Thomas Collins was a tortured soul, or so he liked to think. A man with all of the answers, but nobody to listen, a professor so eager to teach, but nobody to learn, it all seemed so tragically poetic to him.
If only he had a hook, he thought, then he would have it all. If he could teach a class so inspiring that hundreds of students would flock to his class, seeking guidance and knowledge. Or if a stray homeless man asked him to be a mentor, then went on to cure cancer. Or if he hit rock bottom, then bounced back and made a discovery that would change the world.
But, his class was looking for credits, not wisdom, and the homeless were looking for change, not mentors. As for himself, the only thing he was hitting was the bar whenever he could afford it, or convince the manager to slip him some freebies.
Shut up, he'd scold himself. Rock bottom isn't a place you want to go, Roger can vouch for that. And you've got it good for once, so stop wishing for something bad to happen.
But even so, every so often he'd find himself wishfully fantasizing about his so-called inner turmoil, before trudging off to another long day of teaching kids who just didn't care.
The days dragged on.
They fired him from MIT. Apparently, his answers weren't the ones that they were looking for.
He had nothing.
So, he went back to the only real home he'd ever had.
And promptly got his ass kicked.
Maybe this is my hook… he thought tiredly as they tore off his coat, laughing wildly. He mentally slapped himself as they sent another kick flying into his stomach. Focus on breathing, dipshit. They left as quickly as they had came, tearing down the street in a cloud of glazed eyes and smoke.
And then… an angel appeared.
In the future, he would reflect that she was the best thing that ever happened to him. That year was a whirlwind of music and high heels and her sweet perfume, a year he could live over a thousand times, despite everything between Maureen and Joanne and Roger and Mimi and Mark, and not regret a second of it.
And yet, he still held out hope for his hook. He tried to tell her, once, and though she tried to hide it, he could tell it hurt.
"Aren't I enough, chico?" she said, stroking his cheek suggestively.
"Of course, Angel," he said, kissing her. "Of course."
He never brought it up again.
The days sped by.
Maureen and Joanne were together again.
Roger and Mimi fought.
Maureen and Joanne fought.
Roger and Mimi made peace with each other.
Maureen and Joanne made peace with each other.
Mark got a job.
Maureen and Joanne broke up.
Roger and Mimi broke up.
Angel started to get worse.
Mimi found solace in Benny.
Roger found solace in nothing.
Joanne drowned herself in work.
Roger and Mimi were together again.
Maureen just sat there for hours.
Roger and Mimi broke up again.
Mark tried to hold it all together.
And then she was gone. His angel finally had her wings, but he didn't have her. All he had left was the trail of nail polish and broken hearts that she had left in her wake.
God, he missed her.
His friends, whom he had once made it a point to watch over, became a blur. He'd heard something about Roger leaving, and Mimi running away, but his heart was numb to it.
And his classes were almost full now. "What happened to Professor Collins? He's so quiet now, but so smart… what happened?"
And a homeless man saw him coming out of the full class, and asked him a question. He just walked right on by.
It hurt so much.
And so he sat there with his bottle of Stoli, sobbing.
Because, for the first time in his life, Thomas Collins was a tortured soul. He had his hook.
He didn't want it anymore.