Disclaimer: Newsies is the property of Disney and The Last 5 Years is the property of Jason Robert Brown. In other words, I own nothing.

June 2009

It was a hot and humid summer day in New York, the kind of day when you want to just strip naked and soak in a cold tub while sipping a Coke. I had just walked the forty blocks from my crappy audition as I didn't have enough money for a cab and didn't feel like dealing with the cramped and stuffy subway. My body was soaked in sweat and my glasses were beginning to fog up by the time I finally entered my apartment building, greeting the doorman who held the door open for me. He said something to me in Spanish, but I didn't understand him so I simply replied with a vague nod as I walked by.

As usual, the elevator was out, so I heaved a heavy sigh and pushed open the door to the stairwell. The apartment I shared with my boyfriend was located on the fifth floor, so the trek wasn't completely undoable, but after the long walk in the sweltering sun four flights of stairs felt more like eight. When I finally reached the apartment, I was ready to settle down in the frigid air conditioning with a drink and watch mindless television. I mentally hoped my boyfriend, Jamie (affectionately nicknamed Specs by me), wouldn't be home. He had become snippy lately and I knew he would stand there, tell me how much money I was wasting, and remind me that I wasn't bringing in as much money as he was.

No shit, I wasn't bringing in as much money as he was! How is a struggling actor whose last big part was summer stock in Ohio supposed to compete with a bestselling writer? It wasn't as though I wasn't trying. I woke up each morning and walked the streets, auditioning for anyone who would have me. I'd even gotten myself an agent, but it didn't seem to have worked. My agent eventually dropped me, telling me I was too average looking, too forgettable. I guess that pale, blonde guys of average height and frame were a dime a dozen. At one point I thought about gaining lots of weight or shaving my head for no reason other than to be less forgettable; in the end decided it wouldn't be worth it.

"Specs?" I called after I closed the door. The apartment was dark, even more so with the shades closed. "Baby, you home?" My words returned to me with an eerie echo that I wasn't used to, but there was no response from Specs. So far so good.

I dropped my things at the door, not wanting to deal with them at the moment. Let Specs come home and remind me for the one hundredth time that he wasn't my maid. I flicked on the lights…and stopped in my tracks. Our living room was nearly empty. The couch, the television, the bookcase, and the stereo were all gone. The indentations they had formed in the carpet were still fresh.

My first thought was that we'd been burglarized. I ran to the bedroom to see if anything else was gone, specifically to check the small safe I kept tucked in the back of the closet. There wasn't much in there—only about sixty dollars and an old baseball card my grandfather had given me which I only saved in hopes that it would someday net me a large amount of money—but I hated the thought of even that being taken from me.

What I found when I opened the closet was far worse than I had expected.

Half of the clothing that had been there when I left that morning was now missing. Specifically, Specs' clothing was missing. And it didn't end there: a quick look around the bedroom showed that of the shoes, jeans, underwear, and toiletries missing, all of them were Specs'. It was as though he had never been there.

I flipped open my phone, thumb poised to hit speed dial for his phone. I was still hoping that this was all a mistake, that a thief had broken in and amazingly had only stolen the items belonging to my boyfriend. That was when I saw the note, folded and placed atop a pillow on the bed; my pillow. On the front, "Christopher" was written in a neat, crisp cursive handwriting that I knew all too well. As the hand in which I held my phone dropped to my side, the phone slipping out and falling to the floor with a soft thud, I gently sat on the bed and plucked the note from its place.

I didn't need to read it as I already knew what it would say. Specs was gone. He had taken everything and run. Suddenly the apartment felt too big and empty.

I crumpled the paper in my hand, a sense of satisfaction coming over me as I felt the delicate material crush and wrinkle in my grasp. But it wasn't enough to ease my anger, so I chucked the crumpled wad of paper with all my might. It barely went a foot before falling gently to the ground. I smashed the heel of my shoe down on it, twisting it to further grind the Dear John letter into the ground.

In a fit of rage, I scooped up my phone again and dialed his number. It went to his voicemail. By the time I heard the ending beep, I was seeing red. "Fuck you!" I snarled. "You know what you are? You're a fucking wuss! You couldn't even tell me in person; you had to wait until I was gone and sneak everything out. I know this relationship has been bullshit for months, but I was willing to work on it instead of running away like a fucking wuss!" I ran a trembling hand through my hair as I ranted. I wanted to pull out every follicle. "You lied to me. You told me everything would be fine, but you lied. I hope you and your fucking boy toy are happy. I bet you are. Go to hell," I ended before clicking off the phone. I threw it at the wall, hoping that seeing and hearing it hit would make me feel better.

It didn't.

I assessed my situation. I was alone. I couldn't afford the rent for this apartment. I had nothing left.

So where did this leave me? Fucked.

AN: First, I must give credit where credit is due. MusiCath was the first to attempt a Newsies/Last 5 Years crossover and, with her blessing, I decided to follow suit. For anyone who isn't familiar with the show, the set-up is that the woman's story (in this case, Dutchy's) starts at the end of their relationship and moves backwards, and the man's (Specs') starts at the beginning and moves forward. I plan to do the same with this story. To cut down on confusion, though, I'll preface each chapter with the month and year.

As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!