. It sure the hell wasn't Mark, which made me sad.

Benny's gone to Muffy's. I haven't seen Benny since the funeral. He says we're golden on the rent now that he owns the building. Golden on a place we squatted in. Right. That makes total sense.

And Mark...

I know how I'm treating Mark. He walks on egg-shells around me and I know that it's hurting him. Mark's ignoring Maureen for me, and I want to tell him to pay attention to his girlfriend before she's gone, but I can't bring myself to speak. He brings me my medicine and my juice and the food that I wont eat, and tells me I should come out of my room. He's made a movie, he says. I should come out and watch it. It'd make me smile, and he really wanted to see me smile.

I've forgotten how to smile anymore.

I got a call from Collins this morning. I didn't answer the phone, but Mark answered as he heard Collins' voice over the answering machine (PICK UP THE PHONE, BITCHES!). MIT is awesome, but the kids are fucking retarded, he tells me as I laid on the couch. They'd rather watch MTV than listen to him. Homework was hardly turned in. He just didn't know how to reach them.

I had a feeling, towards the end of the conversation, he wasn't talking about the kids at MIT anymore, but me. He didn't know how to reach me. No one knew how to reach me.

I've made my way out of my room, but I haven't left the Loft. I don't leave the Loft unless it's to piss at the abandoned apartment two floors down. I haven't gone into the bathroom since she died.

This morning after Collins had called, Maureen came into the living room and sat on my legs. She told me that we needed to go shopping. I told her to have fun.

She swatted at my feet with a sigh, as if I was a party pooper, and then traced lines with her fingers over the top of my thighs. Baby, she told me, her voice serious and somber. You have to leave. You're going to go crazy here. You need to come out with me.

I'm already crazy, I told her. And--and I can't leave, so please. Don't ask me to go.

She wouldn't want you staying inside, Maureen protested. I could hear her throat tighten with tears even though she tried to hide it, and then she leaned down, kissing my cheek. She settled herself against my chest and traced lines over my shirt. She missed my smile, she told me sadly. She wanted to see me smile. What did I want? Did I want to stay in? We could stay in, she told me surely, her voice watery. Did she want me to kiss her? She could fuck me. She could give me a blow job if it'd make me smile again. She'd suck me so hard she'd suck the breath from my body if I wanted.

By the time she was done speaking, she was in tears again. But then, after a few minutes of me running my fingers through her hair, she was calm again and silent against me.

She said she'd bring me back some hot chocolate from the store. With those little marshmallows.

Her mood had shifted in an instant, and I hated myself for being the cause of that. Mark doesn't leave me alone, so he denies Maureen's offer to take him with her. He doesn't want to leave me alone. I rolled my eyes and told him that he should go with his girlfriend to the store. I'm just going to go to sleep.

Maureen left alone, which, I wanted to tell Mark, was a dangerous thing. But I said nothing.

The last thing we need here is another fight.

[ROGER DAVIS]

June 10th, 1989

It starts with the bathtub running. Water rushing and slamming against the tub, and I instantly shoot up in bed. I know what happens next. There's no note by the bed, and it makes me wonder if it's all a dream. It's always started like this, but always, it ends horribly. It always ends the same way.

The hallway to the bathroom never felt so long, and I'm trying to scream but nothing comes out.

She's standing in the doorway then just as I rush up, naked. Her hair's dripping wet and she's smiling at me, laughing as I'm panting and sputtering out confusion.

It's never happened like this before. She steps to me, looping her arms around my neck and she's swaying to music I can't hear, but she starts to hum and dip her hips to mine and suddenly, we're in the water.

It's so warm. Warmer than I've ever felt in my entire life, and finally, there's calm. Peace. I hear the water shift and splash as she moves her hands, walking her fingers up the top of my arm.

She asks me if I love her.

I tell her that I love her more than anything. She giggles, dipping her body down against mine until the top of her chin hits the water, and she sputters little water bubbles out, tilting her head back to look up at me. Her mouth opens and my mouth opens with a smile that's spreading on my face as her fingers slowly wrap around me. Her fingers are tight like a vice grip and I groan so loudly that I think every single person in Manhattan is going to wake up. Her hand's moving in the water, up and down and up and down and my eyes are clenched tightly and her name falls off my lips in a strangled whisper before her hand comes up, clamping over my mouth. I'm biting at her fingers and the palm of her hand and my lips are slipping down to her wrist, my tongue straying from soft, smooth flesh to jagged gashes. I taste copper on my tongue and pull back. She's looking at me with wide, fearful eyes and I'm screaming, clamping my hands down onto her wrists to stop the blood.

Her voice is a fearful whisper, saying that she's dying, that we're both dying, and she says she can't feel her finger tips anymore and I slap her hands on my cheeks, screaming at her to feel me. This is real, I tell her frantically, running her hands through my hair, staining the blonde hair red. I tell her to kiss me and she shoves her tongue nearly down my throat, and I don't even care if I choke on it. I'm slipping inside of her and she's sobbing against me and we're holding onto each other so tight as she groans hard into my ear.

Her tone changes then, the tears gone and she holds my head in her hands as she rides me and tells me that yes, she's dying. We're both dying. Groaning and grunting and digging her thin hips against mine, with every movement, I sink into her and she shutters.

Oh yes, we're dying.

Dying.

Dying.

But soon, she's slowing down and then she stops all together and I'm trying to speed her up because I'm so fucking close, and her body's getting slack, her head resting on my shoulder. I pull her back just enough, and her head lolls back and the wide-eyed look of death is staring back at me.

That's when I wake up screaming.

Mark's standing in his boxers, wide-eyed and Maureen's standing at the doorway with her hand over her mouth, and I instantly check my wrists. Check my mouth and check my hair but there's no blood.

There's nothing.

I saw her, I tell Mark, eyes wide and voice so horse that I wonder if I had been screaming the entire time. I saw her and she was here and we---we were fucking and--

Mark shuts me up instantly with a hand on my arm, and he tells me it was a dream. It was just a dream.

My hand instantly goes to April's side of the bed, and it's cold. No, I tell them, crawling up from the bed to standing. I rush past Maureen and to the bathroom and there's nothing there but an empty bathtub.

I haven't had a breakdown in a month.

My heart's breaking and I collapse against the door frame to he bathroom in sobs. Mark's behind me, wrapping his arms under my shoulders to make sure I don't fall.

Mark tells Maureen to get it, and I'm too busy trying to catch the breath that's being sucked in and out of my lungs to realise what he had asked for.

Maureen brings me a glass of water and a pill and pushes it past my lips and into my mouth. Drink, baby. The doctor gave us this. Drink.

I drink the water and the pill slides down, and soon, I can't feel my feet anymore. Mark and Maureen both carry me back to the bedroom, and I collapse on my bed.

All I remember is blackness and then nothing.

Mark tells me when I wake up that they gave me a pill to knock me out because I can't stop screaming in my sleep. There's bruises on my hands and my legs and Mark said he almost watched me break my wrist by slamming it down on the end table.

He's worried about me.

I'm worried about me, too.

I think I'm going insane. I can't sleep. But I can't stay up forever.

This is what dying feels like.

[ROGER DAVIS]

July 21st, 1989

Maureen's going to stay with her parents for a few weeks. She told Mark that she needed space. I told her that she had space. She had the space between her fingers where Mark's fit perfectly and if she left, she'd be giving all that up. She had the space on the left side of the bed where Mark kept it warm and cold beds suck. Doesn't she realise all of this? She smiled and ran her fingers across my cheek and told me even when I'm depressed I'm poetic. I better not be turning into Sylvia fucking Plath, she tells me.

I told her we didn't own an oven.

She manages to laugh, but it's a sad sort of sound that's nothing like her loud laugh that I was so used to hearing. She leans in and kisses my cheek and tells me that she'll call, baby. She kisses Mark on the lips, but it's stiff and almost forced, and I want to beat them both over the head with something hard and heavy. I want to scream at them to kiss. Kiss like they meant it because they were both losing something.

But she walked out the door, and Mark turned to me and offered to make me some soup and reminded me to take my AZT. As if nothing happened. Classic Mark Cohen. I shouldn't be surprised. She's going to dump him and I know he cares, but he doesn't want anyone to see it.

My life's falling apart. My girlfriend's dead. My best friend is now pushing away his girlfriend for me who's pushing him away. It's just one big giant shoving match and I'm sick of it. And the ironic part? I've dug this tomb. I just kept digging and digging and digging and we've landed here. The entire Loft feels like a fucking tomb. It looks like a goddamned crypt some nights, 'cause the thunderstorms have knocked out of the power twice in the last three days.

Sometimes I sit out on the fire escape during a thunderstorm, hoping that it'll strike and spark life back into me. I'm tired of feeling like this, but I don't want to remember life before this.

Fucking Catch-22.

Mark films me when he thinks I'm not looking. He says that his camera's running out of film.

I tell him I know the feeling.

[ROGER DAVIS]

August 3rd, 1989

Maureen's still gone.

It's my birthday and I just woke up.

It's 2 in the afternoon.

Mark got me a cupcake with a candle in it. He said 'make a wish' only to swallow when he realised he couldn't take back the words. I offered him a half smile, knowing that he wanted to say he was sorry, and blew out the candle.

We shared the cupcake and sat in silence for ten minutes before I told him what I wished for. I told him I wanted Maureen back. I told him I wanted Collins back. I wanted us to be a family.

I wanted to smile again.

Mark nodded and told me that he did, too. Mark pulled out a bottle of Stoli and we drank and Mark showed me the random shots of the Square that he had taken over the past couple weeks.

He told me if I wasn't going outside, he'd bring outside to me. He suggests, trying to sound casual, that I should come with him tomorrow. Get some fresh air. Sunny's doing a living statue in the Park tomorrow.

I tell him maybe, but he already knows that means I won't.

Time goes by quickly, and by the time we know it, it's night and the air is thick and humid. Mark says he heard on the TV when he was coming in that it was gonna rain.

I tell him that'd be nice, and then tell him that I'm tired. I'm going to go to sleep. He nods and shut the projector off, giving me a smile. I stand and he stands and I swallow and he almost awkwardly pats me on the shoulder before I lean in and we hug. Happy Birthday, Rog, he tells me before we break.

I give him a smile, and actually sorta mean it and nod. Thanks, dude, I tell him, and I say that I'm really gonna think about going out tomorrow. Maybe the fresh air'll be good for me.

[ROGER DAVIS]

October 24th, 1989

It's getting easier.

It's by no means the end of this...self-hatred I have for myself by any means, but it's getting easier. I don't scream anymore in my sleep, Mark tells me. I find myself actually laughing until I realise it and stop. But I find myself laughing at things that Mark says and I know that makes him happy.

Maureen's been back for a couple weeks, but she's been spending more and more time away from the Loft. Mark and Maureen fight on a nightly basis. Currently, they're sleeping in separate rooms, when Maureen's actually sleeping here.

Mark asks me if I think Maureen's cheating on him.

I ask him if he's Jewish, and he rolls his eyes. He tells me that he knows Maureen's cheating on him and they haven't had sex in a month, but he wants to hear someone else say it.

I tell him seriously that Maureen couldn't go for 4 hours without having sex, let alone 4 weeks.

He tells me that's what he's afraid of.

He does tell me, however, that Maureen was thinking of having a Thanksgiving Feast at the Loft. She's bringing over the entire gang and we're gonna have fun.

I roll my eyes and tell him, right. A thanksgiving feast. Who the hell's gonna pay for that?

Mark lifted a shoulder in a shrug, and that was that. Mark said that Collins had called while I was asleep and told him that he was going to try to make it up within a month. Seven months without seeing a good friend was too long, even for a shut in like me.

It'll be nice to see him. He said that he would try to stay for a few weeks. It's getting closer to Christmas Break, and he said he would try to work it out.

Maybe Collins coming back home will get me out. I know that's what everyone is waiting for. For me to step out of the Loft. To go back to the real world.

What they don't realise is I can't remember how to act outside the Loft. I don't remember how to be myself.

I've forgotten how to act. Forgotten how to smile.

There's the slam of the door. Maureen's home. They're already starting to argue.

They just need to shut up and fuck already.

[ROGER DAVIS]

November 28th, 1989

I woke up to Mark looking more pale than usual, and for a minute, I thought someone had died. Was his mom sick? Cindy? The kids? I walked out, brows narrowed as I sat down on the couch next to him. The cup of coffee sat untouched on the coffee table and I grabbed it, lifting it up to my lips.

Maureen dumped him. For a Lawyer.

I raised my eyebrows, leaning back against the couch. Dude, it's a phase. She hates you today and loves you tomorrow, I told him honestly. Just give her a month or so. She'll come running back to you when the dude's money runs out or he gets tired of her nagging and completely psychotic--

He cuts me off and tells me that I didn't understand. Maureen dumped him.

For a lawyer.

Named Joanne.

I nearly choked on the coffee.

It might have been mean, but I nearly splattered coffee all over the coffee table when I tried to take another sip but failed when I started laughing. I tried to stop at Mark's shocked look, and turn my face into something serious.

No, dude. No, I--I'm sorry. Wait, you did say Joanne, right? Not like...Joe...Anthony...right?

Joanne, he told me, his voice deflated and depressed. He got dumped. For a chick. With a fucking Vagina.

If she had dumped you for a chick with a dick, I'd be worried, I tried to tell him, but he wasn't laughing. Well, I know she was free love, I told him honestly, the smile still threatening to break on my face, but...fuck, man.

I never thought Maureen would switch sides for more than a night.

I shouldn't have even told you, Mark nearly wailed, and stood up. Why are you laughing, he asked me with a frown. It's not funny! I got dumped! For Vagina!

Standing up, I let out a sigh and moved over, grabbing Mark's arm to move him back to the couch. Sit down, I told him and then sat down next to him. You know Maureen, I told him seriously. She's going to get bored with this chick and she's gonna run back to you.

It's a phase, Mark. Like girls and dolls or pony's or fucking unicorns or something.

It's a phase, Mark repeated, dejected. Like girls and fucking dildoes.

God, of all the things I figured Maureen would dump Mark for, a chick was the last thing on my list.

I fell silent for a moment before I looked over at Mark. I wonder what Joanne looks like, I ask. She sounds hot.

Mark punches me in the arm and gets up to go to his room, telling me that I'm a shitty friend and he shouldn't have told me, 'cause now all I have is lesbian thoughts running through my head. I can't understand and that makes me a completely shitty friend. I know he's just angry.

I also know that he's gonna start thinking about Maureen fucking a girl. I know I'm thinking about Maureen fucking a girl.

I really need to talk to Maureen now. I wonder who's on top. Probably Maureen. She likes to be on top. Mark really doesn't need to know that I know this.

Where ever April is, she's laughing her ass off right now.

[ROGER DAVIS]

December 7th, 1989

Maureen busted into the Loft this morning, saying that she had a dream. I was smoking a cigarette on the couch, and I looked over at her, standing in jeans and a strawberry teeshirt with her hands on her hips.

I told her that she didn't look black, and she huffed, rolling her eyes and telling me that I didn't understand. She had a dream. A strange prophetic dream with...with cows!

I asked her if she'd been on drugs lately, much to her annoyed groan.

What didn't I understand, baby, I asked her, as if talking to a small child. Sometimes you just had to take that tone with Maureen, 'speshally when she's in drama moods like this.

The fuckers are gonna tear down the performance space, she nearly yelled, and I jerked slightly, eyes wide. Mark heard her yell and came out, arching an eyebrow. His camera was firmly placed in his hand, as it always was, and he flicked it on, holding it up to capture her.

Close on Maureen, being a complete drama queen--

Mark, I'm serious, she whined, and then widened her eyes. A protest! We could have a protest! She drew in a breath of air, excitedly bouncing up and down. A protest at the abandoned space!

No one was going to argue with Maureen when she was in creative mode. I could just see her mind spinning and whirring and she widened her eyes in thought as if she had thought of the cure for cancer.

Oh my god, baby! You could do a concert! We could do a concert! I haven't heard your sexy voice in a while and we'd totally be completely sexy on stage!

I felt myself frown at this.

MJ...

C'mooooooooon, baby. And then she's down on her knees, in front of me with a smile, and I glance back at Mark from where he stood behind the camera and let myself smile. Y'getting this, I ask him, and he glares at me as he drops the camera from it's gaze at Maureen and me.

I tell her that I'll think about it, but her thoughts are quickly on what the protest is going to be. She speaks quickly to Mark, almost blindsiding him with information. She had a dream, she told him.

Not black, I interjected, and she waved a hand at me as if banishing me from the conversation.

She had a dream with cows. Cows and Christmas lights and televisions! And delayed samples! Baby, this is going to be so awesome! I have to go write! I'm feeling in a very creative mood. Oh, baby, she tells me, turning from Mark to look at me. Please think about it? It'll be good! Be like the old days! She turns to Mark and tells him that they need to get started right away, and he needs to meet her at the lot as soon as he can.

Mark's to flabbergasted to say no, and she leaned in, happily kissing him on the cheek, clapping her hands almost giddily. She moved, pecking me on the top of the head and tells me if I want, she'll even put my name first on the flyer's if i join.

And like that, she's out the door, leaving Mark to stare at the big red door and then me.

What just happened, he asks almost confused.

You're now Production Manager for Maureen's protest show, I tell him. A show with cows and televisions and Christmas lights, apparently.

Didn't she break up with me, he asks, and I nod and tell him that she did break up with him. Yes, she did, but that doesn't mean she's not going to use you for what she needs. Whether you like it or not, Mark, I tell him seriously. You're still Maureen's bitch even though she's not fucking you anymore afterwords as payment. Now all you're going to get in payment is a big giant hard on at the end of the day.

He sighs and says he should just tell her no. I laugh an actual laugh and stand up, moving to the coffee pot with a cigarette hanging from my lips.

Yeah, right, I tell him seriously. You go ahead and tell Maureen Johnson NO.

Oh really, he asks, looking at me seriously. How are you going to tell her you can't go out? I really think you should, Mark tells me. It'll be good for you. Get you out of the house.

I tell him that I'll find a way to tell Maureen no. You have it harder 'cause you used to date her so she knows all your weaknesses. Maureen knows to not push me. With you, she'd push you right off a cliff if you let her.

And Mark would totally let her.

Mark sighs and grabs his sweater, pulling it on and wrapping it around his neck. She broke up with me, he says, and he's still helping her.

You're still in love, I tell him honestly, taking a sip of coffee. But hey, think of it this way. If you get Maureen alone, maybe you can fuck her again. You know how worked up she gets when she performs.

Mark rolls his eyes and grabs his messenger bag from the floor. Yeah, he tells me, his voice deadpanned and slightly annoyed.

Like that'll happen.

[ROGER DAVIS]

December 22nd, 1989

So, a week ago I told Maureen that I couldn't do the concert. I told her it'd be complete shit because I haven't even picked up my guitar in seven months and I wasn't even sure if I could play anymore. She seemed sad for a day, until she realised that meant that the entire show would be about HER.

She's been working Mark to the bone ever since.

However, Mark slammed the door of the Loft and the sound alone made me stop stringing my guitar long enough to look at him. He looked like he was going to punch a baby in the head.

Thankfully, we didn't have any babies around.

Home so early, darling, I asked him, slightly amused that he always came back from rehearsals with Maureen looking that way. Attempt number five-hundred of trying to get into Maureen's leather pants fail? Don't worry, dude. Keep your chin up. You'll get in there.

She fired me! Mark's voice was frustrated, and I felt my eyes roll. Tightening the string on my guitar, I felt myself actually laugh.

What'd she fire you for this time?

No, I'm serious, Roger, he told me. She bumped me for Joanne. She said that there was too many conflicts.

Maureen is one big giant walking conflict. A very sexy conflict, but a conflict nonetheless, I reminded him, my voice deadpan. This made him groan, and he shook his head. I'm done, he told me seriously, unwrapping the white and black scarf from around his neck. Fucking done.

I reminded him that she's gonna call tomorrow, and he shook his head again, more firm. No, he told me. He wouldn't even pick up the phone.

Not even if beeegs and pleeeeads and calls you Pookie? What if she offers you a blow job?

He threw his jacket at my head with a frown. Blow me, Roger.

Oh god, you know I totally would in a heartbeat, I told him, my voice trying to sound as serious as possible. But I've taken a vow of abstinence, so even oral sex is out. I'm going to be pure in the eyes of the Lord. You know that guy, right, I asked Mark, tossing his jacket onto the couch. He's the guy that your people killed.

He was pulling off the many layers of clothes he wore in the freezing cold that was New York currently, and called over his shoulder to me. Fuck you, Roger. You're such a dick. And you couldn't be pure if you tried.

Love you too, Pookie!

I give Maureen two hours to call him back and beg. Unless Joanne's suddenly an audio and video tech, she's gonna be completely useless to Maureen. And even though he swore he isn't going to pick up the phone?

He totally will. 'Cause he's still utterly pussy whipped. I call to him that it's okay, Mark, to still be pussy whipped. I wouldn't mind being whipped by Maureen's pussy, either.

Shut the fuck up, Roger!

Yeah, I give it two hours.

[ROGER DAVIS]

December 24th, 1989

This has been a fuckin' day, seriously.

It started off decent enough; Mark woke me up around 11 and said that Christmas presents had come from his parents. I dressed and made my way to the living room, smelling the smell of fresh coffee. Mark must have picked up on my surprise, because he smiled. She bought us a new hot plate, he told me. And sent fresh coffee. Thank god, I told him as I settled down against the green armchair. The ductape was peeling off of the tear, and I pressed my fingers against it to try to stick it back down on the chair. I jerked as Mark launched a package towards my head, and I looked at the top.

TO ROGER
MERRY CHRISTMAS. WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH.
THE COHENS

I like how your mother always puts The Cohens on there like your Dad actually likes me, I told him honestly with a smile, and Mark rolled his eyes.

He doesn't like you, Mark told me, because you tried to sleep with my sister. At her wedding. And also, you shamed him in the synagogue when you tried to sleep with the rabbi's daughter.

I was drunk! I was drunk and she was sorta egging me on 'cause you know your sister thinks I'm cute. And your dad flipped out 'cause he said someone saw us kissing. And you know what, I told Mark honestly, pictures or it didn't happen. And as far as the synagogue goes, I told him looking seriously, you would not believe what that little Jewish girl did to me.

So does that mean you kissed my sister? he asks me with an eyebrow arched, and I shook my head. I'm not saying either way, dude, I told him. Either way, no one had a picture of me with my tongue down her throat, or a picture of my dick in her vagina. So as far as I'm concerned, she was completely faithful to your dick of a brother-in-law.

Don't hate Aaron just because he married my sister, Mark sighed. Don't be that guy.

I ignored him and ripped open the package, smiling at the hand-knitted green sweater. Dude! Sweet! I love when your mom makes me shit--aw, DUDE!

Mark looked over at me, shocked at my tone and I held up the shirt to show a big giant reindeer knitted onto the green fabric. Seriously, dude, I asked him. Seriously?

Mark merely laughed at me. I threw the sweater at his hand and took a sip of the coffee that Mark handed me. It tasted warm and fresh and so good, and we fell into silence before he mentioned that we should go out to eat for Christmas. I shrugged and told him maybe, though he knew that my maybe's always meant 'no thanks'.

The day went by almost lazily, it snowed for a few hours, lightly not anything serious, and at around 9, Mark decided to bring out his camera while I was trying to tune my guitar on the table.

December 24th, nine PM, eastern standard time, from here on in I shoot without a script. See if anything comes of it, instead of my old shit. FIRST SHOT ROGER! Tuning the fender guitar he hasn't played in a year--

Mark always talked to the camera as if there were a thousand people watching him already. As if he was narrating his own life. You get used to it. I strummed, trying to tune it, but of course, my guitar was rusty. Or I was rusty.

This won't tune, I told him frustrated, and I watched him smirk.

So we hear.

Shut up, dude.

He's just coming back from with drawl--

Hey! You talkin' to me or your camera?

The phone rang then, with our loud, SPEEEEEEEAK that we both decided to record while drunk and surprisingly liked it.

That was a very loud beep.

I instantly saw Mark roll his eyes. Mark's relationship with his parents was one of complete and utter distance; Mark hardly spoke to his mother unless he had to. She showed up last December with gifts and complete and utter embarrassment to Mark.

He currently looked like he wanted to throw the phone across the room. His mother's voice filled the Loft, saying that Cindy and the kids were in Scarsdale for Christmas, wished that he was there and they send their love. She mentioned the hot plate, and I nodded in silent thanks. However, I nearly choked on my coffee as Mark's mother mentioned Maureen.

Let her be a Lesbian! There are other fishies in the sea. Love, Mom!

Dude, I love your Mom.

Mark gave me a look that could kill. The phone rang again, and we both looked at each other, shocked that we were so popular on Christmas Eve. Then, Collins' voice rang out through small answering machine, and my heart managed to swell. Collins was back. He was finally back.

Mark talked with Collins, and I moved, shoving my head against Mark's to hear what Collins had to say. Mark's smile and mine were wide. A wild night was now preordained.

I may be detained.

Then the line went dead. Detained? What did he mean, detained? The phone rang again, and Benny's voice was loud and cheery, though it held the dick-ish tone that he had taken as of late. He was on his way.

FUCK.

He needed the rent. Now, this threw Mark and me for a curve. What rent?! Benny went on to explain that it was the past years rent that he let slide. The rent that he had once said we were golden, when he bought the building and when he was our roommate.

How could he forget, he said, and then asked about Maureen's protest, whether Mark was the production manager anymore. Mark said no, and mentioned that he got dumped.

She's in LOVE, I yelled with a smile into the phone, earning a punch to the shoulder from Mark before I heard Benny ask surprised if Maureen had a new man. No? What's his name?

Joanne.

He laughed, and reminded us that the rent was due. See you in a few.

The line went dead, and Mark and I completely and utterly stared at each other. The rent, Mark seethed loudly, kicking the old, worn couch. Can you believe that asshole?! After all we've done for him!

Benny's a fucking dick, Mark, I replied. He doesn't care. All he cares about keeping his dick warm with over-priced pussy. Oh, and sucking the souls out of little babies at night. Oh and puppies. Puppies have souls, don't they?

Mark sighed out, shaking his head before he looked at the window he had tossed the keys to Collins. Where the hell is he?

Then, the power clicked off and plunged us into complete and utter darkness. Mark sighed out harshly, and stumbled through the Loft, trying to find candles.

Fucker cut the power, I said, reaching into my pocket for my pack of matches. I lit two candles in front of me in silence. He's a fucking dickhead.

We spent the next two hours seething, wishing complete and utter death on Benny. I wished herpes on him, and Mark said he wouldn't be surprised if Muffy had given him crabs.

Dude, I told him seriously as if he had said something completely offensive. It's Maine lobster. Get it right. Mark smiled at my joke and looked over towards the door. He mused out loud that Collins should have been in the Loft by now. He suggested to go look for him, and I nodded.

You are coming, right? He asked me, looking over, and I shook my head slowly after a moment, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of my neck. Dude, you can go out, I told him. I'm sure he'll be back soon. If you wanna go out...you should.

A sigh escaped his lips, and he wrapped his scarf around his neck. I'll be back in a few, he told me, and I tried to ignore the sad look on his face as he stepped out of the Loft.

I wanted to go with him. I really did, but I hadn't been out in so long. The Loft was safe. And sure, even though I was looking for my friend, I wanted to stay in the Loft. The Loft was safe and nothing could hurt me in here. Nothing could touch me unless I wanted it to. However, the Loft was also like a prison, and even though I didn't want to leave, my body longed for fresh air. The fire escape and the roof were the two places that I could go to get fresh air but not leave my safety zone. I took my guitar and moved up to the roof. I hadn't written anything in seven months, when before, I could have written dozens of songs about stupid things. Anything I saw, I could write a song about. I wrote songs about how Mark's sister's tits were really nice, and about milk and Top Ramen and about how I loved my girlfriend more than anything in the world. But now she was gone. She was gone and with it she had taken my ability to write anything. She had taken away the ability for me to hold a complete thought for more than ten minutes.

I plucked at the guitar and stared out at the bright New York skyline and wished for anything. I was dying and I knew that I needed something. Something to keep me here after I was gone. Something to leave behind. I was a rock star, dammit! A fucking rock star and now, what was I? A fucking no one. A pretty boy front man who had gotten AIDS from a young girl and I'd die a no one.

It had gotten cold, so I made my way back to the Loft, stepping back in. I had barely put my guitar down when I heard a knock on the door. Mark had forgotten something. That had to have been it.

I opened the door, automatically asking what had been forgotten, only to see see a shivering girl standing, thin hands holding a candle.

Got a light?

She looked so familiar, but I couldn't place where I had seen her. She was shivering, so I took my jacket off and pulled it around her shoulders. She passed off her shivers as the lack of heat and that she was just a little weak on her feet. I realised that I had matches in my pocket, and pulled them out, lighting the candle. It made a soft glow that illuminated her features. The moonlight glowed off her hair, and I must have been staring with a smile on my face, because she called me out on it, asking me what I was staring at. Nothing, I told her with a shake of my head, trying to weakly cover that I in fact was staring at her, before I frowned deeply as I watched her stumble. I caught her, and she smiled again, saying that she hadn't eaten much today. She asked me what I as looking at again, and I shook my head.

Her smile reminded me of someone. She smiled wider and started walking around the Loft, eyes taking in the room, saying that she always reminded people of--Who is she?

She died, I told her quickly. Her name was April. And she turned back to me again, the candle giving off smoke from it's extinguished wick. I moved, lighting it and she was so close, and for the first time, I didn't feel scared. My heart thumped in my chest not from fear as she looked at me, before she jerked back, a loud ow! escaping her lips. My hand instantly moved to hers, brows narrowing at the wax. It's dripping, I told her, trying to wipe the wax from her fingers before I felt her hand slowly slide up my thigh. No one had touched me like that in seven months, and I felt actual fear creep up inside of me.

I like it between my--

Fingers! My voice was almost forced as I laughed awkwardly, jerking back from her. Fingers, I figured. I wondered if she could see the blush on my cheeks in the darkness. Oh well, I told her as if trying to pass it off as casual.

Goodnight.

She looked sort of upset, but exited the Loft, her heels click click]/i] clicking until the silence filled the Loft once more. I stared at the door in almost confusion and shock; a girl had just came into the Loft and tried to feel me up while getting a light for her candle. Had that just happened? The sound of frantic knocking made me frown, and I moved to the door, pulling it open once more.

It blew out again?

No, she cried, eyes almost frantic now. I think that I dropped my stash!

And then, it hit me. I knew where I had seen her from. I know I've seen you out and about, I told her, pointing at her finally with a nod. When I used to go out. I looked over her shoulder to see the candle, flame-less.

Your candle's out.

She spun around wildly, groaning out of frustration. I'm Illin', she protested, pulling at her hair. I had it when I walked in the door! It was pure! She dropped to her knees, asking if it was on the floor.

The floor?

She was stretching then, slowly sliding her ass up in the air, and even though her face was turned away from me, I figured that she was smirking. She said that they said she had the best ass below fourteenth street. Was it true?

Had she noticed I was staring? Then again, it was hard not to stare at her ass. I hadn't even looked at porn in seven months, and here was a girl, spread on my floor, shoving her ass up towards me.

Of course I was fucking looking. I was depressed. Not dead.

She was making it very clear that she wanted her ass to be looked at. What, I found myself asking, trying to sound shocked, and I was, kinda. She had caught me, and she turned her head back, looking over her shoulder at me with a wicked grin. She shook her ass slowly, telling me that I was staring again.

Oh no, I tried to tell her, shaking my head as I tried to swallow, but my mouth was getting dryer by the second. I-I mean, you do! Have a nice...You look familiar! I protested, trying to get back on track. Her smile never faltered. Like your dead girlfriend, she told me, and I shook my head.

Only when you smile, I told her. And that was the truth. Her skin, at least in the faint moonlight, looked like creamy, weak chocolate milk and not the pale whiteness that April had once had. But I'm sure, I told her, trying to get April out of my head, that I've seen you somewhere else.

She seemed to pause at this, and then brightened. Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club? That's where I work, she told me. I dance. She seemed to break out of her teasing, because she smacked me across the chest, as if punishing me for distracting her from her true mission of finding her drugs. Help me look!

Yes! I cried in triumph, finally realising where I had known her from. The Cat Scratch Club! They used to tie you up, I mused, remembering the nights the entire gang used to go to the club. The way April had clapped her hands wildly and cheered at the Latina girl getting handcuffed on the stage. She seemed offended at my statement. It's a living. But I found myself smile at her.

I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs, I told her, lifting my hands above my head, as if they had been tied. She found her candle, and we were both on our knees searching for the small white baggie. She scooted closer to me and held out the candle, her sexy smile growing. I remembered then that we were looking for drugs, and felt myself sigh, shaking my head. Why don't you forget that stuff, I protested. You look like you're sixteen.

I'm nineteen! She protested as if I had just called her a little girl. I'm just old for my age. I'm just born to be bad.

I once was born to be bad. I used to shiver like that--

I have no heat, I told you--

I used to sweat.

She sucked air through her teeth at me with a roll of her eyes. I got a cold.

Uh huh, I used to be a junkie.

But now and then I like to feel good.

I noticed a small white baggie by my boot and I quickly snatched it up from the ground, shoving it in the back pocket of my plaid pants. Oh, here it--

What's that?! Her voice was a raspy whisper as she spun around, and I lifted my hands up, shaking my head.

Snicker's wrapper.

She must have seen something out of the corner of her eyes, or I must have been a shitty liar, because she grabbed the candle with both hands, slinking almost catlike back up to me, holding it out for me to light. I pulled out my matches and lit one, lighting the candle. However, without me even thinking about it, a breath left between my lips quickly, and the candle was blown out.

She looked shocked, trying hard to stay shocked, but as I smiled, she smiled and playfully tapped me on the head. What'd you do with my candle?

That was my last match, I lied, hoping that she hadn't seen me stuff the half-full match pack into my pants. Her smile was contagious, because it almost felt like my face was going to split in two.

Our eyes will adjust, she mused, looking towards the window almost thoughtfully. Thank god for the moon.

Maybe it's not the moon at all, I offered, giving a halfhearted wave towards the window. I hear Spike Lee's shooting down the street.

Maureen had told me that she had seen Spike Lee two weeks ago, but then I had noticed that the girl's hand had slid into mine, and she was leading me towards the couch. My throat tightened and my body went stiff and soon, she was across my lap, murmuring a 'bah-humbug' with a smile as she pressed her palms against mine, as if trying to see how small they were.

Cold hands, I said nervously, feeling her slowly move her ass against my lap, and her smile was slow as she moved her fingers up and down mine.

Yours, too, she murmured before looking at me. Big. Like my father's. She suddenly moved to her feet with what I could only say was catlike grace, and held out her hand to me.

Wanna dance?!

...with you?

No, she stated after a moment, as if I was the slow kid that had just stepped off the short bus. With my father.

I found myself laughing and stood up, shaking my head as I mentally slapped myself. I'm Roger, I told her almost sheepishly, but I felt her move, sliding up to me with a smile. We swayed and danced slowly, and her hands slid down the small of my back, cupping my ass and she pressed her her lips against my ear. She blew a thin line of air in my ear and I shivered almost violently, feeling my eyes nearly roll back into my head. She probably didn't realise how much she was, surprisingly, turning me on. Her voice was a whisper, lust filled and hot.

They call me Mimi.

The trick had worked, because I hadn't even realised that she had reached into my back pocket and grabbed the small white baggie of heroin. She shook it in my face, as if showing off her victory, and slid my jacket off of her shoulders, handing it to me. She giggled and walked out of the Loft, shaking her as a little more than needed as she did.

I stood there, shocked and dumbfounded and strangely turned on, but more confused than anything. What the fuck had just happened? I don't know if I had sat on the couch staring at the large, red door for hours or minutes, but the sound of knocking made me spring up and go to the door, wrenching it open.

Mark must have noticed my almost happy yet confused look, because he shook my head. Dude, he told me, stepping past me with a frown, it's cold as shit out here. I nearly froze my balls off. I couldn't find Collins, he told me as he unwrapped the layers of clothes, until he looked at me, as if noticing my look for the first time.

Roger? His voice was concerned, and I almost felt my stomach flip, though I wasn't sure if it was from butterflies or from sickness. Roger, what's wrong?

I--I think a girl just came to the Loft, I told him, narrowing my brows deeply. She was...a stripper. From the Cat Scratch.

Mark's eyes widened, and for a moment, he simply stared at me. Well?! He asked, a smile spreading on his face. What happened?

I went over the details of events as Mark sat down on the couch across from me. About the candle and stash and the way she was trying to hit on me and I think get into my pants, and I could see Mark's smile growing each second.

You talked to someone! Someone other than me! His voice was happy, and I pursed my lips, shaking my head.

Dude, I told him seriously. It was nothing. She was jonesing and like, I had her stash in my pocket and she was just trying to get to me so she could get her drugs back. I stood up, suddenly feeling smothered, and I smoothed my clammy hands on my pants.

Collins probably was at Sunny's, I told Mark with a shake of my head. We probably took too long to get him the key and he's probably shacking up with Sunny. He'll probably be here tomarrow. My stomach almost ached, and I felt physically ill. I resisted the urge to throw up, and I brought my hand up, scratching at the back of my neck.

I think I'm gonna go lay down, I told him. My stomach feels all messed up. I think the AZT's fucking with my stomach, I told him, and I felt my mouth twitch into a half smile, though I didn't feel like smiling. I guess it's technically Christmas, I told him, and he looked over through the darkness at the clock on the wall. He nodded and stood up, and we hugged.

Merry Christmas, Roger.

Merry Christmas, Mark.

I let go of him and moved back into my room. Suddenly, I felt exhausted. My mind was spinning about the events of the last hour; a girl (a beautiful girl) had came into the Loft and...had she made me smile? I thought I had forgotten how to smile, but she had brought it on so easily. Her hands had been cold, but they seemed to fit so well into mine.

I felt a lump rise in my throat, and my eyes burned with tears. It had felt...good, and I felt completely and utterly horrible about that. It had been seven months. Just seven little months. Not even a year, and I was thinking about other girls like the way April had made me feel? My stomach shifted, and I felt myself roll over onto my side, clutching the pillow that still, even after all this time, still smelt like her. But as I laid in the silence, the tears sliding down my face, I realised that my jacket smelled like her. All I smelled in my nose was her.

Mimi. They called her Mimi.

The thought made my hands shake and I found myself crying silently. I didn't even know why I was crying, but I cried until I was exausted.

I don't even remember falling asleep, but all I dreamt of was Mimi.

I dreamt of her smile.

[ROGER DAVIS]

December 25th, 1989

I think we should talk.

Mark came into the living room in the morning as the sun was rising. Neither one of us had gotten much sleep, but it didn't matter 'cause it was Christmas. No one slept on Christmas. I lifted the cup of coffee to my lips and looked over as he sat across from me at the windowsill. Talk, I asked him. Talk about what?

About last night.

I don't wanna talk about it, I told him honestly, shaking my head. Mark looked over at the window, fogged and iced except for large letters.

CHRISTMAS BRUNCH?
JUST YOU AND ME?
MIMI

I just don't want you to give up something that might be good for you, Mark told me as he looked back at me, and I felt myself sigh. I brought the coffee cup to my lips, took a sip and let the warm liquid travel down my throat.

How's a stripper heroin junkie good for me? Yeah maybe a year and a half ago when I didn't give a shit who I fucked, but how is that really good for me now? Recovering Heroin Addict, hello? I found myself asking, and Mark sighed, looking down at the windowsill we were sitting on before he looked back up at me.

It's been seven months--

I closed my eyes sharply and turned my head towards the window. Just promise me, Mark asked, looking at me and I opened my eyes slowly. Just promise me you'll think about coming to Maureen's performance? I know she wants to see you. She says she misses you. And you know if Maureen misses you, she'll get what she wants. She'll drag you kicking and screaming out of the Loft. She told me she'll kick you in the nuts to stop your struggling. And you know she'll do it. she's intense.

I scoffed slightly and rested my head on my knees. She kicks me in the balls, I'll punch her in the vagina. I sighed out before nodding, giving him a slight wave. I'll think about it.

Just then, the sound of the large metal door opening made his both look over, seeing Collins coming through carrying a bucket and a smile.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, BITCHES!

Collins! Mark's exclamation matched the one I kept inside, and I hopped off the windowsill with Mark to great the large black man. What the hell, man? 17 hours later!? Mark noticed bandages on his face, as did I, and both of our brows furrowed deeply.

No, no, I'm okay man. I'm completely and utterly okay, Collins said, taking Mark into a hug. I stood off to the side, and gave him a 'oh, hi' when he looked over me.

Oh hi, Collins mocked, shaking his head. After seven months? C'mere, kid. Collins moved, grabbing me and pulling me into a hug. You've been here all this time?

I was waiting for you, don't you know?

Collins laughed, and just that sound brought me out of the funk that the morning had brought. He noticed the window and the writing on it, and he pointed with an arched eyebrow. I shook my head.

It's nothing. Don't worry about it.

This boy could use some Stoli! Collins, like the big jolly fat man sans white beard and white skin pulled out a bottle of Stoli and cups, and I instantly realised how much I needed a drink. He poured, and told us that he got kicked out of school. They expelled him for his theory of actual reality.

Fuckers, I told him, and he tipped his glass to me in agreement. Welcome home, Thomas.

Fools don't know what they're missin', he agreed, and down the drink before he quickly set the bottle back in the pickle tub. Guys, he said quickly, setting the tub down. I got someone for you to meet.

I've never seen Collins so animated about someone, and as Collins opened the door, introducing us to Angel Dumott-Schunard, a slow amused smile crossed my face. She regaled us, in very animated fashion, about how she had come to a Christmas miracle. By killing a dog and trimming a tree, and I stole a glance over at Collins, who looked like a kid on Christmas Morning.

I liked this girl already. And good for him, you know. He deserves it. After her song and dance about the dog was done, Collins lit up a joint and hit my foot, saying that he should come with them to Life Support.

Life support, I asked. What's that?

It's a place for people with coping with Life, Angel told me between hits from the joint. Hey, and it's not just for people with AIDS, Mark, okay? You're more than welcome to come, too.

I may actually do that, Mark stated with a nod, and I frowned slightly.

On Christmas?

Some people don't have anywhere else to go today, Roger, she told me, and I shook my head.

You guys have fun.

Just then, the phone rang, and I looked over my shoulder towards the answering machine. You should have been here last night, dude, I told Collins. We were popular. Oh, Mark's mom made you something--

Baby? Baby, are you there? Pick up baby, please, it's Maureen--

And just like that, Mark rushed to the phone and picked it up. I turned my head back, smirking as I looked over at Collins. The man gave a whipping motion, and I nodded in agreement. Angel said something in Spanish, and I had no clue what she said, but I agreed.

Aw, that's cute, Collins said after Mark had hung up the phone. You still love her.

He says he's over her, I protested, trying to sound serious. I call bullshit.

Shut up both of you, Mark said, and wrapped the scarf around his neck. I'll be at Life Support meeting. First I've got a protest to save.

You're my hero, man, I called to Mark as he made his way to his bike. Shut up, he called, and I smirked. My knight in shining armour; I wanna be like Mark Cohen when I grow up. I can feel my inner chick's panties creaming at the thought of you going off to save the--

Shut the FUCK UP!

You know we're just fuckin' with you, boy! Collins called with a smirk to the retreating Mark, who grumbled out words as he did. Collins looked back at me with a smile, until Angel protested that they needed to go or they'd be late. He wiggled my foot and told me not to stay in all day, y'hear?

Yeah, I'm good man. See you there, maybe.

I'm holding you to that.

And like that, everyone was gone. The silence was almost deafening, and for a while, my eyes kept going back to the frost-covered window with the finger writing. Everything in me said to go. It was brunch. Food was good. I was starving. Everything told me to go, because I needed to get out of the house before I went insane. But I couldn't bring myself to go. Sure, it had been seven months, but it hadn't even been a year. I remember April reading in some random book that the Victorians were in mourning for years after someone they loved died. They'd wear black forever and be locked up in their houses and never see the light of day again. I remember scoffing and saying that'd never be me, but here I am. Seven months and I've gone out once to the clinic, and that nearly broke me.

After a few hours (I wasn't sure if it had actually been that long) I stood up and moved to the window, wiping off the words from the frost. I couldn't look at them anymore. They were taunting me, begging me to go. I wondered if she was waiting for me up there, glancing over at the window with every creek.

I knew this wasn't healthy. I knew it; people thought I didn't, but fuck, I knew. I was losing weight by the day. Soon, I'd be skin and bones. My day consisted of smoking and barely eating. Even Mark had commented that he wanted me to eat something. To go somewhere. But what they didn't know, is that I had been locked up for so long, I didn't know how to interact with the world around me. I didn't know what to make of people's looks. The word had spread fast in our little group about April and about my sickness, and people had TRIED to come and visit me, but I wouldn't let them. I was afraid of what they'd say. Sure, they'd smile and tell me how good it was to see me, but inside, would they be saying how sorry they were? I didn't want to hear sorries. Sorry is a word you say when you're really saying, 'I'm glad it isn't happening to me'.

I didn't need to hear that shit right now.

But then, I took a look back. Before all of this happened, you couldn't keep me inside. I always wanted to go and do and see, and it was something that April had said she loved about me. Whether or not she had been selfish...did she really want me locked up in a hole for the rest of my life? Did I? Did I really want to die like some hermit? Howard Hughes died the same way, and while I hadn't grown a grizzly adams beard or started pissing in bottles, I was getting close.

I was slowly going insane.

Maybe I could go to the Life Support meeting. It wasn't like I was going alone; Angel and Collins and Mark said they'd be there. Maybe I didn't have to say anything. I could just sit there. I just sit here so it wouldn't be any different. Maybe it could be my Christmas present to them. One day where I walked outside for an hour.

I found myself dressing silently, almost on autopilot before I moved to the Loft door. Swallowing, I stepped outside, and already, my heart was pounding. What if I ran into someone on my way there? What if they started asking questions? Go, something inside of me said. Just go.

So I shut the door, and left. Instantly, I realised how fucking cold it was outside. It was the first time I had been outside for More than five minutes, and already I was freezing my balls off. The Community Centre wasn't far from the Loft, and as I came upon it, I stood outside, looking at the doors as if they'd burn me if I touched them.

Thankfully, someone exited the building and I slipped in. The hallways were long, and I was angry that I hadn't gotten the room name from Angel.

I just...I'm scared. I heard a voice, strained and almost tear filled, and I stopped in front of a door, peering in. I faintly heard words. I woke up one morning a few days after I found out and...and I just wondered if I'd lose my dignity. Will someone care after...after all of this? I just remember wanting to wake up. Wake up from the nightmare and be normal again.

My throat tightened at that, and I remembered trying to swallow, but the lump got caught in my throat. There was another voice.

Forget regret. You're gonna miss out on the best parts of life if you just sit around regretting what you've done, Gordon. You need to look towards the future, no matter if they say your future is ten years or ten minutes from now. Live life as if every moment is your last.

I pushed the door open slowly and stepped in. I saw Mark's camera trained on one of the people, and then slowly, he dropped it down, and even from where I was, I saw tears in his eyes. Collins turned his head and then stood, and Angel stood as well. Collins walked over to me, smiled and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

I'm proud of you, Kid.

He lead me to a empty chair next to him, and the man that had spoke a few moments ago looked at me with a smile. Welcome. I'm Paul. That's Pam, Sue, Gordon, Ally. You seem to know Collins and Angel here.

My words were stuck in my throat, and I cleared it before speaking. Hi. I'm, uh...I'm Roger. Roger Davis.

The girl, Pam's eyes widened slightly, and she smiled, tears brimming in her eyes. I looked over at her confused, and she spoke finally. You're from the Well Hungarians, right? When I nodded, she continued. My boyfriend and I used to go to your shows all the time. Actually, she laughed slightly, two days before he died he wished that you guys would have played again. We listened to your tape in the hospital right before...

She trailed off, and Paul nodded. That's good, Pam. That's very good. Paul looked over at me, seeing the tears brimming and building in my eyes, and I took in a breath sharply, trying to control them. It's alright, Paul said, his voice soothing. Collins here has told us about you.

I um, I started, my throat tight with tears. I don't even know why I'm here.

You're here, Roger, because you're not alone.

Collins large hand was on my shoulders, and soon, there were stories. Not about death and disease, but of happiness. Gordon had seen a cute girl on the subway and had gotten her number. Pam had painted a picture that she was giving her grandmother for her birthday. Paul's wife had just asked to renew their vows after five years.

This wasn't about death. This was about life.

I told them about how Mark and I met and how Collins and I met, and I talked about performing until Paul nodded, looking over at the clock.

Alright, this was a very good time we've all had today. Everyone, try to have a wonderful Christmas. Mark has informed us that Maureen Johnson is having a protest performance with an after party at the Life. Everyone is invited.

We stood, Angel moving to smile and hug me, telling me that she had just met me, but she was so proud. It takes alot to leave. Mark smiled and clapped me on the back, and we all walked out of the community centre. Mark stated that he had to do some more things for Maureen, and Collins and Angel were going to take a walk. I told them my out meter was officially full for today, and if they wanted me to show up at the protest, I needed some time to relax. I walked home in silence, feeling strangely at ease and actually happy, and also extremely anxious. For what, I wasn't sure. Was it the fact that now, people were almost expecting me to show up at the protest? Maybe. Maybe that was it. But as I entered the Loft, I felt comfort roll onto me. It was home. Safe. Outside had been...nice, but the comfort was right here.

I spent a bit just playing on the guitar, trying to play some songs that I had written before April, before she had walked into my life, but they sounded cold and sour. I didn't even hear the window open, or the click-click of shoes on the floor of the Loft. I only noticed when I felt a warm body slide up next to me, toss a baggie of powder on the table, and grab my head, pulling me in for a kiss.

It was Mimi.

For a moment, I actually felt myself leaning into the kiss, until I broke. I actually broke She was kissing me. Someone else other than April was kissing me and I jerked back, my mind spinning and whirling. I should have realised it; she had been hitting on me yesterday. And maybe she thought I was hitting on her. But the smack on the table made me think of another thing all together. She wanted a night. And that...that's what hurt me. She didn't know, but I didn't care.

Who do you think you are, barging in on me like this? Little girl, hey, I spat, pointing to the door with a shaking hand. The door is that way. You better go, you know the fire's out anyway. Take the drugs, take your fucking candle. Take your sweet whisper in my ear and your hair in the moonlight. Your brown eyes; goodbye.

Goodnight.

I hadn't even realised that I had stormed to the door, wrenching it open. My mind as screaming to tell her. Just tell her.

Another time, I told her with a frown, this would be different. Seven months ago, there'd be a long embrace. You're looking for romance? Come back another day.

Her eyes were shocked, looking at me with an almost hurt expression, and she held out her hands as if wary on whether I would explode. She stepped towards me slowly, sliding her hands down to my hips.

There's only us. There's only this. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. There's no other road, Roger. No other way. There's no day but today, don't you see that?

Excuse me, I asked out of frustration, a scoff escaping my lips as I pulled away from her, holding my hands up. If I'm off track now, but if you're so wise, why the fuck do you need smack? Take your fucking needle, take your fancy prayer, and get the moonlight out of your goddamn hair. Once upon a time you might have lit up my heart, but the fire's dead baby, and it's never gonna start.

You wanna prove me wrong? Come back another day.

She moved, grabbing onto my shirt almost pleadingly, and I could see the tears in her eyes.

There's only tonight, she pleaded, bringing her hand up to my face. Just let go. I jerked away from her again and she brought her hands up to her hair and let out a yell of frustration.

Who says that there's a soul for you to save? Take your little prayer and your fucking smack and get the hell out of here. There's the door, I told her angrily, wanting to throw something to get her to leave.

Just stop, she pleaded with me, moved to me again and brought her hands, fingers running through my hair and begged me to kiss her. Begged me to let go. We may not have another night, she pleaded, and I wasn't sure if she was just high or if she was just desperate for a fuck. I found myself closing my eyes, nearly crying at the way she was touching me. Pleading with me to let go. I grabbed her arm, leading her towards the door. Shoving her out of the door, I slammed it behind her, feeling my heart slam up somewhere near my ribs and my breath escaping my lungs like I had been running a marathon.

My hands were shaking violently, and I'd give anything for a hit and I noticed that she had left her stash on the table. I rushed over, grabbed it and tossed it out of the window. I heard the sound of the Loft door open, and spun around only to be faced with Mark, who noticed my look and rushed to me.

Dude, what the hell happened?! Mark's voice was shocked and worried and I held up my hand to stop him from speaking.

Just give me a second, I told him, and felt my stomach flip. I couldn't tell Mark about Mimi, and I swallowed before speaking.

Is everything cool with MJ's show?

Is everything cool with you? You look like you just hurled or--or saw a ghost or something?

I shook my head and forced myself to smile though it was thin. Let's just go, okay?

We left and made our way to the vacant lot with not alot being said on the issue of my look when Mark had came home. This was what we were good at, me and Mark. Ignoring things. If he didn't ask, I didn't share. He only pushed when it was serious, and even though he had walked on me crying and nearly having a panic attack...well, it hadn't been the first time Mark had came into a room with me in that state. He asked me if I was sure I was alright, and I nodded, sucking down on a cigarette to both try to keep warm and to use as an excuse to stay silent. I looked up at the sky as I felt something fall down onto my nose.

Christmas Bells are ringing, I half muttered half sang as Mark turned his camera towards me, and I shook my head with a slight scoff. Christmas Bells are ringing--

Somewhere else, Mark deadpanned, walking back wards in front of me as he worked the camera. Not here.

Hey look, I told Mark, pointing up at the sky. It's beginning to snow.

There were some people starting to show at the entrance to the vacant lot, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of brown which made my head turn.

Mimi.

Hey, dude, I'll meet you inside, okay? I asked Mark, and watched as he entered the Lot, leaving me out in the cold. I followed her into the alley, and reached out, catching her hand slightly. She jerked away as she turned, and I stuffed my hands in my pockets almost nervously.

Hey, I told her.

Hey.

I just wanna say, I'm sorry for the way I blew up.

Forget it, she told me, trying to sound unaffected, but I could hear it. I didn't even know her and I could hear it in her voice. She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted from one foot to the other.

Can I make it up to you?

How? I saw interest peak on her face as she finally looked at me.

Dinner party?

That'll do.

Hey, lover boy. Cutie Pie. You steal my client, you die. The sound of the Man's voice made my stomach lurch slightly, and I turned to look at him. He made a step towards me, and I launched, shoving him back.

Take a look around, man! You didn't miss me, you won't miss her! This is fucking New York. You'll never lack for customers here.

The Man slunk away, and Mimi looked at me, almost impressed. We fell in step together, and she smirked.

So, you're a fighter, then, huh? She asked me, putting two fists up with a laugh, and I scoffed, shaking my head. No, I told her seriously. I'm not.

Looked pretty convincing to me, she said with a smile and bumped her hip against mine. I felt myself laugh and enter the abandoned lot. I found Mark and surprisingly, Mimi knew Angel and I watched as they embraced. Collins nudged me and leaned down against my ear. That her, he asked.

Yeah, that's her, I told him, and as more people came in, she leaned back towards me. She tried to reach for my hand to hold, and I rested my hands on her hips.

We couldn't hold hands yet, my mind told me, though I wasn't sure why. The lights came up, and instantly, my eyes were taken to the stage where Maureen stood, smiling wide. I was sure she was probably getting the world's biggest girl boner from this; hundreds of people all for her. Her protest started, talking about a cow and Benny and I found myself laughing. Maureen's voice swelled and rose and I found myself cheering at the end, hopping up and down as I clapped.

Then, I felt someone get shoved into me, and I looked behind me only to see a fight breaking out. Collins was trying to get Angel who looked like she was going to completely rip someone's balls off, and Mark had suddenly disappeared. I wrapped my arms around Mimi and tried to make my way to the door. I could faintly hear Maureen screaming for peace, and the sound of cops.

We barely made it out of the mob.

We arrived at the Life in one piece, but people short. Maureen and Joanne were nowhere to be found, and it was just me, Mimi and Collins standing outside of the Life in the freezing cold, sharing a cigarette. It was then that Maureen came up, looking as pissed as ever, and I felt myself frown deeply.

Baby, I told her worriedly, bringing my hands up. Hey, you okay, huh?

That fucker! I'm gonna kick his ass. It was a peaceful protest and he ruined it! She stomped her foot down on the ground, and I shook my head.

He's a dick, MJ, I told her surely, and she stepped back. Oh, this is Joanne, she told me, and then started fuming again. Have you seen Mark?

No, I haven't. Let's go inside and wait for him, okay? It's fuckin' cold out here. Let's just wait inside.

We all entered and felt the warmth of the room, and I felt myself shake snowflakes out of my hair. I heard the bell ding and looked over, seeing Mark enter. Dude, I said shocked. What the hell happened to you!? I thought you got beat up!

No, Mark said, panting slightly. He must have been running. No, guys. Guys, I got something--something just happened. They saw me filming.

Maureen's ears perked up at that, but Mark continued. They saw me filming and they bought my footage.

Maureen looked at him, eyes wide with shock. Really, baby?! Her hands moved up to her mouth, and then she moved, planting a long, wet kiss on his lips. How can I ever repay you?

The poor bastard looked smitten all over again. Joanne, however, looked as if she wanted to murder Maureen. Let the boy buy us dinner. However, Collins smacked me on the chest, pointing to where the one person none of us wanted to see sat.

Well, well, well, Collins said with a slightly frown. Benjamin Coffin the Third.

Oh no, I said, my voice mocking, but instantly, a waiter came up, pressing his hands against Mark's chest.

No. No, oh no. No, very important guests here today, we can't have you here.

What?! I cried, looking at Collins and Mark before looking at the waiter. That's such bullshit!

You and your friends come in here, cause a scene, walk out on bills--

I had a tea the other day and was totally fine, Mark protested, and I nodded for back up.

You never paid!

Oh yeah, Mark said as if remembering for the first time. However, Angel stepped in front of Mark, cleared her throat, and with a Ka-POW, she lifted bills into the air, fanned out for the waiter to see.

Let's move these tables together! I suggested, and me shoved them together, much to the chagrin of the waiter. I glanced over, seeing Benny looking almost shocked, and I knew that he knew what was coming. I merely smirked at someone yelling WINE AND BEER.

Benny couldn't stand it, and he stood up, looking over at Maureen who looked like she both wanted to slice his nuts off with a rusty butter knife and vomit on the wound afterwords.

I'd like to propose a toast to Maureen's noble try; it went well.

Go to hell, Maureen seethed, and Benny let a smirk cross his lips. Was the yuppie scum stomped? Not counting the homeless, Maureen, how many tickets weren't comped?

I put on my best rich yuppie accent. Why did Muffy--

Allison.

--Miss the show? I had actually been wondering if we'd ever see Allison. I wondered for a while if she was even real.

There was a death in the family, if you must know. Our Akita--

Mark and I looked at each other, shocked and then looked over at Angel. Evita!

Mimi, I'm surprised. This made me perk up. He knew Mimi? Rich Mr. Coffin the Third knew Mimi? How'd he know a stripper? Then again, I remembered when Benny used to be a big a man whore as I was, and for a moment, it wasn't surprising. Benny continued on speaking. A bright and charming girl like you, Mimi, hangs out with these slackers who don't adhere to deals. They make fun yet I'm the one attempting to do some good here. Do you really wanna live in a neighbourhood where people piss on your stoop every night? Bohemia is a fallacy in your head.

This is Calcutta, Benny stated, his voice final. Bohemia is dead.

Mark looked over at me, and then slowly stood up, his face somber. He tapped on a water glass with the edge of a knife. Dearly beloved, he started, his voice faking on being at the verge of tears. We gather here to say...our goodbyes.

Dies Ira, Dies Illa, I started to chant, my voice overly sad and tear filled. Kyrie Eleison, Yitgadal Yitkadash.

Here she lies, no one knew her worth. Mark moved, standing on the chair, his arms outspread as if he was speaking to an entire congregation of people. The late, great daughter of Mother earth. On this holy night, when we celebrate the birth in that little town of Bethlehem. We raise our glass

I rose a glass, as did all of the others, and Benny's eyes started to widen slightly. He knew what was coming, and I was fucking ready. Ready to embarrass the shit out of him.

You bet your ass too--

Maureen dropped her pants, nearly shoving her face into Mr. Grey's face. He looked disgusted. I instantly figured he was gay.

La Vie...

I heard Benny mutter an oh, no and turned back to his guests, trying to get them standing up and leaving.

Boheme.

In honour of the death of Bohemia, Collins started, standing up against the table as if making a grand speech, an impromptu salon will commence immediately following dinner. Maureen Johnson, back from her spectacular one night performance at the Eleventh Street Lot will perform native American tribal chants, backwards through her vocoder while accompanying herself on the electric chello, which she ain't never studied.

I shot up, bringing a hand to my chest and extending the other toward Mark. And Mark Cohen will preview his new documentary about his inability to hold an erection on the high holy days. I slid my fingers down my wrist in a circle, holding out the limp arm in front of his face, which he swatted away at with an annoyed frown before he stood up, speaking as Mimi slowly crawled onto the table.

And Mimi Marquez, clad only in bubble wrap, will perform her famous lawn chair handcuff dance to the sounds of iced tea being stirred.

I walked over to the guitar, needing something to do with my hands before I picked it up, plucking out notes.

And Roger, Mark called, turning towards me. Roger will try to write a bittersweet evocative song...that doesn't sound like Musetta's Waltz.

I lifted my middle finger up in his direction, until I saw Mimi come up to face me. Hey, did I do something wrong, she asked me with a frown, crossing her arms over her chest. I get invited and then ignored all night long? What gives?

I let a sigh escape my lips, and I brought a hand up to my forehead. Look, I told her through a sigh. I've been trying. I'm not lying, I've been--no one's perfect, okay? I've got baggage and--

Baggage? She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Life's too short, baby. Time's flyin'. I'm lookin' for baggage that goes with mine. I've got baggage too.

Wine and BEER, I found myself yelling over her, until a sound broke through the chaos. The sound of beeping which made me instantly move down to my belt to the beeper that reminded me to take my AZT. I realised, glancing at her hands, that she was doing the same exact thing.

AZT break, she muttered, reaching into her coat pocket for a small bottle. I found my mouth dropping open slightly as I simply stared at her, watching as she pulled out a pill from the bottle and downed it dry. She...had AIDS? This girl, this beautiful girl in front of me had AIDS...just like me? Looking at me, she narrowed her brows and almost rolled her eyes, until she noticed the look in my eyes. My lungs were tight, lump hard in my throat before I moved, grabbing her hand to lead her out the back door to the alley behind the Life.

Her hand felt warm in mine, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her staring at me. I finally found my voice and spoke. I should tell you, I started, my voice wavering slightly before I shook my head, clearing my throat sharply. I should tell you that I'm disaster. I forget--I've forgotten how to begin something like this.

I'm not exactly an expert at this either, Chico, she commented, bringing my hand up to rub it slightly. Let's just make it go faster, huh? I'm not even in it yet. I found myself chuckling slightly, and as she played with my fingers, I glanced down at them before looking up at her face. You know, I told her after a moment. I think I'd forgotten how to smile until your candle burnt my skin. And I have a feeling that...that you blew the candle out more than once.

A slow smile spread on her lips as she ran her fingertips across the top of mine. I most certainly did...not, she finished, a wide smile spreading on her face, and I nodded with a small smile. She stepped towards me, sliding her hands up my shoulders and I could feel her shivering. I was shivering, too, but I wasn't sure whether it was from the cold or from the way she was touching me. I felt her lean in, but I turned my head, whispering Oh no under my breath. She must have heard me, because she brought her hand up, pressing the cold palm against my cheek.

I know, she whispered, running her thumb across my bottom lip. I wanted to run, to curl up and hide from her eyes, from her touch, but it felt so good. It felt so good, and for a moment, I brought my hands up, pressing them against her cheek. And then, I don't know what happened, but I just...went for it.

Our lips met slowly, almost cautiously and I felt the snowflakes fall on her skin and melt on contact. I broke and realised that my hands were shaking, and I licked my lips and still tasted her on them. A slow smile spread on my face, and I dropped my hands from her face and wrapped my arms around her. Y'wanna get outta here?

Her nod was all I needed to see. We entered back into the Life and I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair. Mark half smiled at me, slow and almost happy and he nodded when I told him I'd meet him back home. He didn't need to say anything, and Mimi and I walked out.

The Life wasn't too far from the Loft, and we walked hand in hand. I asked her what her last name was and she asked me how long I had lived at the Loft. We huddled close together, but whether it was because of the cold or the feeling of one another, I wasn't sure. The Loft's building came into view, and we walked up the stairs. Once we hit the second to the top floor, I felt her turn in my arms and slowly press her lips against mine. I let out a shaky breath and felt her lift her arms up to snake around my neck. She jumped up, almost with feline grace, and wrapped her legs around my waist. I don't know how I managed to open the door to her apartment with her in my arms, but I did it and we tumbled in. Somehow, we managed to get to her couch, and I sat down, with her on top of me, and I felt her hands slid up my neck, up the side of my head and her fingers slipped and weaved through my hair. I shuddered, breaking from her lips and I felt her pelvis grind hard against mine. A groan escaped my lips, shaking and tight before my lips were covered with hers and the groan swallowed into her.

It was then that I realised what the hell was happening. There was a girl on top of me, kissing and sucking and biting at my lips, and I felt a shudder cross my body again as I broke from her lips. Tears rose to my eyes and almost spilling out of my eyes, and she must have noticed it because she stopped, her breath hitched against my skin.

What's wrong?

It was almost as if I couldn't find my voice. My hands were shaking and I wanted to tell her that I wanted it. I wanted her so fucking bad but I was terrified. I was terrified and shaking and I finally found my voice.

It's--It's been seven months. I finally spoke, my voice shaking and almost embarrassed. It--it's been seven months since...since anyone's touched me like that.

She brought her hand up, pressing it against my lips. The next moments were a blur. Lips and hands and dark, warm places and I shuttered and held onto her as she pulled me out of my pants and slowly sank down onto me. It wasn't violent and quick and harsh. It was slow and she was moaning and clutching onto me and I was groaning, wrapping my arms around her tightly, wishing that I could bury myself inside of her and it was perfect, or as perfect as it could be. She rode me, speeding up and slowing down and telling me how good it felt. I couldn't speak, so I didn't agree with her, but it felt so good. I wanted to tell her how good it felt to feel someone other than myself touch me like she had, to feel the warmth inside of another person, but my brain was hardly working as it was, so my mouth was out of commission except for moans that escaped my lips in quick, panting bursts. I felt my stomach tightened, and she looked down at me, her fingers splayed across my chest and told me to let go.

Give in. Let go, she pleaded, moving her hips faster against mine. It's okay. I pulled her to me, pressing my face into the crook of her neck as I came, feeling her groan harshly into my ear. She shuttered and ground herself against my lap as I felt her clench around me, her nails digging into my shoulder through my shirt.

We sat there, harsh pants the only sound in the Loft until she pulled back and saw that I was crying. Maybe it was the way I had let go or maybe it was the way she had touched me or maybe it was just he alcohol, but my heart was thundering in my chest and my stomach was twisted in knots and my hands were shaking to match the sobs that were escaping my lips.

Her brown eyes were filled with confusion, but she wrapped her arms around me, whispering soft words in Spanish into my ear. She spread her fingers through my hair and slowly rocked me and through my tear-filled fog, I could feel wet spots on my shoulder where her head was.

Shh, baby, she whispered, por favor, Roger. Por favor, calme abajo. Her voice was soothing, and somehow, I felt myself settle back , laying down on the couch with her on top of me. Suddenly, I felt exhausted, and my eyes felt heavy. You're gonna be here in the morning, right? I found myself asking tiredly, and I opened my eyes long enough to see her smile, running her fingers across my cheek, across my lips.

Go to sleep, she whispered against my chest, snuggling in almost like a cat curling up against me. Merry Christmas, Roger.

And that night I had the most peaceful sleep I've ever had in the last seven months in the arms of a stripper from the Cat Scratch Club.