In my mind it all made sense. In my mind, I understood what was going on. Roger was in the hospital going through withdrawal. He had been diagnosed HIV+. April was dead. In my mind it made sense, but in my heart, it hurt.

She had been sick for weeks but she wouldn't go to a doctor. She never stopped using, neither of them did. They locked themselves up in the loft, only leaving to score. I came and went as if I was stranger, spending most of my nights with Maureen, who had had enough and moved out long before. I stopped in everyday with excuses that I needed more film, or I forgot someone's phone number, but really I was just checking on them, making sure they were still alive, and making myself available for any pleas of help.

There were many nights that I tried to talk to Roger, trying to reach him when he wasn't wasted. It was seemingly impossible, if he wasn't high he was only concerned on finding a way to get high again. He repeatedly told me to mind my own business or to lighten up. One time, he even tried to convince me to join them, saying that I was too uptight and needed to relax.

Another conversation in particular I will never forget. I was home trying to find a reel of film for my project and heard them fight and April slam the door. I went over to Roger's side of the room and sat down on his bed. He was lying there wearing only his underwear; his head transfixed to the pillow and his eyes half closed. He looked like death. I tried talking to him, and he just told me to leave him alone. I told him I missed him and I wanted to hang out like we used to, but he told me he was too busy. Too busy doing what? He just said that April took up all of his time and he didn't have time for me anymore. He told me to face the facts that we weren't friends and he didn't know why I kept bothering him and April. He said that I was leading a pathetic existence and why didn't I just get out of his life. But what I remember most about those horrendous words, was the voice that spoke them. It wasn't Roger's. It was soft and slurred and every syllable seemed to take each and every ounce of energy that he had left.

No human being had ever made me feel as worthless as Roger did that night. It wasn't his words exactly, though they did their damage, but the fact that there was nothing I could do. I was helpless; my best friend no longer wanted me in his life. Instead he chose a drug, though I knew the choice wasn't his anymore. Maureen, though understanding, didn't understand. She told me to just move in with her and let him waste his life away. She was angry with him for doing this to himself, and couldn't comprehend why I still cared. It had been months that this was going on. Roger hadn't been himself for so long, I almost forgot why I cared. I vowed not to go back to the loft. Roger wasn't going to ask for my help and I couldn't take the pain anymore.

I went back two days later.

Everyday I went to the loft, I stopped with the excuses, and they didn't care anyway. Everyday I brought them food, which they never ate. I kept paying the phone bill, so that if they ever needed it, it would work. They never spoke to me, except to ask me for money. I would never give them a dime. For the past few weeks, when I went to the loft, I noticed April was sick. She had a dreadful cough, which seemed to get worse daily. I urged her to go the doctor, but she told me she was fine.

Finally I dropped by one day and Roger was by himself. I asked him where April was and he said that she was at the emergency room. They called an ambulance because she couldn't breathe. I asked why he wasn't there and he just shrugged. Unbelievable. This wasn't the person I once knew, who would drop anything for the people he loved. I asked what hospital she was at and mumbled the answer, and I quickly left to go see her. When I got there I found out she was diagnosed with pneumonia and they were still running tests. I told them that she was using heroin and they pretty much knew that. They said all they could do was make her better and send her home. Sure enough a few days later she was back and she and Roger resumed their normal positions.

The day after April came home, I went to the loft to check in and before I reached the door, I heard Roger screaming. I felt a surge of fear enter my heart. Roger hasn't shown any emotion at all, so to hear the rage that was coming from the other side of the door scared me. I opened the door slowly and saw Roger holding April's body as he rocked her back and forth. He was screaming for her to wake up. I noticed immediately the blood. This wasn't an overdose.

So here I sit here in the hospital and wait. Maureen was here, but had to leave to go to work. Collins is stuck in Cambridge with no money and no transportation. He made me promise to call every hour with updates. I try to close my eyes, but all I see is Roger holding April's dead body. The words to the note ring through my head, as if she is saying them. "We have AIDS."

Fuck you, April. I want to blame her for this; I want to blame her for introducing heroin into Roger's life, into our lives. They started dating so casually, both seeing other people. She and I never got along. Yes, she was beautiful and fun, I could see what he saw in her, but I saw another side. She was very possessive of him, never allowing me time alone with him. It didn't take me long to realize that if I wanted to see Roger, I had to see her too.

"Roger Davis can have visitors now."