The wind had been blowing harder that night than it had in several years. As Alexis walked along the darker streets of the western side of Los Angeles, she concluded that the wind, now sharply biting her face and hands as she continued on, could no longer be considered a breeze. The tears streaming down her face only stung more, and she despised her body for producing them ever so freely. Her black knee-high leather boots clicked and echoed violently off of the walls that were steeped in darkness along the vacant corridor.
"Tonight was a bad night for a skirt," she mumbled and her teeth chattered for just a moment before she shook her head with vigor and pushed on. She wore a black, billowing mini skirt, the front reliably pressed against her thighs from the northern winds, and the back swayed along with her movement. She focused on the sounds of her own feet, the rhythm of her breath and her ears were pricked for anything that didn't remotely resemble the two.
And then she stopped. A sound, something distant, yet eerily familiar, came and went from her auditory system in just an instant. Now, the echoing of her own two feet had stopped, and even the sounds that her leather jacket made as her arms swayed to and fro had come to a deafening halt. An oversized cross pressed coolly against her breast bone. It was nothing overbearing, but it sent a clear message. She focused her energy to her ears, as if trying to strain them to hear from miles around her in all directions simultaneously.
"This was a terrible, terrible idea," she whispered and began to walk again. Her jacket squeaked, her boots snapped against the concrete and the wind rushed harshly against her ears. And in her head, she began to repeat lyrics to songs, songs that she knew backwards and forwards.
'Wastin' away again in Margaritaville,' she thought loudly. And she heard the steps again, clicking and clacking, not of her own. Her skin pricked, and a sharp chill went down her spine. So she began to whisper.
"Searching for my lost shaker of salt, some people claim that there's a woman to blame," she sang, now reaching a strained whisper. The steps were louder, and they were off beat. It was like a double-timed dance, only poorly maneuvered and lacking finesse.
"But I know," Alexis said coming to a halt, "It's my own damn fault."
Just like that, two sets of hands grabbed either shoulder of Alexis's medium frame and yanked her backwards. Her feet flew into the air and a loud, raspy grunt resonated from the cracked lips of her attacker. She was thrown in the air against a wall, her back falling flat against it's brick exterior and she roughly crumpled to the ground. Sharp pain shot to all corners of her body, but her only goal was to get her eyes to see straight ahead. Coming towards her was what looked like a young man, only his fingernails were long and yellow and she could smell his breath from where she sat. As he neared her, she saw that he was not quiet as young as his built implied, and his forehead was wrinkled. His eyes shown with bright yellow and he had two unmistakably abnormally sharp teeth.
"Every," Alexis breathed, "…Time." She pushed all the energy that her pain was fostering into her feet and with one sharp yelp, she kicked the dark figure right in the stomach and as he went stumbling backwards, Alexis scrambled to her feet and took off down the alleyway.
She could hear his grunting and snarling chasing after her, and while she tried to look around for weapons, her legs seemed to be stuck on autopilot. Right, Left, Right, Left, they carried on without her conscious mind telling them the otherwise. This was for the best, since her whole head was consumed with the concept of what to do next. She needed something wooden, and she needed it to be sharp.
Her head had been turned to the right, and she had looked ahead of her just in time to narrowly avoid the long-coated figure running towards her. Yet he didn't seem to be interested in her, and as she stopped and turned to see what would conspire, the new figure ran full force into a tackle of her attacker.
"Run," he grunted as he and the other exchanged blows. Alexis shook her head and searched around the alley for anything she could break. 'Men in LA are just a little too cocky,' she thought as she spotted a broken broom handle. Grasping it with her left hand, she hurtled towards the dark figures, now entangled up against a wall.
Recognizing the long coat as her disconcerting, unfortunate Prince Charming, Alexis yelled out, "Hey there," and her attacker turned sharply. With a smile, Alexis plunged the wooden broom handle into what she could only guess is where a heart would go, and like that, all that remained was more dust on the already dirty concrete walkway.
"You…" the remaining man stammered, more intrigued than confused, "you staked him?"
"Yeah," Alexis huffed as she tossed the broom handle aside and began to walk away from the man, "teaches you to be the hero in this city, doesn't it?"
"You shouldn't be dressed like that," he stammered on, slightly taken aback by her thanklessness, "you just look like bait."
Alexis gave the man a dark, cold stare. She looked into his deep brown eyes, and while she did take notice that he was fairly attractive, in a tortured artist kind of way, she was too angry to care.
"And you," she hissed, with a sense of contempt in her voice, "shouldn't dress like that. You look just like a vampire."
She spun on her three-inch heels and her brown hair, blonde roots shining softly through the color, swept behind her as she turned away from him and started out down the alley. She waited to hear footsteps behind her, to hear his voice call out for her to wait, the questions of why he turned to dust, but there was nothing. She stole a glance as she rounded the corner on the brighter streets of South Broadway, only to see him, standing rigidly six feet tall, and the only thing that moved was his duster, which danced along with the wind. And with that, she was gone, and he was left in darkness.
Alexis' dabble in crime and punishment caused her to miss the last bus on route to her apartment, so she was forced to hail a cab. It wasn't a long distance, but after her extended stay in the 59th Ave. alley, Alexis found herself slightly fatigued and no longer interested in the concept of her own mobility. So she got in the first cab that would give her a pause, and recited an address that may or may not have been understood. She was never sure about those type of things. When they would just stare at her for a while after she had finished speaking. He looked away eventually, and began to move, but it was the silence in between actions that caused her uncertainty.
The cab rolled to a stop in front of an old building. The streetlights were out in front; as if to tell a passerby that it was unsafe to enter. She emptied her wallet to pay for the ride, and quickly got out without another word. Her mind was elsewhere this early morning and surprisingly, she was not too keen on a broken conversation.
She strolled up to the front door of the building, pulled open one of the large, wooden double doors and entered the dim atrium of the building. A sigh of relief escaped her slightly chapped lips as she heard the thud of the wooden door shutting and consequently locking. It was nearing 2:45 in the morning, yet Alexis felt more awake now than before. In a moment's weakness, the first time her body felt relaxation pass through the bloodstream, stray tears trickled down her face as she opened her mailbox. A deep inhalation attempted to control the overwhelming sensation that coursed through her entire body, and for the moment, she felt stable. She hastily grabbed the contents of her mail slot and used the back of her left hand to wipe away the saline from her cheeks. A little eyeliner, or maybe mascara residue streaked across her hand.
Lexi hurried up two flights of stairs, and tried to walk softly down the corridor leading to her apartment. It had been this way, every night, for years now. She was uneasy with why this night felt different. Ignoring the fact that the events that had transpired were not uncommon, yet not a regular occurrence, there was something else in the air around her that was not as it had been on nights before. Her apartment building was sick with silence, and she despised every floorboard that did not crack, her door that no longer creaked when she opened it, and embraced the sounds that all the locks and deadbolts made as she turned them gingerly.
The inside of her apartment was warm. The walls were exposed brick, with metal pipes and insulation framing the ceiling. She dropped her keys on the island in the kitchen, and her bag took residence on the floor beside the sofa in the living room. From the outside, this place looked treacherous, but inside her apartment, you couldn't match the two. The appliances were black, and shining, like they had been polished every day in their short existence. There wasn't much food in the refrigerator, but then again, Alexis wasn't much of an eater. She had survived on so little for so long, that if she had kept much more food in the place, it would just spoil.
It would seem to an outsider that Alexis suffered from intense vanity. From the moment upon entry, there were approximately five mirrors in plain view. A large one hung in the hallway, three decorative, square mirrors hung in succession on the wall next to the door to her bathroom which was directly across from the front door, and another in the kitchen area. Alexis approached the mirror in the kitchen and took a look at the cut on her forehead. She was having trouble remembering how and when it came to be, but none of that really mattered anymore. Scrapes and scratches, bruises and fractures were just a part of everyday life at this point. She got a towel from inside one of the drawers in the kitchen and ran it under some warm water from the sink. She sauntered back to the mirror and began to dab around the cut, slowly and gently washing off the dried blood from around it, and revealing its severity.
They were never as bad as they looked, the cuts and scratches that she adorned. She went through the routine of cleaning the wound, and bandaging it, something that seemed to be more of a weekly routine. And as she went through the motions, her mind slowly drifted back to events that preceded her exciting journey home from work. And as she remembered what had caused her tears in the first place, she began to move towards her bedroom.
Her steps were direct and with destination, as she traipsed over to her bulletin board above her desk, she began to rip down photos and notes, a couple movie ticket stubs and finally, with much emotional effort, she took down a small piece of paper with the word, "always" written across it in a male's handwriting. All these things were quickly moved to the trash, and Alexis stumbled, slightly catatonically, over to her bed.
The sheets were soft. The bed was unmade, but in a way that made it easily to curl up under the comforter, which Alexis did almost instinctually. She pulled the white blanket over her head, and brought her knees up to her chest, trying to contort her body to its smallest form possible. And in the dim light, softened and blurred by the blanket, she let go. The tears couldn't come fast enough, the sobs made her stomach feel like it's was going to come out of her throat, like she was trying to throw up all the hurt she felt inside. All her internal organs felt like they were on fire, like her heart wasn't broken, it was engulfed in flame, and everything around it was quickly succumbing to the heat, burning up like tissue paper kindler. Another one gone, another one was finished with all she had to offer. And he threw her away; just like she threw away all traces that he had once mattered to her. She was his trash, and he was just another vision to haunt her dreams.
Alexis fell asleep like that, in that exact position, her eyes burned red, and run dry. She was so consumed in her own pain that she failed to notice the dark figure on her balcony, sitting in her chair, staring in as if this was some sort of television show. He was completely enthralled in the moment, like nothing could tear his eyes away from the life form inside. And he sat there as she fell asleep, knowing nothing of why she cried and screamed, unaware of who or what had caused someone to feel so completely devastated, and yet he couldn't tell what he felt for her. It could be sympathy, or empathy, yet at the same time, it was pity that stirred within his chest. In her breakdown, he saw his own loneliness. And so he sat there for a bit, and just watched her sleep. This night, neither of them would be alone.
The alarm went off promptly, as it always did, at 10:30 the next morning. Alexis, in her traditional form, pushed it off the bedside table so the batteries popped out and the noise stopped as timely as it started. She rolled over, slowly opening her eyes and then immediately shut them, due to the excruciating pain caused by sunlight now shining directly in her eyes. Eyes remaining shut, she stumbled over to the window, and not noticing the chair that had been turned facing inwards instead of outwards like usual, she threw the crimson red drapes shut and turned away.
Alexis was in all the same clothes she had been wearing the night before, minus her shoes that she had taken off by the front door. Her hair, which had previously been neatly swept back into a ponytail, was now undone mostly and everywhere. Her makeup was smudged and smeared, and she detected a strong scent of smoke and liquor, from her job as a bartender. Her eyelids were puffy and the whites of her eyes were bloodshot, which only proved to make her eyes look even bluer than they already were.
"I look like a crack-whore," she mumbled to herself as she stood in front of the bedroom mirror, assessing the damage. She ran her hand through her hair, and pulled out the elastic.
She shook her head and moved straight towards the bathroom. She peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower, quietly. While Alexis hated the silence, she wasn't much of a noisemaker. She preferred to allow external sources to disrupt the peace; she opted to maintain the balance.
Alexis ran her hands through her hair as she lathered it with shampoo, taking every moment and trying to hold on to the seconds as they passed by, ticking and tocking away, slipping through her fingers just like the strands of hair. A deep breath later, she pushed all thoughts from the previous evening out of her mind and finished showering. If she were going to make it to work on time, she would have to leave her house in a couple of hours. Not that she had any real desire to get to work on time, which she rarely did. It was just part of her nature to worry, to plan.
Reaching for a towel, Alexis quickly got out of the shower and wrapped it around herself. She could see the sunlight seeping into her apartment from the living room, and she could feel it's warming. She had learned to find simple joy in things like this. Natural sunlight, it's warm, comforting sensation, like hope is still out there, somewhere.
Alexis walked over to her dresser, her hair still soaking wet, water slowly dripping down, and pulled on a pair of jeans, ripped in both knees. She took her time putting on her crimson Victoria Secret bra, still sore and bruised from her evening escapades. She ran her fingers over her right side, feeling the bones of her rib cage and the pain from her internal bleeding.
A small grimace appeared momentarily across her face as her long red nails passed over a particularly dark part of her side. With a soft shudder, she reached for a black tank top and pulled it on slowly. Alexis was taking a lot of deep breaths, in order to maintain control over the ever-present sinking feeling that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach. She walked across the room to her closet door, and opened it.
The lights flicked on and she began to thumb through her shirts, finally landing on a navy blue cub scout button down that she had gotten from the Goodwill store for 35 cents. This particular scout had gotten several badges in various camping-type accomplishments. Alexis often toyed with the idea that she herself had somehow earned them vicariously. It was an amusing notion, as Alexis had never been good with the outdoorsy type stuff, but then again, Alexis hadn't exactly had the opportunity to try.
It took her about an hour to finish her hair and makeup, which, for some reason, she found a comfort in doing. The normalcy of it all, blow-drying, applying foundation, mascara, it was trivial and mundane, yes, but Alexis had learned long ago that trivial mundane type activities were only to be treasured. For her remaining hour and a half, she puttered around her apartment, straightening up a little, putting away clean dishes that had been left out overnight to dry, and repacking her bag with fresh stakes. Anytime she left without them, it was as if a vampire alert went off to tell them new meat was wandering the streets. At about a quarter 'til two, Alexis had put on a pair of converse, grabbed her black leather motorcycle jacket, and was locking her front door.
It was bright outside, with a soft breeze, and if she had lived anywhere but Southern California, the leaves on the trees would probably be turning pretty colors and gracefully falling off their branches. Instead, however, she lived in Los Angeles, where the leaves would be green until they turned brown and just shriveled up and died.
Even with the traditional big city haze that hung over the streets, Alexis felt the sun warming her as she walked along. It wasn't heat; it wasn't beating down on her, as if to scold her for wearing too many dark colors. It was warmth, as if it came from the inside of her, gently rising to the surface of her skin, giving her a comforting feeling, like hot chocolate on a cold day, like an embrace meant only to translate a love, pure and honest. It brought a smile to her lips for only a second, as she got lost in the feeling. It was the site of the nightclub that she worked at that brought her spiraling back to reality. She didn't look up to notice that the sun was mostly covered in clouds. And she didn't look around to see a familiar figure standing in the nearby darkness of an alley.
But he saw her smile, he saw her moment of sincerity, and for the first time in so many years, he felt warmth, too.