Simple and Clean Chapter 1: The Pain and the Sorrow, a rent fanfic

Title: Simple and Clean

Author: Skye Aerrow

Genre: Drama/Romance

Characters: Roger Davis, Mimi Marquez, Mark Cohen

Summary: He loves her… she loves him… so why are things so difficult?

Skye Says: I actually never really intended to write a RENT fanfic anytime soon. To tell you the truth, the only real reason I wrote this was because I asked my brother if he would read a RENT fanfic if I wrote one. He said "yes", and so… here we are.

Chapter One: The Pain and the Sorrow

Wish I could prove

I love you

But does that mean

I have to walk on water?

When we are older

You will understand

It's enough when I say so

And maybe

Some things are that simple

He acts as if he doesn't even see her now. When passing her on the sidewalk, he keeps his head down, acting as if he's intensely interested in the texture of New York's sidewalks. She looks at him with an odd mixture of pain and regret in her eyes. He wonders why she never says anything, never apologizes for anything she's done. He fears that, maybe, she doesn't want to.

Life's too short for any of this nonsense, a voice inside him urges. You almost lost her once. Are you really willing to risk losing her again?

He knows he isn't, but that doesn't prevent him for continuing to ignore her.

Things are so much easier this way.

Mimi sits on the edge of a bed, arms crossed over her chest as if she's hugging herself. Slowly, very slowly, she rocks back and forth, staring off into space. A wasted syringe lies there on the blanket next to her, reminding her of how pathetic she is.

A tear courses down her cheek as she thinks of Roger and how she's let him down. She curses herself for being so careless. One minute, she's on cloud nine, having the time of her life beside him and getting high off nothing but love, the next… she's lying on the floor in a cold room with an icy needle sliding into her vein.

"I can't do this anymore, Mimi. I can't just stand by and watch you throw your life away."

"Roger, please-"

"No, don't 'Roger, please' me. I thought you said you were clean. You swore you'd never go back to this. You said… you said we were safe."

"We are-"

"This isn't safe, Mimi! This-" he dashed an empty syringe against the wall- "Is not safe!"

"Roger, I can change! I can go to rehab or something! I can-"

"Like I haven't heard that one before!"

Mimi pulls her knees to her chest and sobs. The high was already starting to wear off, just as she'd known it would. Heroin was like a demon- it shot from the needle to your vein, partied it up in your bloodstream, crashed against your heart, stole the breath from your lungs, made you forget about everyone, everything, anything- then, it threw you down so hard that you never thought you'd get back up again, breathless, shaky, and always, always wanting more. Not like love. The high she'd gotten off of loving Roger had always felt so right. Love had made her feel as light, happy, and carefree as much as- if not more than- drugs did, with one significant difference: it didn't leave her feeling so horrible afterwards.

Her eyes begin to burn, but she hardly notices the pain. What drug was worth losing Roger? What drug was worth losing everything she'd worked so hard to find: love, happiness, and safety? What drug was worth a broken heart, a tearstained face, a shattered soul? None.

If only she had figured that out sooner.

"Buy you a drink?"

Roger cranes his neck in the direction of the voice, shocked to see that the woman is addressing him. She's tall and blonde, maybe the kind of girl that he would normally see as attractive, but not now. Not after Mimi.

It's too soon. Women in general seem to have lost their appeal.

He just wants to be alone. Alone with his guitar, because it's the only thing he knows he can always depend on.

It won't break his heart. It won't haunt his dreams, stalk his nightmares, or plague his thoughts.

Best of all, it won't go back on its word. Ever.

"No thanks," he says.

"You play?" she indicates the guitar spread out on the bar in front of him.

"A little. I'm not very good."

He's beginning to think that going out wasn't such a good idea. Maybe Mark was wrong. Maybe he should just sling his guitar back over his shoulder and walk out of Crazy Rick's. Maybe he should just stop thinking about Mimi.

Maybe he should just stop thinking altogether.

"You're home early."

"Your powers of observation are astounding, Mr. Cohen."

"What happened? I thought…" he studies Roger's face. "Oh."

Roger lays the guitar down on the coffee table. The couch is far too inviting for him to remain standing. His hand wander over to the remote, fingers fumbling with the buttons.

The TV screen fills with blackness.

"I can't do it, Mark. Everywhere I go, I see her. Everywhere."

"Even at Crazy Rick's?"

He bows his head, hair falling into his eyes. "Yes, even at the bar."

"Holy crap."

"'Crap' pretty much sums it up."

Mark sits down beside Roger, taking off his glasses. He rubs the lenses with the bottom of his shirt.

The seconds roll by, each moment sounded by the ticking of the clock.

Roger takes a deep breath. The air hitches in his throat. Even here, on the couch, sitting beside Mark, he can hear the music of her voice, smell the exotic scent of her perfume, see the fire in her eyes.

It's too much.

"You're thinking about her," Mark says. "Don't do it, Roger. Quit."

He looks at his friend with bloodshot eyes. "If only it were that simple."