DISCLAIMER: y’all should be thankin’ your lucky stars that they aren’t mine, ‘cause they’ll never be happy with me. I just dabble.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: I have already created a morbid Rent universe. This does not take place in that universe. It is its own story. Respect it as such....This is Maureen’s POV.
RATED: PG13 or maybe R for some language. Nah, just PG13.

Hating Him
by kaydee falls

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It’s Christmas. Mimi’s back, Roger’s glowing, Collins is smiling, Mark is filming, Joanne and I are (temporarily) patched, and Angel’s dead. What a gee diddly happy go lucky group we are tonight. All six of us. Everyone else, they remember seven. They forgot the eighth.

Benny. They all know how much I hate Benny, right? I make it obvious enough, don’t I? God knows I try. I mean, I do hate Benny. That fuck.

That fuck.

Where is he tonight? Muffy Westport’s estate. Fuck him. What the hell is he doing there, living in the lap of luxury, with his cell phones and velvet cushions and expensive shoes. And his dear, devoted Muffy. What bullshit, they say. They hate him too, you know. They think he’s fake, he’s lost his heart, he’s all cold inside. He married Alison for her money, they say. He screws them over with the rent.

And I hate him the most passionately of all. Not because he tried to call off my damn protest. I don’t give a shit what he tried to do with the performance. I hated him before that. I hated him when we were still living together.

Me, Benny, Mark, Roger, Collins. Those were the days, they reminisce. And I was the diva, the chick, the one they all wanted to fuck. That was the reason I decided to room with them in the first place. To be singled out, special. I could have wrapped them all around my little finger, if I wanted. Even Collins. If I tried, I could’ve made him straight as a board. But I didn’t try. What interest did I have in Collins? And when Roger found that April chick, I didn’t care. I didn’t want him.

I wanted Benny.

People call me a pervert, behind my back. Why the hell shouldn’t they? I act it out. Another performance. I always was an actress. And, frankly, I enjoy myself. Flirting. Take a look at me, you’ll know why I always get my way. I was made like this, I was given this body--might as well use it. And I wanted to use it on Benny.

So I began the careful process of seducing him. Appeal to his sensibilities, flash mischievous smiles his way, coyly play with his jacket. Become his best buddy, know him inside out. And then he’s mine.

I knew Benny better than anyone else. I knew the inner workings of his mind and of his heart. Oh, he has a heart. Believe me, I know. Every fucking stupid thing he does, he’s doing because he thinks he’s helping his pals. Half the time he’s wrong, of course, poor misguided soul. He just can’t comprehend why they all turned bitter after he married Alison.

That idiot. Because I arranged it. I turned them all against him, twisted the facts out of proportion, hissed misleadingly into their ears. And like sheep, they followed, believed, obeyed. That’s right, Benny dear, I single-handedly thrust you out of the lives of your best friends.

Why? Because he loved her. Alison. My fucking best friend from high school. Betcha didn’t know that, did you, boys? And I loved him. I couldn’t let him do that to me. I remember the day he met her, coming home, rushing to me, sparkling with good news and joy. And told me that he was in love. With Alison fucking Westport. That bitch stole Benny from me.

And the part that hurt the worst, he never wanted me to begin with. I’m still dumbfounded. All my seductions, wiles, they failed to impress him at all. I wanted him, I ached for him, I starved myself to be thin enough for him, closed off all other guys so that he would know that I was his, his alone, and that bastard never even noticed.

I tried to win him back to me. For weeks, I pandered to him, wore all my most revealing outfits, tried to cuddle with him, kiss him, anything. All for naught. As a last ditch, bitter attempt, I began dating my faithful puppy dog Marky, hoping against hope that Benny would see that and become wildly jealous and realize that it was me he loved, me, not Muffy. And what came of it? That fuck was happy for Mark and me. Happy! For Mark and me! He was so excited that now I had “found true love” just like he had with Alison. That’s when I started hating him. I hated him, so strongly, there was no room for anything else in me. I had given myself away to this pathetic camera geek while my Benny was off screwing my former best friend.

And then he left, to marry her. Not for her money. For love. That’s when I moved out, too, found my own apartment. I didn’t dump Mark immediately, just cheated on him. Frequently. I made excuses to myself, told myself that I was just keeping him until I found another Benny, and then I’d dump him, honestly, out in the open.

All I found were more cold, egotistical men. After a while, I gave up. Men, I realized, were scum. So I turned to women instead. And found Joanne.

Do I love Joanne? Yes, I must. I have to. I keep going back to her, keep needing her. That’s love, isn’t it?

But in the darkest hour of the night, just before dawn, that’s when I cry out in my sleep for Benny. Joanne sleeps like a log; she never notices. What would I do if she did notice, one dark morning? I don’t know. I need her. But I want Benny.

They call him a fake. He’s not. He married not for money, but for love. Everything he did with his money was for his old buddies, still living in the loft he now owns. His fling with Mimi? Purely sexual; he didn’t care for her much otherwise. He screwed around with her, twice, because Alison was pregnant both times, and so my poor Benny was sex starved. The first time was a miscarriage; he stopped seeing Mimi. The second time, Muffy went to full term. She pulled Benny “out of the East Village location,” all right. The brat was born. He wasn’t going to stray from that rich bitch’s side once there was Benjamin Coffin the Fourth to look after in Westport. But I’ll bet the guys never knew that. I knew. I always know. I keep close tabs on my Benny, my dear, sweet, lovable, asshole Benny. That prick.

He’s a good guy at heart.

I hate him because I love him. It’s as simple as that. Merry Christmas to me.
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done now....this is what happens when an idea sounds good in my head and comes out a bit strangely on the computer. please send feedback (flames glared at until they go away) to HPTFalien@aol.com