I really don't know where I should be taking this. I wrote the first part late at night, and couldn't sleep until I got it done. Then I reread it and realized that I had all kinds of errors... I need a beta... Or sleep... Or both.
If anyone has suggestions, please feel free to share them.
Song is When I'm Alone by Carbon Leaf. Lyrics are in italics
When I'm Alone
I opened up the music box
I wish you would have changed the locks
To keep me from replaying
All the feelings I've been saving
I did not keep them locked up inside
I did not take my steps in stride
Thought you were bluffing, trampled on you
Went from friends to nothing
Radio turns to gold
And paves the way
To find my home
When I'm alone
Completely wrapped in his thoughts, Mike aimlessly wandered toward his apartment. He didn't have to pay attention to where he was walking, the rain had scattered anyone sane that would normally be on the sidewalk, and he knew every possible route from his work to his building. Mike wasn't even concerned with being mugged. He didn't have anything of value on him, not for a Sunday spent filing briefs. If anyone did jump him all they would get was a dollar so wrinkled no vending machine would take it, and half eaten bag of chips. The false lawyer didn't even have his ID on him, all the cleaning and security staff at Pearson-Hardman knew him on a first name basis, since he spent so much time there after hours.
The thoughts running through his mind were nothing to be enjoyed. They were, still, of Trevor. Mike shook his head as he walked, wishing once again, that he could have been able to make the break that he should have. His gram, even Harvey told him that nothing good would come from Trevor. The worst part of having a memory like his was that he couldn't forget what the friendship felt like when it was good. It hadn't always been the illegal, hurtful thing that it had ended as. Once, they were more like brothers than anything else. He never was sure what that meant for Trevor, who had two brothers, but all Mike had was his grandmother, and the thought of having someone, being that close and open with them, was truly the greatest thing in the world. The memories, and echoes of laughter haunted him like the remnants of a song someone has only heard once but found themselves humming sometimes.
Finally, Mike paused, staring up at his apartment. He knew that it was pointless to to the front door, it had been broken for over a month now, and continued around to the side, scaling the fire escape with practiced ease. The silence that greeted him once he slipped through the window he always left open, mostly so he was never locked out, felt as thick as day old gravy. Mike stood there for only a moment before deciding that it was the last place he wanted to be. He took half a breath and raced through his apartment, changing from his sopping wet suit into faded jeans and a t-shirt. Slipping into his shoes and grabbing a flannel shirt, he ducked back out the window and into the steady sound of the falling rain.
Overeager and underway
I risked it all, I had to say
What opened me up for the beating
But the heart is for bleeding
With scraps of songs I paste along
The seams of my clumsy tongue
In hopes of creating the golden notes
That might bring you back to me
Mike hit the concrete running. His mind was swirling with thoughts of how stupid he was. It wasn't Trevor's fault that Mike ended up where he is now. It was Mike's foolishness that let him believe nearly everything anyone told him. He believed Trevor when his former friend said that no matter what he would have Mike's back. It was Mike's kindness that let everyone at the law office walk all over him. It was Mike's guilt that made him do anything for the grandmother that he had disappointed. The blond raced down the street, nearly knocking someone over. He half muttered an apology over his shoulder, as he continued, hoping that if he ran fast enough, he could get away from his thoughts.
It was an unknown fact that Mike knew nearly every inch of New York. He knew it better than most of the people that had lived there their whole lives. Shortly after he moved to the city, his gram had taken him to the library. He spent four hours looking at every map in the building. At the age of six, most kids would have preferred a ball game or a trip to the park, not Mike. He adored books, and at the time was fascinated by maps. Since then, his grandmother had never had to worry that Mike would get lost. So he ran, paying no attention to anything but the sounds of the past and his empty broken wishes.
Radio turns to gold
And paves the way
To find my home
When I'm alone
When he finally stopped, out of breath and unable to keep up the punishing pace, he was standing in front of a tall dilapidated building. Mike remembered that it used to be a hotel at one point, but now it was what others called a scar on the city's face. Before he got his new(read-fake) start on life, Mike spent a lot of time on the roof of this building. He loved to come here when he used to get high, the view wasn't as nice as the one from Harvey's office, but it spanned most of Central Park. He remembered that he would spend hours, leaning over the rail, half baked and making up his own stories for the people he watched going in and out of the park. He needed that familiarity now, the red and gold leaves, the smoky blue of the lakes, the dull gray of the building making a frame for the picture. It didn't matter to Mike that the old hotel sat in one of the worst parts of Brooklyn, or that it would be completely packed with people that had no home or place to go. It didn't matter that it wouldn't change anything. All that matter was it was a simple familiar thing that might, just might, make it a little easier for Mike to pick up the shattered parts of his soul.
Like phantoms on the highway
After holiday, gritting their teeth
Racing to find a place for their soul
Or at least a place... that's less familiar
We offer up our heart before
The heart's invited or asked for
Oh no, here I go my friend, I'm repeating
But the heart is for bleeding...
And I've said all I can say
I am retreating, on my way
Music box, play my song I'll sing along
To that bitterly sweet tone
When I'm alone...
He had never brought anyone here. Not Trevor or Jenny, never told his gram about it. It was the only place in the world that Mike considered his. His apartment was technically his, but lately, it didn't seem that way. It seemed that more often than not, someone was there waiting for him. Trevor, before they fought, Jenny before she decided that Mike was against her, even his landlord, who always swore Mike owed him money. He chucked slightly, the sound dark and humorless. He was such a fool.
Mike knew better than to try the door that was half hanging off it's hinges. The homeless people that camped in the building didn't like it when careless people trampled over them. So after a courtesy glance, Mike moved straight for one of the few unbroken windows. That was the door, anyone used to get into the building. Hallways were always packed with the ones that couldn't move well. As he made his way through the building, Mike was bitter that even the homeless people, who didn't have anything, still had people to look out of them, even if it was just other people equally down on their luck.
Scrambling up the steps leading to the roof, Mike flinched at a sudden thought. It had taken him forever to become Trevor's friend. Nearly two years of doing everything he knew to fit in and find someone that, at the time, didn't judge him. Since then, he hadn't really made another. Sure, he joked with Rachel and smiled when Donna walked all over him. But they didn't know Mike, not really. They knew the happy kid that had no problems and was too nice for his own good. He was alone. Mike slammed the roof door closed behind him with as much force as he could, considering he was shaking slightly from the rain. He needed to forget, that would make everything so much better if he could just forget what it was like to have people that he wasn't related to care for him. He wanted to forget that he was a failure, and probably always would be one, no matter how hard he tried. He moved across the small roof, and gripped the half broken rail hard enough that his knuckles were white, staring at the park, trying to forget it all.