RENT: Placing Blame
Oct. 3rd, 2006 12:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
find_rightbrainTitle: Placing Blame
Characters/Pairing: Roger/April, Mark/April, Mark/Maureen, Roger/Maureen
Word Count: 1224
Rating: R
Summary: Sometimes there are no innocents – sometimes everyone's guilty.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
seriouslyrent's Wednesday prompt: "Et tu, Brute?" Set in Here On In-verse (from here_on_in), which I share with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
starletfallen (April), meemsers (Mark) and soscaredtolove (Maureen). In this verse, April moved into the loft and started dating Mark. A little while later, Maureen and Roger started dating, and Maureen moved into the loft. After a while both couples broke up, Roger and April got together, as did Mark and Maureen. Each section is from the point of view of one of the characters, addressed to a second character – it should be obvious who's speaking and who it's addressed to, but if you have trouble figuring it out, since no names are actually mentioned, let me know. (Also, for the record, if anyone wondered, Here On In Roger is based on Tim Howar's Roger. Just because it makes me happy.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Rent, Mark, Roger, April or Maureen. Nor do I own Tim Howar for that matter, but surely you already knew that.
You had to start it, the drugs, the fucking needles and highs and momentary forgetfulness. And yeah, I probably could have resisted it, probably could have stayed away from it – Mark did, got you clean for as long as you were with him, but you offered me the needle and I couldn't say no. I lost her, and you'd lost him, and we deserved to stop caring about it for a while.
...No, actually, lost isn't a strong enough word. We didn't lose them, we drove them off, and it wasn't just their loss we had to forget, but our guilt too. And smack was such a perfect, easy escape, right there in front of me in the palm of your hand.
I could have resisted. I could have said no. Maybe I'm not exactly sane, but I knew better, I swear. I never had to stick that needle in my arm, never had to accept that offer.
It's still your fault. Your fault that there are track marks on my arms and the virus in my blood. Your fault that I'm sitting here shaking and aching for just one more hit. Your fault that I'm going to die alone, without her.
Yes, I blame you, and it may not be right to blame the dead, but what the hell? You gave me the needle. You tied the tourniquet around my arm, you showed me what to do. I'm not innocent, but everyone knows... neither are you.
*
I didn't mean to slip up, I didn't mean to fall. I didn't mean to find myself there, locked in our room and sliding a needle into my arm for the first time in a year. I didn't mean to end up here with a razor against my arm.
But I never meant to be without you, either, never thought that could ever happen. You were there the first time, you were the only reason I survived that long. You were the first one to tell me you loved me and mean it, you were the first one to really care about me since I left home. You were beautiful and wonderful and everything I needed, everything I wanted, you were there through it all.
You were also there when I lost my footing and landed on the end of our bed, a needle in my arm. You let me push you away when I didn't want to and you didn't want me to, you let me walk away, and it was best for you and I knew that and wanted that, even if it killed me. You could have pulled me back out and you didn't, you let me drown while I told you to stay back and desperately wanted you to save me. You let me fall into his bed, when I still wanted you and he wanted her, and desperation and need was a poor substitute for love.
This isn't your fault, that I'm sitting here, staring at the veins beneath my skin, knowing what's running through them and about to spill it all, bright red on white tile, bloody and somehow oddly poetic. I know where the fault lies, and it isn't with you. But you could have stopped this, anywhere along the line, and instead you stood back and watched me fall.
*
You never really wanted me anyway. I knew that. To be fair, I never really wanted you either, because I loved her, I'd always loved her. But you came after me, because it was the perfect way to make him jealous. I let you get your way, because you always do, because there's never any resisting you. But even if you were staying in my bed, even if he had her in his bed, you were still his, and I knew that.
So I shouldn't be surprised that you left. I shouldn't be surprised you found someone else to lean on, that you moved out of the loft – away from him, because it always has to do with him – and in with what's-her-name. I'm not. Surprised, that is. I knew all along – that you never loved me, that you'd been cheating on me, all of it. And I never cared, because you knew I knew it, so at least we were on equal footing.
I'm really not surprised. I knew we wouldn't last for long. I knew I was never more than a friend to you, or a way to make him jealous, or just someone go cling to when that didn't work. I could have said that, I could have backed away first and protected myself, I could have decided not to be with you in the first place.
But you walked away when my entire life had started to fall apart, when all at once everyone I loved was dead or going to die and I most needed someone to lean on. I was never more than a friend to you, but you could have at least been that, you could have been the comfort I always was for you. Instead, you ran and left me to deal with the shattered fragments, alone.
I guess that shouldn't surprise me either. And I guess I should get used to it, dealing with things alone. That's going to be how things are anyway, before long.
*
You swore, once, that you wouldn't ever leave me. That you'd be there forever, that you'd protect me. And I believed you. That was probably my first mistake.
Or maybe my first mistake was noticing you at all, speaking to you, looking at you and seeing your smile. But you did promise. You said you'd be there, and I believed. You swore, and you lied. You promised, and you broke it, or maybe I just misunderstood. I misunderstood, or you did.
You said you'd protect me, and you always did. You let me stay with you, not just for a night or two, but as long as I wanted, as long as I needed (forever). With you was the only place I felt safe, the only place I could be still and secure. You kept me alive, you gave me a reason not to pull the trigger, swallow the pills, open a vein, whatever idea got into my head on any given day. You saved me.
Maybe you think that you're still protecting me now, by walking away, that I'm safer without you than with you. That you're going to hurt me somehow unless you leave, that your love's the most dangerous thing that could happen to me, that if you come back you'll just hand me a death sentence.
You're wrong, and I thought you'd realize that, but I guess not. You aren't the dangerous one, it's the world without you that's going to kill me. You think you'd give me a death sentence if you came back, but that's not it at all. You already did give me that death sentence, the day you left me, and the time's just ticking down until something snaps and you're not there to protect me from myself, the way you always said you'd be.
Because you promised, and it was a lie.
Characters/Pairing: Roger/April, Mark/April, Mark/Maureen, Roger/Maureen
Word Count: 1224
Rating: R
Summary: Sometimes there are no innocents – sometimes everyone's guilty.
Notes: Written for
seriouslyrent's Wednesday prompt: "Et tu, Brute?" Set in Here On In-verse (from here_on_in), which I share with starletfallen (April), meemsers (Mark) and soscaredtolove (Maureen). In this verse, April moved into the loft and started dating Mark. A little while later, Maureen and Roger started dating, and Maureen moved into the loft. After a while both couples broke up, Roger and April got together, as did Mark and Maureen. Each section is from the point of view of one of the characters, addressed to a second character – it should be obvious who's speaking and who it's addressed to, but if you have trouble figuring it out, since no names are actually mentioned, let me know. (Also, for the record, if anyone wondered, Here On In Roger is based on Tim Howar's Roger. Just because it makes me happy.)Disclaimer: I don't own Rent, Mark, Roger, April or Maureen. Nor do I own Tim Howar for that matter, but surely you already knew that.
You had to start it, the drugs, the fucking needles and highs and momentary forgetfulness. And yeah, I probably could have resisted it, probably could have stayed away from it – Mark did, got you clean for as long as you were with him, but you offered me the needle and I couldn't say no. I lost her, and you'd lost him, and we deserved to stop caring about it for a while.
...No, actually, lost isn't a strong enough word. We didn't lose them, we drove them off, and it wasn't just their loss we had to forget, but our guilt too. And smack was such a perfect, easy escape, right there in front of me in the palm of your hand.
I could have resisted. I could have said no. Maybe I'm not exactly sane, but I knew better, I swear. I never had to stick that needle in my arm, never had to accept that offer.
It's still your fault. Your fault that there are track marks on my arms and the virus in my blood. Your fault that I'm sitting here shaking and aching for just one more hit. Your fault that I'm going to die alone, without her.
Yes, I blame you, and it may not be right to blame the dead, but what the hell? You gave me the needle. You tied the tourniquet around my arm, you showed me what to do. I'm not innocent, but everyone knows... neither are you.
I didn't mean to slip up, I didn't mean to fall. I didn't mean to find myself there, locked in our room and sliding a needle into my arm for the first time in a year. I didn't mean to end up here with a razor against my arm.
But I never meant to be without you, either, never thought that could ever happen. You were there the first time, you were the only reason I survived that long. You were the first one to tell me you loved me and mean it, you were the first one to really care about me since I left home. You were beautiful and wonderful and everything I needed, everything I wanted, you were there through it all.
You were also there when I lost my footing and landed on the end of our bed, a needle in my arm. You let me push you away when I didn't want to and you didn't want me to, you let me walk away, and it was best for you and I knew that and wanted that, even if it killed me. You could have pulled me back out and you didn't, you let me drown while I told you to stay back and desperately wanted you to save me. You let me fall into his bed, when I still wanted you and he wanted her, and desperation and need was a poor substitute for love.
This isn't your fault, that I'm sitting here, staring at the veins beneath my skin, knowing what's running through them and about to spill it all, bright red on white tile, bloody and somehow oddly poetic. I know where the fault lies, and it isn't with you. But you could have stopped this, anywhere along the line, and instead you stood back and watched me fall.
You never really wanted me anyway. I knew that. To be fair, I never really wanted you either, because I loved her, I'd always loved her. But you came after me, because it was the perfect way to make him jealous. I let you get your way, because you always do, because there's never any resisting you. But even if you were staying in my bed, even if he had her in his bed, you were still his, and I knew that.
So I shouldn't be surprised that you left. I shouldn't be surprised you found someone else to lean on, that you moved out of the loft – away from him, because it always has to do with him – and in with what's-her-name. I'm not. Surprised, that is. I knew all along – that you never loved me, that you'd been cheating on me, all of it. And I never cared, because you knew I knew it, so at least we were on equal footing.
I'm really not surprised. I knew we wouldn't last for long. I knew I was never more than a friend to you, or a way to make him jealous, or just someone go cling to when that didn't work. I could have said that, I could have backed away first and protected myself, I could have decided not to be with you in the first place.
But you walked away when my entire life had started to fall apart, when all at once everyone I loved was dead or going to die and I most needed someone to lean on. I was never more than a friend to you, but you could have at least been that, you could have been the comfort I always was for you. Instead, you ran and left me to deal with the shattered fragments, alone.
I guess that shouldn't surprise me either. And I guess I should get used to it, dealing with things alone. That's going to be how things are anyway, before long.
You swore, once, that you wouldn't ever leave me. That you'd be there forever, that you'd protect me. And I believed you. That was probably my first mistake.
Or maybe my first mistake was noticing you at all, speaking to you, looking at you and seeing your smile. But you did promise. You said you'd be there, and I believed. You swore, and you lied. You promised, and you broke it, or maybe I just misunderstood. I misunderstood, or you did.
You said you'd protect me, and you always did. You let me stay with you, not just for a night or two, but as long as I wanted, as long as I needed (forever). With you was the only place I felt safe, the only place I could be still and secure. You kept me alive, you gave me a reason not to pull the trigger, swallow the pills, open a vein, whatever idea got into my head on any given day. You saved me.
Maybe you think that you're still protecting me now, by walking away, that I'm safer without you than with you. That you're going to hurt me somehow unless you leave, that your love's the most dangerous thing that could happen to me, that if you come back you'll just hand me a death sentence.
You're wrong, and I thought you'd realize that, but I guess not. You aren't the dangerous one, it's the world without you that's going to kill me. You think you'd give me a death sentence if you came back, but that's not it at all. You already did give me that death sentence, the day you left me, and the time's just ticking down until something snaps and you're not there to protect me from myself, the way you always said you'd be.
Because you promised, and it was a lie.