No Way Ch4

Summary: Ellen, a dancer at the Cat Scratch Club, finds herself rescued from her dealer—but not her addiction—when a certain filmmaker decides to interfere. Fate pushes them to be in the same room when they can’t stand each other—but when Ellen falls ill, he’s the only one who can help her. Author’s Note: I feel like it’s been forever since I updated…sorry. But my updates will always be infrequent/uncertain, because freshman year is very annoying and busy. So anyways…sorry for leaving you with that evil cliffhanger. :D In other news, I MET ANTHONY RAPP!!!!!!! This is why you get a new chapter!!!! =^.^= (I am…starstruck. He autographed my poster. I shook his hand. He smiled at me, and said he would LOVE to hug me, but that would make everyone else want to. I feel special. :D) I remember learning from my middle school counselor that the definition of suicide is “the act or instance of killing oneself.” Did this count as suicide? Homicide? Maybe. Was it Cyn’s fault? “The killing of one person by another.” Homicide. No, that wasn’t it either. So…what was it? An accident. Death by AIDS. Death by HIV. Cause of Death: HIV. Cause of Death: AIDS. I swallowed, feeling so fucking afraid I thought I was gonna run out of the room. Mimi squeezed my hand. The nurse handed me the paper—I wouldn’t meet her eyes. I knew what I’d see there. Sympathy. Sadness. Or maybe she wouldn’t care. Maybe she would be used to it—used to people getting AIDS or HIV. I slowly unfolded half of it, sliding my fingers along the creases to smooth them out. I didn’t want to see the results. I looked down at my name: Mercado, Ellen. I tried to swallow, but my throat was dry. I licked my lips nervously, and I was surprised when none other than Cohen grabbed my arm. He probably was sensitive to this sort of thing, having several friends who were HIV positive. He didn’t want to see someone else find out they were HIV positive. Fuck it, I thought, and unfolded the other half. I looked down quickly, before I could stop myself. Test: negative. I felt tears stinging my eyes. My life didn’t have such a close expiration date as I thought. Suddenly I realized just why I’d quit using—I would kill myself. Accidental suicide. That was it—what it would have been if I’d continued. I couldn’t help myself—I hugged Roger tightly. “Thanks,” I whispered, before releasing him. Roger smiled. “No problem,” he whispered back. Mimi hugged me firmly, refusing to let me go. I hugged her back, suddenly wanting to cry—in relief. All the time spent going through fucking withdrawal had been worth it. I didn’t have AIDS, I wasn’t HIV positive… Everything just felt right. We went back to the loft after that, and the ‘high’ faded. I was nauseas again, and my head was pounding. A little voice in the back of my mind told me that I was safe—I could use just one more time, and the migraine would be gone…the nausea would be gone. And my friends would be gone, I told myself sternly. Because the drugs would drive me away—a self-imposed distance from all clean people. I couldn’t fucking start up again…not now. You could, that nasty voice told me. Just one more time…you could quit again if you wanted to.

Fuck off, I growled at it. I wanted so badly to laugh at myself—I wasn’t a fucking schizophrenic, I was just having what Roger aptly called ‘post-withdrawal doubts.’ Sitting down on the hole-filled couch, I kicked off my boots and leaned back, smiling up at the familiar broken skylight. Yes, I could do this. “Well, that wasn’t so hard, now was it, Ells?” said Roger, plopping down next to me. I grimaced as I heard springs breaking beneath us. “Careful, or you’ll break what’s left of the sofa,” I teased. Roger grinned and shifted—another spring broke. I just rolled my eyes. “Well, it isn’t my sofa. Otherwise I’d have to murder you with a toothbrush.” “A…toothbrush?” he questioned, his grin getting bigger. I nodded. “Yes. A toothbrush from a garbage can.” “Why are we talking about toothbrushes?” asked Cohen, coming over from doing something else—messing with his camera, probably. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw he was still carrying the fucking thing. “Well,” I said, smirking, “it looks like the camera has taken your place, Rog.” As Roger tried to get the camera, I slipped over to the door—and was caught. “Where’re you going?” asked Roger. I heard him stop chasing Cohen. “To see Cyn.” I turned to him, reading his expression. “Not for drugs, Rog, I promise,” I said. “I want to see if I can fix things with her…even if she’s using, we might be able to be friends.” Roger sighed, and I saw Cohen shake his head and sit down, as if disappointed. “Look, Ells…she won’t want to be your friend anymore,” Roger said, looking very apologetic and sympathetic. “Well, I’m still gonna try,” I said, turning and walking out. They didn’t follow me, thank God. I stopped outside Cyn’s door, preparing myself mentally. As I raised a hand, I heard the stairs behind me creak. I turned around to see Cohen…fuck, he had a habit of finding me outside her door. “Yes?” I said curtly, planting my hands on my hips. “Just heading to work,” he said, looking less than amused. “Oh, fuck off,” I grumbled. “I’m not getting drugs, Cohen.” When he looked skeptical, I snarled, “I swear, ok? Jeez, just fuck off.” He shrugged. “Alright, fine,” he said, raising his hands and walking down the stairs. I stuck out my tongue at him when his back was turned. But then I blushed and winced—it was so fucking childish. Stupid fucker. I should’ve flipped him off—I wouldn’t have been embarrassed then. Sighing, I turned back to Cyn’s door, knocked, and then shifted back, just in case she was still angry. “Come in,” I heard her call…very softly. My heart was pounding in my chest: something felt wrong, so fucking wrong… I slowly opened the door and walked in. Cyn was sprawled out on the sofa, staring blankly at the wall. She looked up at me, but otherwise didn’t react. Ok, so something was really. Fucking. Wrong. “Um…hi, Cyn.” She blinked. “Hi. Remember…” She broke off, tears gathering in her eyes. “Fourteen times.” A raw, humorless laugh suddenly tore itself from her throat, and a tear slid down her cheek. “Four. Fifth time’s the charm.”

It hit me then. “Oh, God…Cyn…” I went to try and comfort her, but she jumped up, slipping over the back of the sofa. “Tell you something, Ells. You’re lucky…fuck, you’re lucky.” She shook her head, and sat down on the window-seat. I followed, sitting down—but keeping a few feet between us. “Cyn…God, Cyn, I’m so sorry…” Cyn shrugged. “It’s my fault.” She met my eyes then, and I saw how red they were. “I’m not gonna stop. I’m gonna die anyway, so I’m fucking gonna enjoy life while it lasts.” I couldn’t understand her logic, but something told me that her calmness was only gonna last as long as I didn’t talk a lot. As she walked over to one of her two tables, she kept sticking her hand into her pocket, and then taking it out again. “Here,” she said, holding out…Oh, fuck it all. My old, faded, blue sweater that I’d left so many years ago. “I—I’ve been meaning to give this to you.” I didn’t imagine the evil smirk on her face. “Um, well…thanks, but…why?” I asked, wondering if I’d said too much. But that evil smirk didn’t go away. “’Cause.” I took it, wondering exactly why… And then I saw the sharpie-written note on the sleeve. I stole your pen, you stole mine…give and take, give and take, girlfriend. Cyn didn’t look evil anymore. “Remember that day?” she said quietly. I nodded. I was struggling to keep the tears back. “Yeah.” Cyn and I had hated each other at first, but the change had happened when we stole each other’s pens…we realized how silly we’d been, doing stupid things like stealing pens to spite each other, and we’d decided to be friends. She’s written the note half in her pen, half in mine. ‘So we never forget,’ she’d said. This was a goodbye. “Cyn…” “Ells, it’s fine. I’m fine. Go on.” She smiled. “See you later?” I couldn’t focus enough to say no, so I just nodded. Cyn smiled a little bigger, and then sat back down on the sofa. Swallowing, I left. I remember running down the stairs…but I don’t remember getting to Central Park. After the running, I remember suddenly realizing I was really cold, and outside, sitting on a bench…and it was getting dark. I could imagine Roger and Mimi looking for me, both worried…hell, I might’ve imagined Cohen, but he was at work. I curled my legs up to my chest, wishing for a coat or a hat or gloves or a scarf…fuck, something to help me warm up. I sat there for ages, thinking about Cyn and her AIDS. I shuddered each time I thought the word…acronym. Cyn had AIDS. I’d told her…and yet…it felt like my fault. I felt like I could have—should have done more to get her off drugs. I should have gotten Roger to talk to her, forced her to do something, anything…stolen the drugs. But I was going to lose my best friend. And that was when the tears started. At first they just trickled out—but then they flowed, pouring out, streaming down my face until I thought I couldn’t cry anymore. “Ellen?” I jerked my head up. A familiar—and more than a little unwanted—face swam in my vision. Wiping my eyes, I snapped, “What do you want, Cohen?” Cohen hesitated, staying standing in front of me before sitting down beside me. I was too depressed to care. I let him sit there, offering silent comfort—and it did feel nice to have someone else there, even if it was Cohen. The tears came

again, and I only noticed that Cohen had pulled me against his chest when I stopped crying. I disentangled myself from his arms, trying and failing to feel angry. I just felt hollow—hollow and cold. I shivered, and Cohen put his jacket around my shoulders. “Th-thanks,” I stammered, shivering almost uncontrollably. “Come on, Ellen,” he said quietly, putting an arm around me and standing me up. I tried to take a step away, but staggered and almost fell face-first on the ground. Suddenly I was caught, the ground swimming only a few feet from my face. Huh. How’d that happen? “You ok?” I felt an arm around my shoulders, both holding me close and supporting me. I knew I should have pushed Cohen away, but I was too cold and numb to care. He led me back to the loft, going so far as to carry me up the stairs and lay me down on the sofa. “Oh, God…Mark, what happened to her?” “I don’t know…I found her in the park, just…sitting there.” I forced my eyes open, and noticed that I still had Cohen’s jacket around my shoulders, as well as another blanket. Roger sat down on the sofa, looking at me with a lot of concern. Concern? I was concerned for someone… I choked as the tears came again. Cyn. Cyn had AIDS. Roger hugged me tightly, letting me cry on his shoulder. I eventually stopped, wiping my eyes and trembling. “What’s wrong?” asked Roger softly, still holding me close. “Cyn has AIDS,” I blurted. I couldn’t think of any way to say it gently. Roger looked…very fucking sad. “Oh my God,” he said—but it was more of a sigh with a few words. He looked at me like he was waiting for me to cry again, but I didn’t. I stared through him, clenching my teeth and refusing to cry again. “Ells!” I turned around to see Mimi, looking relieved—and cold, too. She threw herself down on the sofa beside me, grabbed me in a tight hug, and stroked my hair. She’d heard my proclamation, apparently. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into my ear. I nodded, closing my eyes tightly and still not letting myself cry. That night I slept out on the sofa—or tried to sleep, more accurately. I’d told everyone I was fine, and eventually they’d surrendered and gone to bed. I was sitting on the window-seat, staring out at the pollution-clouded moon when I heard a door creak. I ignored it, thinking it was someone up to piss. But then someone sat next to me. Even in the dim light I could see the short blonde hair—Cohen. What the fuck was his problem? “You ok?” he asked softly, looking out the window like me. I nodded once, hoping he’d go back to bed. But he didn’t. He turned and faced me, sitting cross-legged on the seat. “You aren’t,” he said knowingly. I turned and copied him, but I was glaring. “Maybe not, but it isn’t your fucking business.” Cohen sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well…can I try and help anyway? It helps to talk…trust me. I was there when Roger found out he had…” He trailed off, sighing and looking away.

I grimaced. I hadn’t thought much about his part in all this—the one who was doomed to watch his friends die. Well…maybe I could try and be civil. “Look… maybe it helped you and Roger, but I…I don’t want to talk about it.” He nodded, still looking at the floor. “Yeah…neither did Roger.” He laughed— humorlessly, and I was reminded suddenly of Cyn. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Neither did I, honestly. But eventually we talked…and we wished we’d talked sooner.” Cohen then did the last thing I expected—or wanted, really. He leaned over and hugged me, pulling me close so my head rested on his shoulder. It was an awkward move, hesitant and a little jerky. I wanted to pull away, but I didn’t—I couldn’t, somehow. Hugs were nice. And even if he was insecure with it, it was a nice hug: tight, but not too tight…very comforting. The kind of hug your best friend gives you. He then did something that I really didn’t expect—he kissed the top of my head. There wasn’t any romantic meaning behind it—it was meant only to be comforting and soothing. And, funnily enough, it was. Cohen released me, looking as though he might be blushing. “So…if you ever wanna, you know…talk…I’m here.” And then he got up and basically ran back to his room. I laughed quietly, surprising myself. Poor, awkward, insecure Cohen. But…he had good intentions. Maybe it was the day’s events, but I think I felt my heart open a little to him. Maybe we could be…civil. Not friends, but…civil. It might work. I smiled to myself, heading back to the sofa and laying down. I felt my eyelids drooping, but shot up when Cohen’s possibly-blushing face appeared in my vision. I rubbed at my eyes, shaking my head. Ok, so he’d offered comfort…but that didn’t fucking mean I was going to just stop hating him. Hate doesn’t just disappear…it leaves little traces of anger behind, that always are going to pop up. So maybe I could be civil with him, but I wasn’t gonna get all friendly. I’d let him hug me in a moment of weakness—one that wouldn’t happen again, my best friend having AIDS or in any other situation. I sighed, curling my knees to my chest. He was so fucking nice…too fucking nice. He was one of those nice guys that would get their ass kicked in a fight because they wouldn’t hit the other guy. Stupid Cohen. He was keeping me from getting to sleep. I glared at the wall for a second, before I suddenly realized something. Talk. Maybe I needed to talk…however stupid it sounded. I knew Cyn wouldn’t talk—she was saying her goodbyes, and she wasn’t gonna bring up her AIDS specifically. So I ran through my options. I ruled out Roger immediately. He’d been so forward in telling me he had AIDS…and I couldn’t bring myself to face his acceptation. He was dealing with it pretty damned easily, and I needed…someone to cry with. Mimi was my second option. But I couldn’t…I just couldn’t put that on her. I’d heard about her nearly dying, and I wasn’t about to bring any painful memories back. She’d gotten it the same way Cyn had—drugs. Same way Roger had, too. No, I wasn’t going to do that. Mimi was one of the nicest people I knew, and to bring up bad memories would have felt so fucking wrong. Oh fuck. That left me with only one option—Cohen. Could I really talk to him? As I sat there, thinking, I realized that if I’d just put aside my hatred for a little, then he’d be the perfect person to talk with. He was in the same position: his best friend,

best friend’s girlfriend…and another friend they’d mentioned were all gonna die, and he had to watch. I swallowed. ‘If you ever wanna, you know…talk…I’m here.’ He’d offered. Maybe I could take him up on his offer. But would he think we could be friends? “Fuck,” I whispered. I didn’t know what to do…usually I asked Cyn this sort of thing, but I couldn’t this time. I had to get the answer myself, and I didn’t like what I was thinking. I sat there for several more hours, I think. The sun was peeking over a few buildings before I finally managed to sleep, having finally made up my mind. There was no getting around it—I would kill myself or drive myself into the ground with lack of sleep if I didn’t. I had to talk to Cohen.