I don't own Jersey Boys

I don't own Jersey Boys. I love it, but don't own it. I also do not own the obvious Rent reference.

Final Moments

I ring the doorbell, "Hey, Ryan, it's Francine. Let me in."

He opens the door, and I walk into his apartment. Ryan is my dealer. There are three others already there, sitting in a circle of chairs: Sheba, Mimi, and Alex. I turn to Ryan, "You got it?"

"You got the money?"

"I always do." I pull out the fifty dollars I took from mom's purse. He pulls out a small bag of white powder. I reach for it, but he pulls it away.

"Are you sure your daddy won't mind?" His voice is so mocking and condescending. God is it annoying.

"Shut up." I snap. "Just cause I'm talking with my daddy now, doesn't mean you treat me like a baby."

"Oh yeah." He's being sarcastic. "A real great father."

I hate it when he talks bad about my daddy. I've actually really hated coming to him for a few months now. But, every time I go for more than a couple of days without shooting up, I get so sick.

"He's never home. You never see him. What kind of dad is that?" He's not sympathetic anymore. He's always said things like that, but he used to say them like he was sorry for me, like he wanted to help me when I was alone. Now, he's just being an asshole.

"More that your fucking drunkard of a dad."

He tries to slap me, but I duck."

"Don't hit her." Mimi says.

"Shut up, Mimi." He glares at me. "Whatever. Just give me the money."

I hand him the fifty dollars, and he gives me the bag. I join the circle. In a few minutes we're all shooting up. The injection stings a little, but I'm used to it now.

What's happening?

"Francine, you okay?" Alex is looking at me.

I'm starting to shake. I'm not feeling good. Sort of nauseous. I've been sick before, but this is different. Whatever. I just shoot a little more in.

Oh God. That didn't help. I'm getting dizzy. What the hell is happening? Oh God.

There's a thud as I fall to the floor.

"Francine, here." Mimi is trying to get me to drink some beer. It goes in my mouth, but I can't swallow it. I start coughing. Fuck it hurts. I can't breathe. I heave and hack, but it doesn't help.

I hear them talk and scream around me. "Fuck." "Is she okay." "Call a doctor." "Francine."

They fade. I see my daddy. He's singing,

Daddy, please help me. He looks, but he can't help. Daddy, make it stop. Please, daddy. I can't get up. Help me. I'm sorry. I know I said I wouldn't shoot up again, but please help me. I don't like this.

Daddy, I can't breathe…daddy, help…daddy, I love you…daddy…daddy……dad………