The night was cold and brisk as Steven Hyde exited the Hub. It was dark, with the occasional interruption of neon store signs and car headlights. Silence filled the streets, only being broken by a hooker's heals and mislead pleads (reminding him vaguely of his mother), tourists and the rolling of their suitcases grinding against the pavement, and the alley cats, who Hyde felt strangely akin to. They made padding noises while they walked, much like Hyde's moccasins. The various scars that he and the cats had received over the years were painstakingly obvious, but sympathy would only spur anger. They were both fed by random people who decided to take them in at some time, but they had no permanent home. They took shelter where they could and ate what they got, and lived in the moment. They had style, they had zen, they had pride, and yet misery and bleak depression lurks behind the Cheshire cat's grin. You can see it if you look close enough into their eyes. They were expert at making things about them disappear, but once they disappeared, were they gone forever? When people can only see the smile, is the rest of them still there at all?
Hyde shook his head to rid it of the dreary comparison. The dismal aura that he so rarely let slip was rolling off of him in waves, even the cats could tell. Instead of following him, always slightly behind or ahead, different ones kept coming from the darkness and rubbing up against his weary legs. As much as he loved the warmth radiating off of their small bodies, he didn't appreciate the push. He felt like his legs were going to crumble at any second, right under him. He could just picture them giving out; he would fall to his knees and collapse. His head would be facing the sidewalk, a giant crack in his skull pouring the anxious blood, excited at finally escaping from inside of him. The blood would be thrilled to leak onto the sidewalk, dancing and flowing and turning from that awful blue-purple indigo color to a joyful red. The cats would sleep on top of his lifeless corpse, sucking out any heat that was left, while Mrs. Forman wondered where he'd gone. Red would be glad to stop being "Santa Clause". Forman would be the one to find him. What would his reaction be? Astonishment, maybe? Or perhaps a twinge of envy, knowing that Hyde got out the easy way.
A morose look crossed the young man's face as he glanced at the Forman's driveway. He knew that they'd probably just gone to bed. Eric maybe reading comic books, Mrs. Forman and Red probably at it. They did it like rabbits. Hyde figured it was the secret of their perfect relationship. Good sex. But maybe he was wrong. He didn't really care anyway. He pulled his coat tighter around him and wished he had gloves as an unfriendly wind blew. He grit his teeth and moved him and his forlorn shadow into the house. It wasn't warm and bright like usual, but dark and creaky. It just showed that even things that seemed the purest form of happiness and familiarity, the closest place he had to home, could turn into something ugly. Something lonely and frightening.
The warm inside-air made him feel lazy, and he swayed a little, without the brisk air to keep him sharp. He'd lost count of how many beers he'd had. It seemed that the quantity of the stuff didn't matter. He never got beyond a light buzz. It was the same with weed. It seemed like the more he had the less effect it had on him. Eventually he realized he just had to get better quality shit. Heroin. He easily got some out of Leo and had the wildest trip ever. He was never going back. Sure, he'd still do the circle with the gang, but when he really needed it, he was going straight to heroin. Dope. The stuff was good.
But it'd been a few hours. By now the only effects he felt were a slight migraine and grogginess. Plus a tiny buzz from the beers he'd just had at the Hub. The warm air was getting to him. He felt sweaty and almost like collapsing right then and there. But he couldn't let that happen. If he went to sleep he was weak. The Formans would know he was weak. Everyone would know. And he'd have the nightmares. The same dreams over and over playing in his head. His mom telling him she wasn't coming back. Realizing his dad wasn't really his dad. Seeing his real dad and his mom get back together and leave him with only a few bumps and bruises to remember them by. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't sleep. So he walked back outside.
Stepping into the cold air he shivered, part of him, the stupid idiotic weak part, telling him to go back. He slapped it mentally. It sounded like Forman. Shaking his head solemnly he wandered off to the record shop, where Leo was undoubtably sleeping. His suspicions were confirmed as he looked at the old pothead through the window. Taking the key from his pocket he stepped again into warm air, this time a bit more welcomed.
"Hey Leo…" Hyde said, in a slurred monotone, his voice going down a few octaves. He was more stoned than he remembered.
"Hyde, man, what are you doing here?" Said Leo, waking up.
"Dope, man, dope!" Hyde said, shaking his head a little.
"It's in the cabinet, man, don't wake me up. It's not…" the corners of Hyde's mouth went up as he heard the snores coming from his friend. He wandered mindlessly over to the said cabinet and went on his way. He droned on to the lyrics of Heroin by The Velvet Underground, the liquid spreading through his veins and a smile spreading on his face as Lou Reed's lyrics sang the pain away. Hyde let himself fall backwards a bit, leaning against the wall and sliding down till he was sitting. The needle fell out of his hand and his breathing slowed. His heavy lidded eyes slowly started to lose sight, his tiny pupils tired of the giant world. He wasn't breathing at all by the time he heard the door open. He felt bony arms hug him in a tight embrace; he heard the sound of desperate sobbing. "Don't go." A desperate plea, something maybe he would've listened to if it had been his choice. But it wasn't, not anymore. He was gone.