Well, here's my first Rent story. It's Mark/Roger eventually. R&R please. Oh and it's in Marks POV.

Warning: cutting, depression, and slash.

Disclaimer: 4 words: Thank You Jonathan Larsen.

Chapter 1: My sharp and shiny object is immortal.

I am woken up by the sound of Roger quietly strumming on his guitar. He's been miserable ever since Mimi left to clean herself up. She calls once a week and by the sound of it she's been doing good. I'm happy for her and even though he won't admit it, Roger is too. I get up out of m bed, if you could call it that. It's really just two mattresses on the floor. I ponder this as I change into a blue sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. I ignore the scars and bright red lines that cover my arms and legs.

Roger stops playing as I walk out into the living area. "Hey." He says quietly. I wave a reply and head over t the refrigerator to get some juice. I got my paycheck yesterday and I paid rent, bought Roger's AZT, and got some groceries. As much as I despise Buzzline I cannot deny that the pay is good. I am brought out of my musings by a warm hand on my shoulder. I jump, startled, and almost drop the juice.

"Whoa there Mark." Roger said taking his hand off my shoulder.

"Sorry, you scared me." I put the juice down on the table. He gives me a concerned look.

"Mark, I'm worried about you," he begins. "Ever since Angel died you've gotten worse. To everyone else you appear calm and collected, but you forget that I have known you longer than most. I can see you crumbling under the pressure. I want to help you Mark, please let me help."

I was stunned. What the fuck? Roger Davis was worried about me? Does he know? Oh my god, he can't know. All I have to do is reassure him that I'm okay and he'll leave it alone. Just like all the other times. "I'm fine Rog, thanks though." That should do it.

"No you're not! Why can't you just admit that you can't do it all alone?" All right that's it.

"The hell I can't! I don't need help! What the fuck do you know anyway?" I yell angrily at him. Forgetting the juice, I storm into my room and slam the door.

A few minutes pass and I hear the faint melody of Muesetta's Waltz. I wipe away at the tears threatening to fall. God I can't do anything right. I'm a failure. Why the hell if Roger friends with the likes of me? I can't go a day without hurting him. I lie back down and try to get my thoughts to stop, but that doesn't work. I turn my head and my eye catches something shiny on my nightstand thing. I smile a little.

It's like a beacon calling to me. 'Use me Mark. I'll be your friend. I can't die. I'll never leave you.' That's what it's saying to me. It's true too, that little object has always been there for me. Before I know it, I'm reaching over and picking up the sharp toy. Sitting up in bed, I pull my pant leg up and stare at the scars and cuts that remind me of how good it feels. It's not like anyone is going to stop me. Hell, I've been doing this since I was 15, they can't stop me. Without thinking twice, I bring the razor down to a clear spot just above my ankle and I drag it across my flesh. The sting feels so good it's ecstasy. It feels like I haven't done this in forever, but in all reality it was just last night. This is better than any drug I've ever done, that's for sure. My blood bubbles up and begins to run down my pale skin. I pick up an already bloody towel and I press it against the shallow cut to help stop the bleeding.

The phone rings. We screen our calls, so Roger doesn't answer it. "Speak!" I cringe at that annoying answering machine message. We were drunk when we came up with that. "Roger, Mark, its Collins man, pick up." I guess Roger picked up the phone because it gets quiet real fast. I can only hear Roger's muffled voice and then the click of the phone being hung up.

A knock sounds at my door. "Mark, that was Collins. He wants us to meet him at the Life Café. You coming?" I lean towards the not going part, but after a few seconds I give in. It'll be good to see Thomas again.

"Ok, just let me get ready." I sigh and pull down my pant leg. When I stand up it stings like a bitch. Well, tonight shall be fun.

The End! (Of the first chapter!)