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Breathless	By : xCookingWinex Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Aiden Views: 1882 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Aiden. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Thanks a lot to synthetic_illusion for your lovely review! You reminded me to update this! haha thank you very much.

Chapter 6
He had nightmares. Terrible nightmares. He was being chased by a group of guys, who were wielding guns and knives. They wanted to hurt him, kill him even, and they nearly did. He just ran and ran but he could not run fast enough. They caught him, aimed and fired.
And BANG! He was dead.
He woke with a start. He jumped out of the bed he was in and touched his bare chest like it was crawling with something he couldn’t see. His breathing was laboured as he reached out for the light switch. Flicking it on, he remembered where he was. He wasn’t dead. He was okay, albeit a bit bruised. Alyn had dragged him back here, like he was a fucking idiot.
Or a fucking pussy, as Angel had so rightly said.
She always seemed to drag him out of his problems. He liked it, he liked someone else doing something for him, but he couldn’t help but feeling like a five year old needing his mommy’s help every time he fell down.
He saw his t-shirt folded neatly in the corner, clean and smelling nice. He smiled genuinely thinking that she must have washed it for him. He slid it back on carefully over his bruised torso.
He opened the door and the light flooded into the living room, right across Alyn’s face. She looked sound asleep.
Perfect, I can just sneak out. But to where? I’ll find somewhere.
He tiptoed out of the room as quietly as he could. But before he reached the door, he remembered something.
Her laptop. That’ll pay for a night or two in a hotel.
He snuck back over to the table, pushing paper around, looking for the $750 worth of plastic and wires. He found it under a piece of paper that said, “investigate street crime” in scrawled writing. Ironic, he thought. He picked it up and tucked it under his arm. As he reached the door handle, he heard a noise behind him. He looked back and was startled to see Alyn standing there, legs apart, hands on hips.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m feeling better. I just thought I’d get out of your way quietly.”
“With my laptop in your hands?” She shook her head, “after everything I did for you.”
“I didn’t say you should trust me.”
“I didn’t say I did.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Put down the fucking laptop.”
They stared at each other like cat and mouse. Wil slowly increased his grip on the door handle, knowing that just one quick movement, he could be out of there before she knew what had hit her. She leaned forward slightly in expectance, as if she was about to run.
Two … one!
He flipped the door handle and swung the door open. It came back from the force of hitting the wall and nearly stopped Wil in his tracks. But it was not the door that stopped him, but a great force around his legs.
She was rugby tackling him!
He fell hard to the ground, on top of the computer, causing a horrible crunch of plastic as it shattered into an electrical mess. They both stood slowly, shaken from the experience. Wil got up a bit slower, as he thought now that as well as a bruised body, he’d also have broken ribs.
“You owe me $800, you jackass.” She hissed.
“Alyn … I … I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me you know somewhere else you can steal a fucking laptop from. That’s my livelihood, Wil.”
“I’m sorry, I am so sorry.” And for once in his life, he meant it. He didn’t know what he was doing, stealing from someone who had tried to help him. There were plenty of people to steal from in this town.
“Tell that to my boss when he asks where my articles are. Go to Hell, Wil, I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“Please Alyn.”
“No. No ‘please Alyn’ anything. You tried to steal from me in my own apartment! How did I think I could trust you?”
“This is what I am.”
“I’m glad I saw that before it was too late.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You sure as Hell should be.”
“I’ll go then …”
“I would.”
“Bye, Alyn.” He said in one last desperate hope of maybe getting forgiveness.
She flipped him off, kicking the bits of her broken laptop back towards her apartment.
That’s a no then?

**
Kicked out of another bar, Wil crawled his way to the next. Sleeping on the streets last night had earned him $10 and 53¢ in change. He’d assumed that the fading bruises and scars had something to do with it.
He’d not seen much of Nick since the incident in the basement with his gang of thugs. He still winced at the thought, although he was too drunk to care. If he ran into them now, in fact, he knows he’d confront them, probably resulting in another ass kicking.
He’d found his way to Max’s on the corner of East Street. Max’s was always full of upper class business men and their wives, all at least 20 years younger, full pouting lips and fake blonde hair. They could sneer all they wanted at a “tramp” like Wil, but he laughed inside: at least he had some standards. He’d seen half these guys with hookers hanging out of their car windows many times. He often wondered that the Hell they needed prostitutes for when their wives looked like that.
Tripping through the door, he wasn’t surprised to see half of upper Seattle’s business district sitting at tables. They all glared, but he ignored them. A TV was on in the corner, playing CNN constantly, but there was no sound. A jukebox in the corner was playing an old song Wil didn’t recognise.
“Hey,” he called to the bartender, who was standing there, cleaning some glasses with a rag. “Can I get a beer?”
The bartender nodded and reached into the fridge, getting out a bottle of Coors.
“That’ll be five fifty.”
“Five fifty? You serious man? Fuck, what is this, melted gold in a bottle?”
“Five fifty or no beer for you, sir,” he added, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
Wil pulled out the contents of his pocket. 60 cents, a match and some weed.

Better put the weed away.
“What’ll 60 cents get me?”
“The bus ride home.”
“Fine.”
He turned on his heels away from the bar, and headed for the exit. It felt like the right time to throw up, anyway. As he staggered to the door, through his intoxication, he saw a familiar face.
“Nick?” he said out loud. Everyone on his table looked at Nick and back at Wil.
“Oh, hey,” he got up, making his excuses to his friends. He dragged Wil outside.
“What are you doing here?” he asked sternly.
“I just came for the beer. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here with work friends.”
“Oh, so you’re not a coke head full time?”
“Watch your mouth.” He growled.
“Or what, you’ll put your fist in it?”
“I’ll get someone to if you don’t get the fuck outta here.”
“Where are your friennnnds?” he slurred, laughing slightly.
“Go home Wil.”
“I don’t have a home!” he gave a humourless laugh once more.
“Go find a fucking bin then man, just don’t go back in there, or you won’t wake up tomorrow.”
“Threat or a promise?” he sneered.
Nick shook his head and walked back into the bar.
“Yeah, I’d go too you fucking low life!” Wil shouted, laughing to himself, before tripping back up the road in search of somewhere to pass out.
- 5
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- 7
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Breathless