My feet finally gave up beneath me and I plopped down on a nearby bench, fingers gripping the edge of the wood, eyes burning with unshed tears.

It had finally happened. And it had happened in the exact way I'd prayed it wouldn’t.

Just like every single moment in my life when I thought I was finally out of misery, reality had thundered down on me.

When I had assumed my parents wouldn’t fight anymore, my father had kicked me and my mother out to make place for his second wife and son. We'd roamed the streets for three days until a man stopped and asked why me and my mother were outside his shop. I still remembered the pity-eyed look he gave us when I told him we were kicked out.

When we were taken in by a shelter home, I thought we finally had a home, but my mom suddenly fell ill. She started randomly crying in the middle of the night, calling my father’s name, spitting curses at me, hitting me with things. Until one day, she became quiet. Too quiet. Silent.

As my mother was getting treated, I was cutting myself. Sometimes burning. Sometimes carving words on my skin. And with every drop of blood I shed, I felt a little of the pain dissolving with it.

I had nothing in hand when I went searching around for a job. When I had finally landed one at the club, I thought it would help me save enough money to get a place to stay. But then I met Ian Cole, the VIP member who'd exclusively ever asked for my performance, and the overwhelming emotions, the connection I started feeling with him, forced me to quit my job.

When Michael had approached me while I was heading out of the club that day, I was more than desperate for money, a shelter, and someone to call my family. My home. Because my mother didn’t recognize me anymore.

Those five years with Michael might have been the longest span of a happy phase I was fortunate enough to have.

Then that moment ended.

I was nothing but a burden on Michael. Leaving him tore a piece of my heart from me.

By some circle of fate, I met Ian again. So different, yet the same. I promised myself I wouldn’t fall for him. That he would hate me if he knew that I used to dance in a bar and that I was the girl who sucked him off in the VIP room of Blue Heaven. I told myself and repeated it over and over again.

But it still happened.

I fell in love with Ian. I fell harder and stronger than I could imagine I was capable of. And he responded to my love. He became this important part of me that was beating in my chest and raced whenever I heard his name.

He became my heart. My home.

I thought, “Finally, I am happy.”

And it all came crashing down on me like a house of cards. My world shattered around me while I saw him walk away, like I was the filthiest thing he had ever seen, touched, kissed. Maybe even loved.

He walked away without looking back, and I felt that important part from my chest being ripped away with him.

My eyes burned and a single tear escaped my eye, sliding down against my face, leaving a warmth in its wake. A warmth I craved from him. Another tear followed after that thought. Then another. And another.

I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. The night blurring into a never-ending darkness which had followed after me all life. Ever since I could remember. My throat constricted, depriving me of necessary air.

Feeling alone in a crowd was nothing new to me. Feeling safe in my own company was even more familiar. But I was on my own now, in my company, which was supposed to be comforting.

Then why was it suffocating me?

Some invisible walls were closing down on me from all directions, and all I could do was sob quietly. I had lost him even before I could have him.

Shuffling of footsteps against the grass in the dead silence made my head whip up, in hopes that Ian was back to take me with him. Or to scold me more. Curse at me. Anything. I just wanted him to be around me.

It wasn’t Ian.

A young boy stood before me, both hands stuffed into his jeans pocket, dusty blonde hair, round eyes staring down at me in confusion. There was a guitar hanging from his back as he tilted his head to one side to assess my face.

“Why are you crying?” His voice was soft as he asked.

The question made another sob to break through my chest. That was the first time someone had asked me that question. And it was a goddamn teenage boy. And blonde...Gosh.

When I failed to answer, he came beside me to take a seat at the bench, shifting his guitar into his lap.

“I don’t think you should be out here all alone. Why are you out here all alone anyway?” He asked again, running his fingertips over the strings of the guitar, strumming a soft melody.

I rubbed my knuckled under my nose and sniffled to stabilize my voice. “I could ask you the same.”

He strummed softly, shrugging one shoulder. “I sneak out whenever I can.” His fingers moved swiftly across the strings, tying the aimless tunes into a melody. “What about you?”

My eyes strained along his fingers that moved across the neck of the guitar. “I got dumped by my boyfriend.” I said, absorbing the melody he was playing.

I’ve heard that tune somewhere—

The boy chuckled. “Out here? In the middle of the night?” He looked over at me. I had expected him to look at me with pity, but maybe he was still too young to know what a real heartbreak felt like. I silently prayed he’d never have to go through it like I did.

“What are you playing?” I asked him instead, pointing at the guitar, trying to stir the topic away from me.

His fingers briefly paused over the strings, then slowed down the melody. “It’s something random I play whenever I feel sad.” Without removing his fingers, he looked at me with the same round, curious eyes. “Do you remember it?”

My eyebrows furrowed together. “Remember? I don’t think I’ve heard that before.” I lied, eyeing him suspiciously.

Why was he here anyways? I just wanted to cry in peace.

“I think you did,” he turned back to his guitar and continued playing the same melody. “You kind of startled me with your ringtone that day.”

Startled with my ringtone—

Something clicked in place in my head, my lips parting in surprise. I turned to him on the bench.

“You were the one playing the guitar in this park that day?”

“I was,” he smiled to himself.

I leaned back on the bench with a sigh. “Of course, you were.”

And I was thinking of dating him that time?

Stupid Maeve.

“Would you at least tell me now?” He stopped playing and slid the guitar strap off his neck, before leaning it against the side of the bench. “Why were you crying?”

“I already told you.” And I don’t want to elaborate. Take the hint.

He hummed with a tilt of his head, looking deep in thoughts. “So, you’re crying for someone who carelessly left you behind, all alone in a deserted park, in the middle of the night.”

His words stabbed me where I was already bleeding, making me wince. Maybe he wasn’t that young after all.

“What’s your name?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Eddie. What’s yours?”

“Maeve.” I replied, and he leaned back with a soft hum, propping his heels up against the edge of the bench. A soft smile played on his lips, as he swayed slightly, enjoying some silent melody. And despite the smile, his earlier words swirled into my head. “Why are you sad, Eddie?”

He stopped swaying and looked at me. “How could you tell?”

“That song,” I pointed at his guitar. “You said you play it when you’re sad. Why are you sad?”

Eddie leaned back with a sigh, shoulders slumping. “My mother was crying.”

Oh, I could relate to that on a whole different level.

When my mother used to shout and wail in the shelter home, asking me what was her fault that Dad hated us, I used to sneak out through the window and cry in the back alley. I didn’t want to see her in that state. Because she was shedding tears for a man who didn’t deserve her.

“Why did your boyfriend break up with you?”

I blinked back to the cruel reality and dragged my eyes toward the boy. He stared at the ground with an undivided focus.

“I did something bad.” I told him. “I hid something from him, and he found out from somewhere else.”

Eddie looked like his focus was just broken. His eyes drew up to me with a confused look. “What did you hide from him?”

“I can’t tell you that.” I sighed.

“Why not?”

“You’re too young to know such things, kid.”

“I’m fifteen.” He frowned.

“Exactly.”

The frown dropped from his face with an eye roll and he hugged his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth.

“You should get a pet.” He shot me a glance.

“A what?”

“A pet. Doesn’t have to be a cat or dog. But anything with fur. It’s soft and cuddly.”

My nose scrunched up at the thought. “No, I’m good.”

Eddie looked at me like I had just punched him in the guts. “You don’t like pets?” He moved his eyes up and down me, then scooted away with an annoyed look. “Sorry, we can’t be friends then.”

I chuckled softly. “Not that I don’t like them. I’ve just… never had one.”

Pets came with a responsibility, much alike to that of a parent. And I was not used to babies; human or animal.

Eddie’s big eyes widened further in surprise, then closed with a soft snicker. “That explains a lot.”

“What?”

“People who have pets tend to feel less lonely.” He said, throwing me a small smile.

Ouch. “Who said I’m lonely?”

He shrugged. “Just a guess.” He brought his fist up and started counting. “You broke up with your boyfriend. You were crying out here all alone. You’ve never had a pet, and you’re still here, talking to a stranger. Which means you have no one to run to when you’re sad.”

My eyebrows drew together at his bland statement, and how true it was. For someone so young—okay, maybe not so young— he definitely knew a lot. When I was his age, I was cutting myself and cursing at people who tried to help me.

“My Mom is a lot like you, you know,” he ran his fingers through his dusty blonde locks, swaying again to his silent rhythm. “My Dad left when I was ten. My mom had no work or source of income. We struggled for quite a few months before she was able to open her own small restaurant. It’s been four years ever since, and we are doing quite well on our own.” His voice softened at the end. “My mom says, every hard time is just a phase, and it will pass. It always does.”

Feeling the burning at the corner of my eyes again, I ducked my head and cleared my throat. Twice. Whoever his mother was, I knew for sure that she would be proud of him one day.

Somehow, the thoughts of Ian and my heartbreak were pushed at the back of my mind, creating some space for other stuffs.

A phase…

“Do you happen to have a phone?” I asked him.

Eddie gave me another one of his annoyed looks, this time, much deeper. “Just in case it slipped ya mind, this is the twenty first century and I am fifteen years old. You think I wouldn’t have a phone?”

“Right,” I stretched out my hand. “I need to make a call. Please.”

He narrowed his eyes, but reached into his jeans pocket and fished out his phone, punched in the password and handed it to me. “Just because you are sad. I don’t usually help strangers.”

I took the phone with a smile. “Of course. You just walk up to them and casually ask why they’re crying.”

He groaned beside me, and slumped back into the bench.

As I stared down at the phone screen, my mind went blank. Who was I going to call? Who could I possibly call?

The only person I wanted to call would probably not want to hear my voice right now. And I didn’t remember any other contact—

I quickly stole a glance at the time. It was almost 1 am. He was probably still up, working. And if I was right, this was my only source of potential help.

I dialed the number I'd learnt by heart over the years and pressed the phone to my ear. The ring went a few times before I heard a familiar voice from the other end.

“Hello?” I could hear the frown in his voice.

I released a quick breath. “Michael,”

The line went dead silent. The soft sound of his breathing halted too. I looked at the phone screen then pressed it back to my ear. “Michael?”

Something like a breath of relief left his lips. “Maeve.”

“Yes, it’s me.” I bit onto my lip, contemplating from where to start or what to tell him. I couldn’t possibly tell him about everything that happened. Because first, I wasn’t sure whether he knew about me and Ian. And second, I would be here all night if I started with my sob story.

“Maeve?”

“Y-yeah, I am here. Can you…uh,” I cleared my throat. “Do you think you would be able to pick me up?”

“Pick you up?” his voice hardened. “What are you doin—”

“Please don’t ask me any question. I would explain everything on the way.” I sucked in an unsteady breath. “That is, if you could pick me up.”

The line went silent again, and I felt my heart beating frantically in my chest, before something like papers shuffled on the other end. “Where are you?”

When I gave him my location and put down the phone, I blew out an unsteady breath, feeling a little heaviness leaving my chest with it. Eddie watched me suspiciously as I handed him his phone.

“Please tell me you did not just call your ex-boyfriend to pick you up.” He emphasized the words with an unmasked bitterness.

I pressed my lips together and leaned back on the bench, fingers fidgeting in my lap. “I didn’t.” Well not exactly. Michael was my ex-husband.

“Then who was it?”

I closed my eyes, feeling the chill of the air against my face anew. “His best friend.”