A large crack of sinister thunder shook me out of my slumber. Well, I guess you could say it was more of a, 'sprawled out across the desk, drooling all over my work' kind of slumber. The storm raging outside was extremely inconvenient to my sleeping patterns these days. Lately I usually found myself dozing off while on the job.

The rain hadn't stopped falling for about four weeks now. Even when it wasn't pouring, the clouds hugged each other like they were playing Red Rover with the sun. I used to enjoy the rain. It had the most intriguing smell as it lingered on the ground when the sun finally came through the arms of the clouds. It had been a long time since I'd seen one of those days. Now, weeks slowly ran together, becoming an incoherent haze. Not that I cared much, my life wasn't all that exciting anymore. Boy, I'm sure I sound like your average negative Nancy. Tell you the truth; it wasn't too long ago that I was quite possibly the happiest girl on earth. But I won't bore you with my sad story, although I'm sure you're just itching to hear it.

Scratch that. You really shouldn't be interested at all.

I looked over at the clock. 11:45 p.m., I fell out for a good hour and a half. Not that I needed it. I slept in all day, waking up of course, for a piece of bread and my pencil. I stared at the half-shaded drawing in front of me. I was indifferent at the moment. It was definitely time for a cigarette. I reached for my half-empty box of Camel Menthol No. 9's, and swung my jacket on.

The apartment's ceiling was leaking again in the hallway. Of course, everyone is always too busy with their own exciting lives to notice the gigantic swimming pool forming on the twelfth floor. I tried to squish by without getting wet, but a few scattered rain drops managed to plop down on my head. I muttered under my breath and hit the button for the elevator. I hated waiting for this rickety old thing. Every time you stood there for it you could hear it struggle to make its way to the top.

Ding!

Once the doors opened, I was not surprised to have every single pair of eyes stair at me. That's the lovely thing about elevators, always awkward, even if you know the people in it. When you're inside, everyone acts like they are preoccupied on their phone (which, usually you don't get service in elevators), or they just stare up at the numbers, watching as we progress downward. I step in once everyone is out and sigh, thankfully, as the doors close. I get claustrophobic around too many people. Even when I'm alone, I have to hold my breath and close my eyes. I did this as I felt that familiar sinking feeling in my stomach. It's almost like butterflies trapped inside my chest. Like that feeling you get when you take a big chance on something, or when you get your first kiss, or even fall in love. For most, it's a pleasurable thing. For most, it's a feeling of satisfaction.

Once I finally got outside, I was relieved to feel the cold, crisp air hit my lungs. I pulled out my cheap green lighter and lit myself a cigarette. Once I inhaled the nicotine, a burning sensation washed over me. What a nasty habit, I should have quit a long time ago, although once mom found out I picked up smoking, I really couldn't stop. She was a little upset at first, more for poor old dad who couldn't accept the fact that his baby girl was willingly damaging her lungs. Then, one day, mom ran out of her Salem menthols and came into my room asking me for some of mine. After that, we made endless amounts of trips to the gas station to buy our cigarettes together, and then we would spend the whole day talking outside of our cozy little home. We smoked secretly, of course, far away from dad.

I haven't talked to mom in a while.

Once I took the last drag, I threw the tiny stub to the bottom of the steps. Satisfied with the distance I had reached, I smiled to myself and spun on my heel to head back for the door. Two seconds too late, I heard a familiar voice call out my name. It was barely audible but I caught it. I thought about ignoring it and continuing on inside, but I took my chances anyway and turned back.

Shouldn't have done that.

"Hey, I thought that was you." I heard him say. Actually, I really hadn't heard it because the rate of my heartbeat picked up within seconds of seeing his face. I thought it was pounding out of my chest to be completely honest. My voice threatened to make a noise I was too embarrassed to let it make, so I bit my tongue until I could taste a warm saltiness. My face instantly fell hot, and I couldn't tell if it was because I wanted to cry, or leap down the steps like a mad woman and push this man into open traffic.

I ruled the second one out, mainly because if I did jump down the stairs in a fit of rage, I'd hit an ice patch and kill myself in the process. No good.

"So…How have you been?" He continued the conversation. It was more of a one-sided convo, really, considering I was still too dumbstruck to breathe. I was screaming in my head, mentally killing myself over and over again. I guess visualizing my own series of brutal deaths was much easier than seeing the smallest ounce of pain written across his angelic face. Oh, all the different little things that I should have said to him. Every little word I should have used to verbally rip him apart filtered through my thoughts and rested on the tip of my swollen tongue.

But these words wouldn't come.

Slowly, very cautiously, I turned back around and reached for the handle of the door. Looking back one last time, I regrettably pushed myself inside and shut the door. Okay, it was more of a slam. Without hesitation or warning, my legs gave out like they were a pair of Twizzlers. I dropped to the floor in the lobby, probably looking like a lunatic, but I didn't care. I was still caught in the moment, or should I say more worried that the moment had passed me by. Right then and there, I should have let him have it, told him everything…How he hurt me, what he put me through, how many times I'd cried for him, everything he had turned me into.

But I didn't.

I never will, because that's not who I am.

I'm Dani Marie; too fragile for confrontation, and too spilled apart to put myself back together again.