Seven Days

Friday

It was nighttime. He was parked in an alley, and he was crying.

He had done this more times in the past three weeks than most people should; and especially if you appeared the stereotypical "bad boy". No one knew he did this, luckily - no one knew he parked in that alley with the neon sign from the nightclub across the street flashing purple through his windshield as he sobbed uncontrollably, playing his favorite music on the radio. Currently the song was Yesterday, which explained why he was crying harder now than he had in a while. If that was possible.

He couldn't take it anymore. He punched the dashboard a few times, which just made his hands hurt, and finally he opened the door and stumbled out into the alley.

It was still foggy, like it had been for a while now. He liked foggy weather, though, especially at night. However, it did nothing to soothe his spirits as he began to walk, down the city backstreet, the lights reflecting against the fog in clouds of orange from the streetlights and neon from the signs.

Eventually, his breathing began to slow. He felt the tears come to a stop, and wiped them away, knowing they wouldn't dry in the wet weather. Nothing dried here.

A few stray cats hopped out from behind a Dumpster and darted into the night, like living shadows. He watched them as they vanished into darkness, and continued his slow pace.

"Hey, honey," a slurred voice called. He turned his head to see a woman, obviously drunk, leaning on a streetlight a few feet down from the nightclub. "You looking for a little sugar tonight?" She grinned at him and almost fell in the middle of the street, then picked herself up, giggling, and wobbled back to the club.

He didn't stop walking. He knew that the backstreets were never a desirable place to be, especially not at night. He could get so easily mugged or murdered out here, in fact it was probable, but he didn't care.

He hadn't cared for a long time.

He heard faint music. Looking around, he spotted an apartment, on the second or third floor of one of the buildings. The curtains were open, and he could see the walls had been painted pink, and another blue. That was for sure where the music was coming from, and someone danced by in the window. He snorted. Someone was having fun tonight.

He missed having fun.

He was distracted by noise from farther up the street. Looking ahead, he saw some men coming down. Big men, intoxicated by something, ones that probably wouldn't be too friendly if they met him, a loner at night.

Quickly he turned and started to walk back to his car. On the verge of jogging, he made it back quick and sat once again in the driver's seat, leaning his forehead on the steering wheel.

He started the ignition. Blackbird was playing now. Once, he had thought of it as just a good song. Now, it made him think.

It was funny how, five minutes ago, he hadn't cared about being mugged until danger was staring him in the face. How he had taken care of himself and kept himself safe, despite thinking he didn't want to live.

He wondered if maybe you didn't realize how much you cared until it was there with you.

Tears began to slip out of his eyes again, against his will. Through blurry vision, he saw the little potted succulent on the dashboard, the one he had never thrown away, not after all this time. The one that brought back the memories.

He reached up and touched it as a few drops of salty water tapped onto his jeans.

"I love you," he whispered.