***This is sort of a love story but it's a lot different than the ones I've put in this book previously. It's darker and longer and doesn't have such a happy ending, but  it's one of the stories I'm more proud of and I hope that you will read it. Also, I suggest that you listen to the video I attached because, even though the words don't really have anything to do with this story, I was inspired by it and I think it helps set the mood.

Please comment and tell me what yout think!!***

                     She carefully stepped out onto the street, not sure where she was going but knowing that she couldn't stand to sit alone on that dim, sleepy bus anymore. She wasn't sure what even bothered her about it; everyone on there at this time of night was alone, depressed and sleep-deprived, which described her fairly well herself.

            The street was wet and full of grime and puddles, the rain pouring down hard. The unfamiliar city itself had a run-down, lonely feel to it, all flickering neon and scuffled footsteps. The occasional faded streetlight was no comfort in the cold rain that was wetting her hair, her coat, her blouse and probably running her makeup all across her face. Not that she really cared; she past the point of caring by now, and past the point where her foundation could cover the bags under her eyes that were an unfortunate but inevitable side effect of constant insomnia.

            Usually, she couldn't stand to be alone with her thoughts. Maybe that's what bothered her about those buses at night; they were so somber, so quiet, that there was nothing to entertain her except for her own thoughts. And sometimes, those were her worst enemies.

            Usually, she would find some club and party all night, drinking progressively more and more each night until she could finally forget the pressures of everything else going on in her life. Usually, but not tonight. This whole sad city had put her in a different mood, a mood in which she hated being alone with her own thoughts but didn't even have the energy anymore to get through another night, drunk or not. And it was with that mood that she stopped in front small, all-night cafe with flickering fluorescent lights, the only place for a few blocks that looked like it might contain life. And there was something so strangely inviting about the thought of a nice chair to sit in, a warm cup of coffee, and those bright, comforting lights on such a melancholy night that she opened the door with a little ding and stepped right inside her, brushing off her coat. She ordered her coffee and stepped into one of the first clean bathrooms she had seen in a while, wiping off the mascara running down her cheeks so that she didn't look like a complete freak and efficiently blow-drying her hair with the bathroom's hand-dryer. A person got used to this sort of thing when they were on the road all the time, a new hotel every night or a new bus or train every night, all in various states of grime decay.

            She picked a tall chair by the window seated at table for two, staring at the empty spot in front of her as she absentmindedly thanked the lone waitress who had brought her coffee over. She took a sip, thoughtfully gazing out at the rainy night.

            How had she gotten herself into a life like this? It was exhausting, truly exhausting, and yet she could never sleep. She'd given up on a good, full night's sleep years ago, to the point now where she figured she might as well energize herself with coffee or drinks to get through those long, lonely nights. For even when she was surrounded by people, even when there were lots of things to distract her from her thoughts, she was always truly alone. That's what happened when you were in new city and a new bar with a new group of friends and new man's bed every night. She hated it, hated every long night that she had to drink and drag her way through, but she couldn't get out of it as hard as she tried. And as long as she was stuck with the curse of insomnia and this horrible need to get away from things, she knew she could never stay in one place. Every night she poured every ounce of soul she had left in her, leaving her drained and hung over by the time morning came around, never functioning on more than an hour or two of sleep. The change in scenery was the only thing that kept her from going completely insane.

            With a sigh she reached back and took the clip out of her hair, letting her messy blonde waves trail down the back of the chair as she closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Even with the partying, the drinking and the moving, she wasn't sure how much longer she could deal with this life. She had no friends or family left that cared about her, no job that she could keep for more than a week, no lover... There was no one who would miss her, and she sometimes had to ask herself why she even went on. When there was no one you could depend on, and no one who depended on you, what was the point of it all?

            She hardly paid attention as a tall, young man came through the door, long overcoat blowing in the wind that had snuck through the door. But there was something about it him that made her watch as he animatedly ordered a hot chocolate from that poor exhausted waitress at the counter that caught her attention.

            He looked over at her and just stopped for a second, staring at her. Then a little smile played on the corner of his lips, and he walked over, setting his drink down on the table she was sitting at, pulling off his coat and draping it over the chair across from hers. He pulled off his black dapper hat and sat down across from her as if they had had this all planned out.

            "You look lonely," he commented.

            Wasn't that obvious?

            She just watched him, confused and slightly frightened. He didn't exactly come off as pedophile, but she was a young woman alone at night in what was clearly a bad city. With all of her experience, she couldn't help but fear the worst.

            "What's your name?" he asked.

            "Hope," she muttered.

            "You must be very hopeful," he said, clearly amused at his own stupid joke.

            "It's quite an ironic name, actually," she replied bitterly.

            Something about her look must have made him realize what the situation probably looked like to her, and he quickly apologized. "Sorry," he muttered. "That must've come off a bit... strong. I don't want to hurt you or anything. I can go find my own seat if you'd prefer."

            "I-" She was about to say that yes, no offense to him, but she really wasn't in the mood for company, but something stopped her. Something in his comforting little smile, his childish jokes and that whole melancholy night stopped her. "It's alright. You can stay."

            "Alright," he smiled, clearly satisfied. "In that case, I'm Dan."

            "Hello, Dan. You must be very Danish."

            "I'm Irish, actually," he proclaimed, his voice completely serious for a second before breaking out in a goofy grin. "So who stole your hope, Hope?"
            "Nobody stole it," I muttered.  "I drank it all away."

            "I..." he seemed to realize that he had said the wrong thing. She expected him to crack some corny little joke or some stupid pickup line or something to cover up the awkward moment he had created, but he surprised her. "I was there once, too," he said quietly, as if afraid someone would hear.

            "You don't know where I am," she said, but what she meant was "there's no way you could be where I am right now." She couldn't picture this goofy, happy guy drinking his lonely nights away in some club. Really, she couldn't see him being lonely in the first place. She definitely couldn't see him traveling from town to town with no real friends. And this funny, cute guy with no boyfriend? There was no way he could be where she was.

            "It's because of the humor, isn't it?" he asked, his eyes seeming to pierce right through her. "I say a few corny jokes and you think that I couldn't possibly be in your place because naturally, I must have it all."

            She looked down, mortified, because as much she absolutely hated to admit it, that had been exactly what she was thinking.

            "You see, I got the humor because I was like that, not because I was happy. I was lonely and depressed and obviously an insomniac and I hated everything, but mostly I hated the sympathy. People sharing their sleep advice because if it works for them then, naturally, it must work for everyone, religious activists shoving a bible under your nose, and worst of all, those people who try to get you into some sort of support group or rehab or whatever. I hated all of that and I still do but it was apparently so damn obvious to everyone that I was drunk and depressed and whatever that sympathy like that was waiting around every stupid corner and eventually, I started to smile and make jokes and all of that crap so that no one would realize how I really was," he took a deep breath at the end of his rant and she just sat there, shocked. "Are you happy now? Have I proven myself?"

            "I... yeah. Sorry."

            He wasn't exactly like her, she could tell that much, but it sounded like he had been down deep enough that he could understand perfectly where she was coming from. The only difference was that she was so far isolated from everyone else there wasn't even any annoying people to offer their stupid sleeping advice or rehab groups.

            "Do you mind if we move onto something else, then? Because I've gotten past that now and I'd really like to get to know you. Besides the depressed and hopelessly unhopeful part, I mean.."

            She wasn't sure what set it off. Maybe it was the calm, quiet cleanliness of this night compared to the loud, smoky atmospheres she usually inhabited; maybe it was those dim fluorescent lights with the dark rain outside, or this weird run-down city that was throwing her whole mood for a curve; maybe it was the fact that she was so sick and tired of everything that she figured it was about time she just let go and give in for once, but with that statement, she began to smile. It felt strange on her face, this expression that had been foreign from her face for far too long.

            Here was a guy who could understand her, who had been where she had been and knew that she had been there, too and still wanted to forget it and move on and get to know her. And he'd come to her on this quiet, lonely night when she was at her most vulnerable and although it seemed almost dangerous to her to let him see some part of her deeper than her drunken body, she couldn't help but give in just this once. Maybe, after all of these incessant, monotonous nights, something would finally make a lasting impression.

            So she let that smile spread, let her body relax, and took another sip of her coffee. And she began to talk, began to talk about herself as a real human being with interests and hobbies and friends like she might have once before she flung herself down deep into the pit in which she was currently stuck. Back when she had actual relationships and real sleep at night. All she had had to tell most guys recently was "single," "bed," and "money," as depressing as that was. But then, other than this night, what part of this life she was living wasn't depressing? For once, she decided to put that aside and really, sincerely, let go.

            He laughed at all the right times and smiled back at her, resting his hand on hers on the table, eyes shining. He bought them both more coffee and told her about himself, about his family and his job and so many simple things that she grasped onto like a lifeline as the rain drizzled on in the dark night and a neon sign flickered faintly across the street. He joked and she laughed, soft music playing in the background as the poor waitress played games on her phone behind the counter, oblivious to everything going on around her. No one else came into the little cafe, so it was just the broken girl and the mending boy sitting, laughing, at the table by the window.

* * *

            It had been perfect. The most wonderful moment of her life since God knows when, until he had to leave. He had checked his watch and gotten up with a start, apologizing profusely as he hurriedly pulled on his coat and stuffed his hat and grabbed his wallet.

            To be honest, she was heartbroken. All this time that had been what she'd been trying to avoid and then she'd just let go for one night, fallen further than she had ever intended and now she laying there at the bottom of a completely separate pit than before, paralyzed. For a few sweet, amazing hours, she'd been able to calm down, relax, actually enjoy life for once and she had given and then, it had ended. Of course it had ended; everything ended, at some point. She was just hoping that it wouldn't have ended so soon, so abruptly; he hadn't even left his number or shown any signs of wanting to stay in contact, just up and left like he had forgotten about some important meeting. But it was 2:07 am; where could he possibly need to get to at this point other than some other late night date or something? Or had she just been that off-putting? She had thought that he had been enjoying himself too,  laughing and joking and smiling, but maybe that had been an act. That's what his story was, after all, that he had learned to be funny and put on a cheery face so that no one would suspect how he actually felt. Maybe he just wanted to get out of there and so he faked surprise as she checked his watch and jumped up in a hurry.

            She felt a tear running down her cheek, though she hated to admit it. She ordered yet another coffee and sipped it in a daze, alone with her thoughts more so than she had ever been, this time without a drink to take her mind elsewhere. Another tear ran silently down her cheek as she stared out the window; now it looked so much more depressing than before, so much more frightening and closed-off. The whole night had lost the feeling of opportunity and change. She was right back to where she had started and painfully aware of it.

        She wasn't sure how much longer she could live off coffee and alcohol, of broken relationships and forgotten hopes. She wasn't sure how much longer she could go on or what even was the point of it.  

            She hadn't slept in ages.

            * * *

            He breathed a sigh of relief when he found her asleep at the table when he rushed back that morning at 6:00. Remembering her complaints of incessant insomnia, he was careful not to wake her as he tucked the note loosely inside her purse. He had hated to leave her and hated even more that he hadn't even thought to ask for her number. He had been so startled when he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to have been at his sister's house earlier that night to babysit his nephew while her and her husband left on an early morning flight that it hadn't even crossed his mind.

            He couldn't believe his luck when he found her asleep there that morning, couldn't believe that it was all going so according to plan. It was almost, dare he say it, like fate.

            * * *

            She didn't wake up until 10:00 that morning when the waitress shook her awake, telling her that she really needed to leave unless she was planning on buying something more. She had jumped out of her chair, startled and disoriented, knocking her purse to the ground and almost tripping over the stilettos she had finally gotten accustomed to wearing. She couldn't believe that she had slept that long; she must've gotten seven good hours of sleep. That was unheard of in her book.

            She hurried out the door as it all came rushing back to her, the feeling of the night and the pain and the coffee and that beautiful stranger that had done something magical to her. She tried to hide her feelings, tried to keep herself from crying as she always had. She still couldn't believe everything that had happened, that he had transformed her for a few hours and then up and left without a word.

            * * *

            As days turned into weeks and then months, he still hadn't had any sign of communication from her. He hated to admit it, but it killed him inside; it was just one night, but it was a special night, a pure, raw, beautiful night and he had fallen for her. He thought there was a chance that she had fallen, too, or at least enjoyed the night; she had been laughing and talking and looking so very alive for a depressed insomniac that he thought she must have felt something or other.

            As days turned into weeks and then months, she continued on with her life as she had before that pure, raw, beautiful night and she had fallen for him. But every time she passed some little coffee shop on a dark night, every time she couldn't sleep and every time she was sober and lonely, that stranger's face and the feel of that night was the only thing on her mind.

            As days turned into weeks and then months, the waitress of that little coffee shop could only guess about the meaning of the note she had picked up from the floor that morning that the frazzled girl left in a hurry.