Rateing:T for language, drug referances, and sex referances
Spoilers: They're hidden, but they are there... But why are you reading this if you haven't seen rent
Disclaimer: i don't own rent, I rent!
Suggested listening: Out Tonight, as it inspires this.
Summary: Moments of Mimi's life.
Time: Mostly pre-rent, but the last section is post.
Notes: Enjoy, feel free to drop a review, check out my other fics, and expect the last chapter of Child Of ThePast, to be up today.
In the evening I've got to rome
"Get outta here you little whore!" I hear him yell. I didn't need to be told twice. I'm gone, running toward the subway. How can he kick me out? He's NOT my father. Just the man Mama married, and I hated with a passion. That house was Papa's! How can that monster say it was his! How can Mama love him? I know she doesn't. He just had money. And Mama…. Mama was only sixteen years older than me, her fifteen year old Mimi-Chica.
Can't sleep in the city of neon and chrome
The Cat Scratch Club. The only place a Hispanic fifteen year old high school drop out dancer can get work. Where you strip off already skimpy clothes, for money. Money for rent, money for food. Money for drugs. Drugs. Heroin. Addiction. Pain. Forgetting the pain. Sickness. Doing things you're not proud offor money. Money. The root of all of the world's problems.
Feels too damn much like home
Why I left. Him. The monster. The drunk. The abuse. I can remember going to school covered in bruises. Everyone thought my poor boyfriend was abusing me. In truth, that boy was the one that helped me retain my sanity. He was my sanctuary, my safety. I remember telling the school I was clumsy, so I wouldn't have to leave my home, because I knew he'd just move on to my little sister Elisabeth.
When the Spanish babies cry
My mother. She was drunk most of the time, but when she wasn't she was a compassionate woman and a good mother. All of my little half-brothers and sisters were much younger than me. When Mama had me in high school, and married Papa, they were living in poverty, trying to support me. Then Papa died when I was six years old. Mama married him two years later, and wanted to start over. I was the only scar of her teenage mistake. She gave him three little girls, and two sons. I was a second mother to my little hermanos y hermanas. I know I hurt them when I left. Cinderella was always my favorite movie, even after I grew out of Disney. She was just like me, the abused step-daughter. And I hoped I would meet my Prince Charming.
So let's find a bar
I want to start over. Forget who I am, or was anyway. I knew I was making a mistake. I knew drunken one night stands were bad and dangerous. I'm seventeen and think I can't get hurt. Boy, how I'm wrong. I don't know that tonight will kill me. I'm just shooting up with a good looking guy, and repaying him for the drugs.
So dark we forget who we are
Am I still me? I found out I'm HIV+. Am I still the teenage dancer hiding painful secrets, trying to survive? Or am I just another drug addicted whore about to die of AIDS? I see people's pity. I just turned eighteen, and know exactly how I'm going to die. Am I still Mimi Marquez, Papa's little Mimicita?
Where all the scars from the nevers and maybes die!
All of the pain is gone now. Well, maybe not all. Most girls don't have their soul-mate at twenty-one, but I do. Roger Davis. We don't have forever. We don't know if we even have tomorrow. But we have each other, and that's all we need. He's my idiot, as I call him fondly. We belong together. He erases my pain, my scars, without my addiction. He helps me not need it. I just need him.