My Eyes

a/n: Now look at you guys! You did awesome! Thanks so much for the many reviews! And look what you got? A new chapter in just one day! Cause and effect, my people. Cause and effect.

Chapter two: I Didn't Recognize You Without the Handcuffs.

"What'd you forget?" he sighed as he slid the metal door open. I smiled.

"Got a light?" I asked sweetly, holding the candle out.

"I know you. You're – you're shivering," he noticed, taking off his jacket.

"Its nothing, they turned off my heat. And I'm just a little weak on my feet. Would you light my candle?" I asked again. Guitar-man, as I had dubbed him, had put his jacket around my shoulders. It was warm, and smelled nice. I noticed him watching me. "What are you staring at?" Busted!

"Nothing," he said as he shook his head. "Your hair in the moonlight." An unusual compliment, but I'd take what I could get. "You look familiar. Can you make it?" I had stumbled, to see what he would do. He had caught me, and received 5 "Mimi-points".

"Just haven't eaten much today. At least the room stopped spinning, anyway." I did a quick turn about the room to clear my head, and, I admit it, to give him a good look at me. "What?" Busted again.

"Nothing. Your smile reminded me of…" he trailed. Great. A girlfriend to get around. No matter, I had done it before. I wasn't proud of it, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

"I always 'remind people of – .' Who is she?"

"She died." Yes! "Her name was April." The conversation was getting too morbid, so I discreetly blew the candle out, hoping he hadn't seen.

"It blew out again! Sorry about your friend. Would you light my candle?" He obliged, and we stood in silence for a minute.

"Well," he said, trying to find something to say. I silently thanked him for not making me leave, I wasn't quite ready to go.

"Yeah?" I pushed in a seductive tone, looking up at him through my eyelashes. "Ow!" The spell was broken with a very inconvenient candle dripping.

"Oh, the wax," he said, hesitantly taking the burnt fingers. He was so cute when he was nervous. I decided to test him. "Its – "

"– dripping," I interrupted, and guided his hand down and down. "I like it between my…"

"Fingers!" he yelped, laughing uneasily. I had gone too far. "I figured. Oh, well, good night." I smirked and handed back the warm leather jacket. I wasn't ready to leave, but I had gone too far, and made him uncomfortable. He had basically "shown me the door," so to speak. But, once again, smack saved the day! I knocked on the door.

"It blew out again?" he asked.

"No, I think that I dropped my stash."

"I know I've seen you out and about. When I used to go out," he added, his tone becoming a little softer, a little sadder. "Your candle's out," he noted, gesturing to the stupid little stub in my hand. Having not found the drugs, I sighed angrily.

"I'm illin', I had it when I walked in the door! It was pure!" An idea formed in my head. "Is it on the floor?"

"The floor?" he laughed, as I got down to "look for it".

"They say that I have the best ass below 14th street. Is it true?" I asked playfully.

"What?" he spluttered. I smiled and sat up, feigning indignance.

"You're staring again!"

"Oh, no. I mean, you do – have a nice – I mean – ! you look familiar," he bursted, after stumbling over his words. I had to fight a laugh as he got down to help me in my search. More likely to put his gaze somewhere else, I thought.

"Like your dead girlfriend?" I asked, boldly and cynically, reminding him that she was gone, and I was here.

"Only when you smile, but I'm sure I've seen you somewhere else."
"Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club? That's where I work – I dance."

"Yes!" he sighed. "They used to tie you up!"

"It's a living," I defended. Working where I did was nothing to be ashamed of, but I still was uneasy talking about it.

"I didn't recognize you without the handcuffs."

"We could light the candle," I suggested, changing the subject. I didn't want him to remember me as "the lame stripper downstairs who couldn't think of a better pick-up line than 'light my candle.' " "Oh, won't you light the candle?" I asked. He rested back on his heels and looked at me, but I didn't like it. It was almost like he was laughing at me.

"Why don't you forget that stuff? You look like you're 16." I stood up, mildly irritated.

"I'm 19," I insisted. "But I'm older for my age. I'm just born to be bad."

"I once was 'born to be bad'," he said, the sad tone returning. "I used to shiver like that," he said, his voice suddenly becoming accusatory.

"I have not heat, I told you!" I didn't want to hear the "drugs are bad for you" speech again, not from him. I got it enough from Angel, and my mother.

"I used to sweat," he continued.

"I – got a cold," I answered hesitantly, my usually quick wit failing me.

"Uh-huh. I used to be a junkie," he shot. No use in faking it now, he knew.

"Now and then I like to – feel good," I conceded, shrugging.

"Oh, here it – !" he started, before stopping himself.

"What's that?"

"Oh, just a candy bar wrapper," he answered lamely, putting something in his back pocket. I was suspicious, and moved dangerously close to him, waves of discomfort rolling off him.

"Would you light my candle?" I asked in a low voice, with just a hint of a suggestion in it. He quickly doused the candle with his fingers. "What'd you do to my candle?" He fell onto the couch, and I followed, climbing over his lap to the arm rest.

"That was my last match."

"Our eyes'll adjust," I said, throwing the useless stub onto the table. "Thank God for the moon."

"Maybe its not the moon at all. I hear Spike Lee's shooting down the street," he offered, lamely.

"Bah, humbug," I shot, and began playing with the many rings on his hand.

"Cold hands," he noticed softly.

"Yours too," I returned sweetly. "Big. Like my father's. Do you wanna dance?" I asked brightly, pulling him up.

"With you?" I rolled my eyes.
"No. With my father."

"I'm Roger."

"They call me – they call me Mimi," I said, distracting him before snatching up my prize of the white powder, dangling it in his face, and walking out the door triumphantly.

The next morning, I crept up the fire escape to his window and peered in. There seemed to be no signs of life. I hastily wrote in the grime: "X-mas brunch. Just us? Mimi." With an arrow indicating where I lived. I wasn't ready to be forgotten.

a/n: Ok, I'm warning you. The scenes that are in the movie will be pretty similar. But I'm trying to make them as original and different as possible. So. Go cry about it, but don't stop reviewing.