Warnings: Violence (self-mutilation), drug use, mild language.
Disclaimer: I still don't own RENT. It all belongs to the dear, dear Jonathan Larson.
Note: I'm thinking of making this a multi-chapter piece with each chapter devoted to confessions from a different character. Please review and tell me if you think I should.
I have a confession: my name isn't really Mimi Marquez. It's Maria Consuela Schunard. I started going by Marquez because it's my mother's maiden name. I changed it after my sister and I ran away. Angel didn't have to because our father wouldn't look for her.
I have a confession: Benny's the one who first got me to try heroin. He stole some from his roommate. He saw how happy his friend was when he was high and figured I might like it since I was so depressed all the time.
I have a confession: Roger didn't recognize me from the club. He thinks that's where because he used to go. He doesn't recognize the snobby rich girl who made fun of him in third grade. I hope he doesn't even remember that girl.
I have a confession: I've always wanted to be a stripper. Not because I thought it was glamorous or anything. Because I wanted to piss off my parents. I wanted them to disown me like they disowned Angel. Because maybe if I did something that bad, they'd realize she didn't do anything wrong.
I have a confession: the track marks lining my arms aren't all track marks. Some are scars. Scars from where I used to cut myself when the pain got too bad. Not even Angel knows about those scars.
I have a confession: if it wasn't for Mark, I'd already be dead. I don't hold on for Roger. Roger can survive without me. He just doesn't know it. I hang on for Mark. Because I know what he's been through and I don't want to do that to him again.
I have a confession: when I found out Benny was married, I was relieved. I didn't love him—hell, I didn't even like the guy that much. Finding out he was married gave me an easy out. It's what I do—look for the easy out.
I have a confession: I have a kid somewhere. I'm nineteen, kid's got to be around three, almost four. Baby girl. I gave her up for adoption back home in New Mexico. Her father never knew about her.
I have a confession: I've known Joanne for years. She prosecuted me for drug use a few years ago. She doesn't recognize me, either.
I have a confession: I'm leaving again. I can't stand being here anymore. I can't just kill myself—everyone's already been through that, thanks to April. I'm leaving though. I'll leave Roger a note, maybe. Go somewhere…I don't know. Somewhere warm. It's too fucking cold in this city. It doesn't matter where I end up. As long as it's somewhere they won't find me.
I have a confession: I knew April. I shared needles with her. I gave her and Roger AIDS.