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Breathless	By : xCookingWinex Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Aiden Views: 1881 -:- 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
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Disclaimer: While wiL from Aiden did indeed do drugs and live on the street at a younger age than he is in the story, I am in no way taking any of this from what I know about his life. I do not know where he stayed, who his friends were or why he left home. I do not know the streets I've put in this story, and whether or not there really are crackhouses there (haha). I do not condone the use of drugs or whatever. Names of newspapers and places are all made up.
Be gentle, it's all new to me! lol. All the things I write about being high and drug dealing and stuff is all I've found out through research, so I have no idea if what I'm writing is really correct or anything. I'm trying to keep it all as true as possible though.
Above all, I hope you enjoy it. :]
Chapter 1
The rain petered down over downtown Seattle, making the usual calm skyline look distorted. Few cars drove by; in the rain, Seattle was like a ghost town, especially this late at night. Night time caused golden rays of light coming from high rise buildings to flood the city. Dark shadows hide the underground shame and filth that only comes out at night. Seattle, a beautiful, picturesque American city was also a haven for trouble. Gangs, drugs, murders.style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
Wil Francis prayed for the dark and rain. Less people around, fewer disturbances, less chance of being caught. He seldom was now a days. He seemed to have got the hang of this street life rubbish. He knew he could do whatever he wanted out here and no one could stop him.
Crouching beside a dumpster in a smelly, dark alley, he tried to light a match under a concaved hand. Eventually, after trying 4 times, he lit his illegal cigarette. He threw the wasted match away, cursing himself for even thinking he could try and light up in the Seattle rain. It was as hard as hail, but as warm as bath water. It was like the Heaven’s had opened, and God was angry, taking out a personal attack against Wil. He thought it seemed to be only raining on him, not anyone else. That’s how it always felt.
His cigarette had started to break up, the rain was too heavy. He slung it into the dumpster and stood up, pulling his hood up and tucking his hands into his jean pockets. He shouldn’t have left home; he should have just stayed and put up with everything. Put up with being held down and forgotten.
He shook his head sternly at his thoughts – he knew it was for the best he got out of there. He didn’t want to turn into his parents, but that’s exactly what he was doing. A druggie, a thief, an alcoholic. He’d never worked a day in his life but he expected the World to fall at his feet and give him everything.
Only 19 and a college drop out, a typical homeless guy story. Homeless, he laughed to himself humourlessly. He thought about the places he stays at night, usually, when he’s not out on the street. Crack houses, although he doesn’t mess with that shit. The floors of people’s homes who he knew growing up who didn’t have the guts to tell him to leave. He’d slept under bridges, in boxes, next to skips – like he expected he would do tonight. He carries all of his worldly possessions in a ripped backpack that is black but started as a dull white colour. Only a cheap Walmart item, although it had lasted him since his 13^th birthday, when his mother had finally thought it suiting to buy him a birthday present. Finally. “Would you rather eat or have a fancy contraption you’ll only use once?” she’d say. I’d rather have had a fucking childhood, he thought to himself bitterly. I’d rather have clothes on my back.
He walked along 53^rd street, looking at the expensive houses, imagining the lives of people inside. Kids who will grow up with no knowledge of the outside World. They’ll always be protected and sheltered by mummy and daddy. They’ll go on to become lawyers and doctors who defend and treat vagrants like Wil. They’ll never live uncomfortably; they’ll never know what it feels like to have nothing.
He sighed and kicked a stone as he walked down the street. The rain was letting off, but no one was around. No one he wanted to get mixed up with anyway. He needed to find somewhere to sleep for the night, and he would give anything for it to be inside.
“Hey,” Wil turned to see a tall man wearing a black cap running up behind him. “Have you seen any cops?”
“Uh – I – No.”
“Thank fuck,” he sighed, now close enough to slap Wil on the back. “Thanks kid.”
He shrugged the hand off him, “I’m not a kid.”
“Whatever,” he breathed deeply to get his breath back, seemingly welcoming the break.
“What do they want you for?”
“I dunno, I’ve always done something.” He laughed slightly, putting his hand out, “Jake.”
“Wil,” he shook Jake’s hand. He saw in his other hand there was a black bag. “Do they want you for whatever’s in that bag?”
Jake looked down as if he’d no idea what Wil was talking about. When he noticed, he shoved it behind his back.
“No,” he suddenly turned threatening, not like the apparently nice person who just came over. “You didn’t see a fucking thing okay?”
“Okay.” He said, holding up his hands in surrender.
“Forget I even told you my name.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, frowning.
“Who are you?” Wil asked with sudden surprise.
“That’s right, kid.” He whispered before looking around and running off again.
Wil knew this scene was going to have repercussions, but, at this moment, he had no idea on what scale.
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