He was there...the man. Following her, his fingers reaching out and touching her skin before she managed to get away. His laugh followed her, snaking behind her as she fled, desperate to get away. The streets of New York surrounded her, closing in. The smog choked her. She was alone, going to be another lost soul swallowed by the streets, never spoken of again.

Dark buildings everywhere. Somewhere a subway whizzed by, somewhere a homeless man yelled out in anger. In the darkness she could see shadows, shapes, moving, always moving. On the fringes of her mind, they called to her. Promises of success, of happiness, of security.

Men leered from the windows, women taunted from the street corners. Always the same words. Slut. Whore. Junkie. She wanted to scream at them. Tell them she wasn't like that anymore...but she couldn't. She didn't even know if it was true anymore. Was she? People surrounded her, laughing, pointing, jeering. And no one was there for her. Pain raced down her limbs. She begged them to stop, for the fire to go away, for them to leave. Her head was going to explode.

The man was standing in front of her, the white powder inches from her nose. She could take it. Make everything go away. Make everything better. But...she couldn't. Couldn't go back there, to the half life in the dark corners of the city. The shadows were getting closer. The man was getting closer. She could see familiar faces in the gathering crowd. They shouted as one. Slut. Whore. Junkie. Slut. Whore. Junkie.

It wasn't true, it wasn't true. It couldn't be. Someone loved her…someone…there had to be someone…she had to find someone…

Mimi woke in a cold sweat. Images of her nightmare flashed through her mind…all too real for her own comfort. 5 days. 5 days since she had almost died. 5 days without the drugs, without shooting up or snorting anything. Was this withdrawal? Pain she could deal with. Threats and insults she could deal with. They weren't anything new. But this feeling…of loss, horrible loss, complete loss, that was new. And it burned.

She rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. She needed a fix. Needed to slip into that comfortable oblivion. Needed to forget. She reached out her hand, trying to find the milk crate that served as a table, but it was too dark. Where was it…it should be here…

No. It wasn't. She tried to breathe in, tried to calm down. She wasn't in her apartment. Her apartment had a table, with a bag of white powder in the top drawer. She needed that…but where was she?

Sitting up straight, she cast a look around. Dark shadows covered everything. She thought she could make out a door, maybe a table, or was that a desk? It could have been anything, a big block of something that definitely was sticking out from the wall, but in the darkness had no distinct shape.

Then the shadows moved. No…they couldn't move…she was awake. This wasn't a dream, shadows couldn't hurt her here…but they were moving, sneaking over the shapes in the room, coming closer and closer. They were whispering again…the same promises. The same empty promises. Of fame, of glory, of freedom and happiness. They were calling to her…getting closer and closer as she curled up against the wall in fear.

"No…no please…don't hurt me…I didn't do anything…I'm sorry…please…don't…I don't want…" Her voice kept cracking, getting higher and higher, yet softer and softer in fear. She didn't want them to hear her, but maybe someone else would, maybe someone could help her.

She scrunched herself again the wall and willed her mouth not to open. She couldn't scream. Then they would know she was there. If she didn't move, if she kept completely still, maybe they would leave. Maybe they would forget about her.

A siren broke the unbearable silence, but they were not distracted. They knew she was there. They were coming for her. She couldn't stop them…if she screamed, would someone come? But who would help…in her dream, there was someone, wasn't there? Someone who cared…if she screamed, would that person come? Would the shadows go away?

They kept moving…they kept coming. Millions of them, filling the room until there was nothing but her and the shadows. They wanted her, to take her back to the shadows of New York, to bind her there…

"I don't want to go!"

Her scream pierced the quiet night, sending birds flying from the tree outside the window. Beside her, a young rock star woke up.

Roger Davies was what every girl wanted and every boy wanted to be. He was young, blue eyed and blonde, with a rocker attitude and the talent to match. At a glance. When you looked closer you saw the man he was, someone who had been hurt too many times to recount, someone who was almost afraid to live life. Ex junkie, HIV positive. His life read like a roller coaster.

Right now he was torn between being confused and irritated. It couldn't be earlier than 4 in the morning. Why on earth was he up? Normally he slept until…well…at least 9. Then Mark would come in and throw something at him. But…

Then he noticed the crying, shaking figure that was curled up against the wall, sitting on his bed. Seeing as it was 4 in the morning, he could probably be forgiven for not seeing her earlier. At first he was confused. Who was this girl sitting on his bed? This was his apartment! His room. At 4 in the morning, he wasn't used to intruders.

But she was so scared. He looked around, confused. Nothing scary. New York was quiet, almost peaceful. He looked around at his meager furniture. A car went by, and shadows raced up the walls. The girl whimpered and drew closer to the wall, muttering something under her breath. Was she scared of the shadows? Maybe she was scared of the dark.

He crawled over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and spun around to face him, her brown eyes full of tears. She shuddered at his touch, but he looked at her and remembered…Mimi. How could he have forgotten? Five days…five days since she died. 3 since she got back from the hospital. He wouldn't let her be by herself, so she was staying here. Mimi…

"Mimi…it's all right. I'm here. I'll protect you."

She looked up at him. Who was he? He wasn't a shadow, that was obvious. Kind eyes. He wanted to help, he said he'd protect her. But she didn't understand. Where was she? Not in her apartment, obviously. She took a hurried look around. That hospital…she wasn't there. The hospital was different. This place…was like her apartment, but different. Her stash wasn't here. Maybe she had moved her table?

"Mimi, it's me. Don't worry."

She looked at him with confusion. Then…the eyes. She remembered those eyes, from the hospital. She knew him. He had brought her back. He had sung to her, and Angel had told her to come back, to come back to…"

"Roger?"

He smiled. "Mimi. It's okay. I won't let anything hurt you. I promise."

"Roger, I need…I need a fix. I need to make them go away. Please, just one…I promise, that will be it. Just one."

Her eyes were desperate, every now and then flicking to the corners of the room, looking for unseen demons.

"Mimi, it won't help you. Please, come here. It's all right. They're not real."

He opened his arms and she crawled into them. Like a child. He rocked her back and forth, trying not to see the memories of April that crawled through his head. He wouldn't let Mimi die. Oh god, he couldn't. He couldn't lose her. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and swore that no matter what, he'd protect her.

"You want something to drink? Help you go back to bed?"

"Roger, please. Just one hit. That's all. Then I'll stop, I promise."

"No."

She looked like she was going to cry. "But they're going to come and hurt me. I can't go back there…not to that life. I just need one…make it all go away."

"Mimi, one will send you back there. I won't send you back. You can beat this. I'm here for you. Don't give in."

"Please Roger!"

Her voice was getting steadily louder and louder, and Roger was worried Mark would wake up soon. "No, Mimi. Besides, there's no more. Mark and I went through your apartment when you were in the hospital. Got rid of it all. Please Mimi. Fight it."

She looked at him and he felt like he was going to melt. "You don't love me. You don't even care about me. If you cared, you wouldn't make me go through this hell." Her voice was like ice, and he hated it. Hated seeing her like this.

He held her tight against her protests and tried not to listen. Over and over, she screamed that she hated him. Was this what he had been like? How had Mark forgiven him? How had Mark even dealt with it? The boy was definitely a saint.

Eventually she quieted and stared at him. "Don't leave me, Roger." It was the voice of a child. He had heard it before. The voice of the 15 year old Mimi that had run away from home and found nothing but darkness in the streets of New York. The child she still was. His heart ached for her.

Slowly he lay her down back on the bed and tucked the blankets tightly around her. He sat beside her for a while in the darkness, until he was assured she was asleep. Only then could he let go and close his eyes. He hoped she would be all right until morning.