# What If Chapter 7

Chapter 7
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Fang stepped out of the back door of the pizza place, into the dingy alleyway. Standing close to the door, she lit a cigarette with practiced ease, holding her hand out to protect the little flame from the rain. It had started raining mid-way through her set, ensuring what little crowd had remained would be the only crowd she got. No one liked going anywhere in the rain. Now, a few hours later, she was getting ready to leave, having distributed the frankly pathetic tip amount to the other members of the band. These gigs were paying even less nowadays as well. She started to pull out a wad of bills from the pocket of her torn-up black jeans, hand half-way out before stuffing them back again. She knew how little was in there, how it wouldn’t be enough to make rent. She would have to start finding more venues to play at, more shitty bars and dead-end restaurants desperate enough to book the likes of her. Pulling a deep drag, Fang let the smoke flow slowly out of her mouth, staring up into the sky.
“Fuck,” she said quietly, the rain drumming a soft tempo on the dumpster next to her. Checking her phone, it was a little after midnight, still far too early to return to her run-down studio apartment. Returning to early on any given night allowed her too much time to dwell on her life, on just how fucked she was. Better to stay out late, pushing herself to the edge of consciousness, maybe find a few parties where she could bum some booze off some wasted teenagers. That way, she only had to get through the door before collapsing onto the futon that served as her bed, the sweet darkness of sleep welcoming her.
Soon, that darkness of sleep wasn’t going to be enough.
“Fuck,” repeated Fang, her cigarette already reduced to the small nub of the filter. “How did it get to this…”
From the back door to Clawfino’s, she could see the entrance of the alley, watched as the occasional car rolled on through the night. A fluorescent lamp doused the area near the door in bright light, spoiling Fang’s night vision somewhat. That was probably why she didn’t see him until he stepped into that white halo, the rain masking his footsteps, some skinny fuck probably thinking she was an easy mark. With a snarl fang reached for her guitar case, the black plastic having served as an effective weapon in the past.
***
Anon could see her standing there, huddled close to the building and out of the rain, the white glow of the lamp shining down on her. Lucy looked tired, unbelievably tired, like she hadn’t slept in days, like there was something in her sleep that made her afraid. Raindrops fell down her face as she pulled another drag from her cigarette, following the curves and lines of her face, small drops from heaven for the girl who had long ago shed her last tear. Standing there, awash in the light and rain, Lucy looked beautiful and sad, like the perfect flower plucked carelessly from the earth and discarded into the street. Drawing a deep breathe, Anon walked towards her, the rain rolling down his face, the flower carefully shielded in his jacket. As Anon stepped into that pool of light, Lucy finally took notice of him, a wordless snarl forming on her lips as she reached for her case.
“Lu…Fang, wait, it’s me! Anon! I just want to talk, okay?” The case didn’t lower an inch, Lucy still crouched by the door, ready to bash his head in if need be. Her dull eyes flashed malice as she squinted towards him.
“You again? I told you to fuck off, Anon! I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to hear your bullshit!”
Undeterred, Anon took a half-step forward, watching as the heavy black plastic case was raised another inch, Lucy’s arms ready to strike. “Maybe you don’t want to talk to me, but I want to say something to you. If you don’t like what I have to say, I’ll, I’ll leave you alone. Forever.” Anon could hear the pleading in his voice, knew he was desperate for Lucy to stay. If he could just talk to her…. “Please?”
Seconds passed, the steady drumbeat of the rain the only noise in the dark alley. Slowly, she put down the guitar case, her eyes never leaving Anon. She remained tensed, like a cornered animal, unsure if it needed to strike out or flee. “Fine. Say what it is you came to say, then get the fuck outta’ here and leave me alone.”
Taking a deep breath, Anon started into the speech he had been going over in his head for the past few hours. “Fang, I’m sorry for how-“
“You’re SORRY? Fuck Anon, you’re about four fucking years too late for a SORRY! Look, if that’s what you came here to say, I don’t need to listen to this shit, I’m leaving.“ She turned to leave, grabbing her case with one hand as she started down the alley.
“I’m sorry for how your life has turned out. Playing at these shitty gigs, in the bad part of town. You deserve better than this in life, Fang, better than anything I could give you.” Anon watched as Lucy paused, her back to him, just on the edge of the light. “What I said those years ago doesn’t matter right now. I was, uh, a different person when I said those things, but that doesn’t change the fact that you should have more than this.” Anon paused for a moment, working more moisture into his mouth.
***
“You’re right, I should have more.” Fang turned, fighting to keep the sadness out of her voice, a sadness she had buried deep inside of herself. “I SHOULD have friends, a family, a real band. I SHOULD have all the things I dreamed about in high-school, back when I was happy. But what do I have now?” She gestured with her guitar case. “I have a fucked up life, with no friends, no family. I play bass in a band I hate, in clubs and bars that barely even know I exist except from the name on the set list. I have no past, no future, no life. I should be making something of myself, but instead I’m standing in the rain listening to YOU!” A sudden burst of anger, bright and hot, bubbled up through her. Clenching her free hand in a fist, she waved it at him, wishing she could crush that stupid bald head of his. “A fucker, a nobody, a LESS than nobody, who had the gall to come to me and tell me how sad MY life is! FUCK you, Anon, you little piece of-“
He didn’t let her finish, cutting her off mid-sentence. “You’re wrong, Fang! I am somebody. I’m somebody who can’t stop thinking about you, all these years later.” Fang could see the color rising in his cheeks as he took a step closer to her, his hands till clenched underneath his jacket. “I’m somebody who remembers the joy you used to have in playing music. I’m somebody who remembers the song we played on the roof of the high-school. I’m somebody who remembers what you said to me, who can’t stop remembering what you said. Damnit Fang, I’m somebody who loved you!” Anon’s voice caught suddenly, and as he stood there Fang thought she could see tears beginning to fall. From inside his jacket, Anon withdrew a single red flower, holding it limply at his side. Something about that flower stirred Fang’s memory, from a past that she had thought buried.
Fang could see Anon’s shoulders quake, hear his voice strain to fight back the sobs. “Fang, please…Please, let me love you again, let me share in your horrible life. Because as bad as your life may be now, my life without you is worse.” Fang said nothing: She could only stare at him, her mouth slightly open, fighting to find that anger once more, to tell him to go fuck off, that she didn’t need anyone anymore. That anger had sustained her when all of her other defenses had failed, had been the coal that had never stopped burning. But tonight, as Fang reached for that anger, she realized that it had stopped burning long ago, that she had been stoking it herself, desperate to find an emotion, any emotion, left inside of her. In this dark alley, behind a shitty venue, in this pissing rain, she realized that just maybe, she could find another emotion.
***
Lucy stared at Anon wordlessly, her tired eyes searching his face. Luckily the sobbing had died down, withering away in that cold stare. He had poured everything of himself into those words, told Lucy the absolute truth about himself, how he felt about her, and all she could do was stare at him. Anon refused to say something, lest he break the fragile silence, lest he prevent Lucy from saying the words he desperately wanted to hear. Seconds rolled on, the rain beating its staccato drumbeat on the world.
Finally, hesitantly, Lucy stepped near him, her had shaking as she reached out for the camelia. Brushing his fingertips briefly, Lucy slipped the flower from his limp hands, twirling it around her fingers just as he did. Unable to look anywhere else, Anon watched as Lucy dropped the flower, her guitar case, watched as she wrapped her arms around his back, burying her face in his chest. Holding her gently to him, Anon watched as her lithe form began to shake, her muffled sobs barely audible against the rain. Silently the two of them stood there, letting the rain fall down, letting it wash away their past, their uncertain future reaching out in front of them.
***
Lucy’s studio apartment was only a few blocks from the alley where the two of them had reunited. Except to give directions, Lucy had said nothing, had only held onto his hand as she lead him through the dark, rain-slicked streets. Anon could feel her leaning into him, supporting her as best he could. All he wanted to do was collapse into her arms, but right now he could sense that she needed him a little more than he needed her. The last few hours had been a blur to Anon, and he didn’t dare remember waking up without Lucy, lest she fade away like mist once more. Arriving at the run-down building Lucy called home, she had murmured something about her apartment number before collapsing into Anon, falling at once into a deep sleep. Smiling, Anon carried her in his arms, attempting to fish the keys from her pocket without disturbing her or dropping her guitar case, pushing the door open with his back when he finally managed to open it.
Lucy’s studio was a disaster. Half-eaten takeout containers mingled with clean and dirty clothes on the floor, and the sink in the small kitchen was dripping steadily. The only furniture Anon could see was a ragged old futon couch, the red fabric of the upholstery stained and littered with cigarette burns. Leaning the case against the wall, Anon carefully laid Lucy on the couch, covering her with his wet jacket as she snuggled down. Not wishing to disturb her, Anon sat on the floor next to her, watching her chest rise and fall in rhythm with the sink. Drip. Breathe in. Drip. Breathe out.
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“She really was the most beautiful thing,” Anon mumbled as he eased himself into a blissful sleep, finally reunited with his Lucy.