A/N: As always, characters belong to the late great Jonathan Larson. It's
an attempt at Maureen POV. Please read and review!
"What the hell do you know?" Roger really knows how to make a girl feel appreciated. That death glare of his makes me feel at home, as always. I smirk back, because I don't take his attitude like everybody else does.
Roger stalks off to his room.
"Lots." I call after him. Rehash of the last hour: Mimi and Roger fight over something stupid (not that I can talk! I love you too, Joanne). Roger storms up to the loft (and they say I'm a drama queen) and starts bitching to Mark. Mark is sick of it and leaves (he said he needed to go grocery shopping. HA! Five bucks says he went down to the Life). I overhear it all because I was around during this fated hour (why me, God, why?). So I offer Roger words of wisdom ('Roger, quit being an ass and apologize.' 'Super- bitch. Look who's talking!') and of course this sparks an argument. That wasn't my fault though (if he did like I said and stopped being an ass he'd be having great make-up sex now!) So he gets all huffy and leaves.so that's where we are.
I hear him collapse on his bed and play the familiar chords of Moonstruck. C.C E G C B.C E G B-F. F? No. G? No. Strumming angrily, he searches for the note. How can he miss that note? He played the riff so many times that even I know the notes. He must be really pissed.
I lean my head on the shut door and hear the clunk of the guitar as it hits the floor. I really feel bad for him though. We never really liked each other; it was more of a truce between us once I started dating Mark.
"She'll come around. It's odd how I can relate. I generally don't associate myself with you."
"Thank God."
"Joanne and I had another fight," I get right to the point, as I focus on a stain on the carpet.
"Figures. Are you spending the night at the loft?"
"Yeah."
"You'll have to take the couch this time."
"Damn. Usually, I get your bed." I push the door open and skipped to his bed, lowering myself next to him.
"I was wondering why my pillow smells like vanilla." I raise my brow in surprise. Roger knows shampoo scents?
"It could be Mimi's."
"Nope. Mimi smells like strawberries, but you--you've always used vanilla shampoo. Haven't you?"
"Huh. I guess you know your shampoos." The corner of his mouth lifts into a smile.
"Nah, I just pick up on weird stuff like that. It's poetic habit."
"You sound like Mark. It's pathetic!" We both laugh for a while, me more than Roger. At least I was laughing harder until I rolled off the mattress and fell a foot to the floor. That got him really laughing.
"No Maureen, that's pathetic!" It was while before either of us could speak again.
"Anyway, Rog," I look into his eyes, "If you ever need somebody to talk to, you've got me too." Our eyes lock.
"Thanks."
"What the hell do you know?" Roger really knows how to make a girl feel appreciated. That death glare of his makes me feel at home, as always. I smirk back, because I don't take his attitude like everybody else does.
Roger stalks off to his room.
"Lots." I call after him. Rehash of the last hour: Mimi and Roger fight over something stupid (not that I can talk! I love you too, Joanne). Roger storms up to the loft (and they say I'm a drama queen) and starts bitching to Mark. Mark is sick of it and leaves (he said he needed to go grocery shopping. HA! Five bucks says he went down to the Life). I overhear it all because I was around during this fated hour (why me, God, why?). So I offer Roger words of wisdom ('Roger, quit being an ass and apologize.' 'Super- bitch. Look who's talking!') and of course this sparks an argument. That wasn't my fault though (if he did like I said and stopped being an ass he'd be having great make-up sex now!) So he gets all huffy and leaves.so that's where we are.
I hear him collapse on his bed and play the familiar chords of Moonstruck. C.C E G C B.C E G B-F. F? No. G? No. Strumming angrily, he searches for the note. How can he miss that note? He played the riff so many times that even I know the notes. He must be really pissed.
I lean my head on the shut door and hear the clunk of the guitar as it hits the floor. I really feel bad for him though. We never really liked each other; it was more of a truce between us once I started dating Mark.
"She'll come around. It's odd how I can relate. I generally don't associate myself with you."
"Thank God."
"Joanne and I had another fight," I get right to the point, as I focus on a stain on the carpet.
"Figures. Are you spending the night at the loft?"
"Yeah."
"You'll have to take the couch this time."
"Damn. Usually, I get your bed." I push the door open and skipped to his bed, lowering myself next to him.
"I was wondering why my pillow smells like vanilla." I raise my brow in surprise. Roger knows shampoo scents?
"It could be Mimi's."
"Nope. Mimi smells like strawberries, but you--you've always used vanilla shampoo. Haven't you?"
"Huh. I guess you know your shampoos." The corner of his mouth lifts into a smile.
"Nah, I just pick up on weird stuff like that. It's poetic habit."
"You sound like Mark. It's pathetic!" We both laugh for a while, me more than Roger. At least I was laughing harder until I rolled off the mattress and fell a foot to the floor. That got him really laughing.
"No Maureen, that's pathetic!" It was while before either of us could speak again.
"Anyway, Rog," I look into his eyes, "If you ever need somebody to talk to, you've got me too." Our eyes lock.
"Thanks."