Black Raven here. Yes this is a story. Yes I am depressed for reasons I won't say right now. And Yes, the OC character in here is based off of me.
I do not own RENT
The air was cold, cold like my heart. Hot tears streamed down my face, realization hitting me like a ton of bricks.
I could never be who I wanted to be, never be who I would dream of ever being.
I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears rolling down my face, but only succeed in making them roll even faster.
I walk out of my loving home, the cold late April air hitting me even harder. I'll run away.
I run endlessly. I rest. I run. I rest. I run aimlessly in the dark, now officially lost. Not that I would want to be found anyways.
I leave the things I need behind. The medication I need to consume to live sitting on my dresser, Hydroxyurea, ha, let's see how long I can live without it, with me being chronically anemic. Topimax, for my chronic migraines. Let's see how long I can last not being clearly focused and numbed from pain.
But I did bring one medication for if this became too much. It wasn't life saving, nor was it purpose supposed to be. Oxycotin. To numb me away as I took the fifteen pills I took with me at once to rid me of this world.
The simple jacket I have on, protected me from some of the chill, but not quite all of it.
I wandered aimlessly through the streets of NY, particularly through a part I've never been before.
Shady characters walked upon the streets. Hmm, maybe one has a jackknife and can end my misery quickly.
A guy comes up to me, ruffled no doubt by drugs, and alcohol.
"How old old are you?" He stutters, alcohol reeking his breath.
However I am completely unafraid by him, not really caring about what happens to me at all. But God his breath might kill me if those pills don't.
"16. Almost 17." I say, still a little dignified that I was almost an adult, but like I ever planned to live that long. Starting about five months ago.
"You you wanna have fun?" He says, a glimmer of lust in his glazed over eyes.
"If you mean rape, then can you kill me first?" I say, no hint of fear in my eyes or voice.
Startled by my reply, he looked at me weird then started to say something but threw up instead.
"You you a crazy bitch, go kill yourself." He said as he swayed away, after he was done puking his guts up.
"That's what happens when you have suicidal tendencies and thoughts you drunk. That's kind of the definition." I mutter walking away.
I walk on, the press of the little pills in my pocket becoming more enticing.
What's this life for, if the one thing you want, you could never have?
The grungy buildings cling closer together, barrels of fire becoming more frequent.
But I ain't gonna lie. It was cold out side, really cold. I gather next to a bunch of hobo's cuddled around a barrel and stand next to it.
They looked at me strange, as if I didn't belong here. I probably didn't, with clean clothes, not a speck of mud on my cheeks. But I wouldn't belong anywhere now. Soon, this body would be lifeless, cold against the alleyway walls, pick pocketed from a coat, but no pills, for they would already be in my stomach digested sending my brain, heart, and lungs a lethal dose of painkiller.
"You don't belong here." A thick black woman said to me, moles and dirt and sweat upon her face.
I sneeze from the smoke coming from the barrel and black dots dance across my eyes. Ah, the first symptom to a growing migraine. Oh well.
"I don't belong anywhere." I reply simply, holding my hands dangerously close to the flame, the heat burning my hand, but I continue to hold it there as the flames just almost lick my palms.
The black homeless lady pulls back my hands from the barrel and looks at me like I'm crazy.
"What the fuck are you doing? You could have burn the skin right off your little fingers."
"So what? What do you care?" I reply simply, a slight hint of anger in my voice, but otherwise completely calm and stoic.
"You're right I don't. But you still don't belong here. Go back the fuck home." She says holding her hands near the barrel.
"What makes you think I want to go back home? What makes you think I'm scared to be here, or really why do you even care to ask questions if you supposedly don't care?"
" You're swaying like a freaking idiot, and I never said you were scared either. Trust me, and go the fuck home, girl. A little black girl as pretty as you would get raped or murdered so fast like a druggie get his high. Go the fuck home."
She shoves me away from the barrel and I fall, the shove coming unexpected. I fall hard on my ass, my long black hair falling by my cheeks. I pick my self from the concrete and brush off my pants. I look at my hands and see the little indention of pebbles marked on my palms.
I stuff my hands in my pockets, my fingers finding its way around the several white pills in my pocket.
I smile however to contrast the scowling bitch's face.
"Like I said, I don't belong anywhere." I turn around and walk away, the smile vanishing as quickly as it came.
I cross the street and duck through an alley to reach the other side of the street without having to walk the entire block.
I see a park bench with grafitti all over it in a nice park. Wow, what a contrast.
I lay down on it. I wonder what time it is. It was 11:00 when I ran from home so, it's been to have been at least three hours, so now it's one-ish I guess.
I've decided. I lived in the good part of NY, they didn't accept me, went to the bad part they still didn't.
I finger a pill in my pocket. I pull it out, breaking it in half, and popping it in my mouth.
Not enough to kill me, but definitely enough to give me that high buzz, just enough to cloud my thinking process.
The bitter sliver of pill slides down my throat with a little of pooled saliva I gathered in my mouth to prevent it from getting stuck in my throat.
Ooh. I feel it. Even though I still have some rational thinking process, most of it has flown out of the window as the painkiller floods my system. I feel myself swirling around like a top, even though I know I'm laying down.
Distorted sounds fill my ears, incomprehensible and all the more sounding distorted, and my eyes flutter close.
An annoy ing sound. Very annoying. My eyes flutter open to see a big black man standing over me. Talking.
So that's what the sound was.
"SWHAAH?" I say, my tongue unable to produce the words I wanted.
"Are you alright?" The dude asks, his voice a deep tenor.
"Yeps a dooddee, completesly finne." I say giggling. I can't help it if he's trying to ask me a serious question and I'm totally fucked up.
"Are you sure? Shouldn't you be getting home? It's late." He asks with concern.
"Hehehe noppe. I livees everywhere." I say pointing my finger at him.
He pushes away my finger gently.
"Are you high?"
"Maybe yess, maybe no, haha you guessed right, yeps." I giggle more.
He frowns, but al I see are little smiles.
" What are you doing tomorrow? You won't live out here like that by the time the sun rises like that."
"I wassn't planning on it." I say matter of factly.
He visibly frowns even more, aww, did I upset him? Does the truth make him sad.
"Why don't you come to my place, get you something to eat, and if you want to leave you can leave." He says.
"I'ms not a prostitutee dude, I'm just waiting to die. I don't want to go to your place."
"I never meant it to come out that way. And I doubt you want that either. I meant you could sleep on my couch, rather than the graffitti'd bench, in the cold."
"I don't think I'm your type."
"You're pretty smart to be high."
"You're kinda dummb to be picking up a random girl off ow the streets and offering their home to twem."
"It's stupid, yes, but I can see that, but I can also see that leaving you out here alone is stupid also. I don't want this on my conscience if anything happened to you."
"Sso it's coconscince then? Well I'wes sorry but I was planning on doing something else anyway." I sit up, swaying. My hair flops in my face and I giggle
"Well, whatever you were gonna do, don't do it. Just come with me."
"Well, I can't guarantwee it, but I guess so."
I stand up, and almost fall, my equilibrium was waay off but a stern hand kept me from falling down.
"HOWEY SHIT YOU'RE HUGE!" I say as he towers over me. I thought I was tall, and I'm five eight.
He smirks before asking me,
"Do you need help walking?"
I giggle, knowing how well fucked up on Oxycotin I am.
"Yess."
We walked down the grungy alleys in silence, me occasionally tripping over my feet like an idiot.
"Soo…what's you're name?" He asks me.
"Awwlex,"
"Awlex?"
Allllexxx" I strain to get the right consonants to roll off my tongue. Well if a half pill did this to me, can I even imagine fifteen?
"What's you'rez?"
"Collins."
We walked more in silence, before he asked me,
"How old are you?"
"I'ms a… uuh. I don't know." I giggle.
He sighs. "I'll ask you again when you're sober."
He stops in front of a grungy building.
"YO MARK! THROW DOWN THE KEY!" He yells really really loud, and a white guy comes out on a fire escape really really high. He tosses something shiny down and Collins catches it.
"I'm tirred, can I sweep now?"
"No, not yet. God, you're fucked up."
We went up a staircase to heaven. I know it was to heaven cause there were so moany stairs.
We stopped at the top and Collins fit the key in the door.
With a creak, the door slid open and we shuffled in side.
He set me on a torn up, duct taped couch and told me to rest there. He told me something else, but I can't remember as I slipped fast into oblivion.
Ok that was the end. Next chapter will come soon. Review if you like. Bye.