You're in a room, just a regular room, four walls, a door, and a window. Well, there's the closet but God only knows what's in there, right? It's pretty light, even though it's overcast outside and you've tried closing the curtain. There's a hole in it. Did you burn that with your cigarette, too? Or did you make that when you'd finished your whiskey? Does it matter? There's a knock at the door, but you're so used to it, the person on the other side just walks right in. It's a knowing smile but it hurts.

I don't even know where to begin, really. It had been just a regular day, regular selling day in Manhattan. Jack was missing but nobody really bothered to look for him. We all figured he was with Sarah. So, I sold. Fifty papers, nothing too great. I turned down Tibby's for lunch and decided to walk around the city. I needed to clear my head. Get out and see a few things, even if I only could use one eye.

Sigh. That's when I saw it.

I had met Marie just after the strike. So, around August. It started out so innocent, it was so new to me. It was new to her too—the whole city was. She'd moved alone from her home in England, and one afternoon she turns to me, she turns and says, "I've lived here a month and it seems to me we're the only people in Manhattan."

To be honest, I wasn't sure exactly what she was talking about. I just smiled and she kissed me—though, that hadn't really been new to me. But everything got on the fast track after that. We were inseparable for months. Everybody knew that.

Things got serious after that. Marie wasn't a fan of the "boys' nights out" and I went to see her, reeking of hard liquor. It was harmless fun but I had agreed to quit. She wasn't used to our lifestyle, our urban, street ways of living. The trouble was, I told her I'd quit but, while she was asleep, I'd wake up just to sit on the fire escape and pour down a bottle of whiskey.

In a way I guess I'd betrayed her. But in a much more selfish way. The only person I thought I'd been hurting while drinking was myself. Is that selfish to say in the first place? Shit, I don't know. She didn't find out, as far as I know.

So in return for secretly ruining what we had had, I bought her things. I took her to lunch, took her to the theater, bought her roses, and told her I loved her. I didn't really eat much. "You're looking too thin, don't you think?" she had asked me one time. She had a point—I ate once or twice a day at the most.

I sold more papers. I didn't want the extra work, but I sold more papers. That way I had enough to eat and treat her to things. I didn't worry about my well-being, I wanted to see Marie smile. It was more comforting to see her smile and keep my little habit to myself.

As time wore on, I saw her smile fade a little, though. I didn't think anything of it. I just kept drinking and giving her whatever she wanted that I could provide. But still, she told me, "This city is ours, that's how I see it. Yours and mine."

That day, during that walk…it makes me sick to think about it. I had absentmindedly wandered into her neighborhood. I figured I would pay her a visit. When I knocked on the door, she wasn't home. I continued walking around for a while, for quite a while, in fact. I ended up back in her neighborhood and looked up at the fourth floor of her apartment building. The white linen curtain swayed slightly in the breeze. I knew for a fact it was her window but I had to blink several times to make sure I was seeing clearly: a boy was crawling out of her window. He bent down again and from the bedroom I saw Marie wrap a red bandana around the boy's neck. I saw her smile.

For my own sanity I told myself I'd deserved it. I kept drinking and she kept up an affair with Jack Kelly. I know this, because everyday for two months I traveled to her apartment, waited outside in the crowded market, just to watch Jack crawl out of the window like a coward. He was still with Sarah at the time. Nobody knew except me, Jack, and Marie, but when I saw Sarah she looked tired and weak. She knew.

I justified Marie's affair, I just can't get over it. I didn't stop drinking. She doesn't know. I've rented a room for the week. I decided I need some space but I'm still in New York. Jack's in New York and he's marked Manhattan as his territory. Marie said to me once, "It seems we're the only people in Manhattan." Bullshit. This city was neither of ours.

"Are you ready?"

I look up and I know she knows. Her face gives it away and we're both hurt. Why can't we talk about it?

"Give me a second, Sarah," I answer. "I should clean up."

So, you're in the room. It's a mess. The bed has a sheet and a skimpy blanket you'd be lucky to warm up to if the sunrise hits you just right. Bottles are littered and stashed in the corners, and cigarette butts form untraceable patterns on the floor. I shake my head, grab my coat, and leave with Sarah.

So, you're in this dead, God forsaken room. How do you get out? Can you?

A/N: Don't ask about my odd fascination of Jack stepping out on Sarah with the newsies' girls. I don't know what it is. I like Jack and I'm in love with Christian Bale—go figure! Anywho, reviews are welcome!