Day 20: Write a scene taking place in an alley.

"Uh, babe," I began, trying to catch my breath and finally process where exactly we were, "why the hell did you just drag us out of that nice restaurant and here to, like, a sketchy alley?"

"Because," she replied with a gulp of air and watchful eyes full of concern, "we were going to get killed!"

"Killed?" I exclaimed, finally taking the time to look around the alley that she had brought us to. If anywhere, we were more likely to get killed or mugged here--not in that nice Italian place where I had taken her to dinner. Seriously, what the hell were we doing in a sketchfest like this? It looked like the kind of place where shootings happened at midnight when no one was around. It was sandwiched between these two aging brick buildings, had this funky smell that resembled sewage, and scuffed up cobblestone on the ground. 

"Don't freak out," she tried to tell me, but it was already too late. I freaking out, and there was nothing she could say or do that would stop me.

"Why did we leave?" I demanded with my arms crossed firmly over my chest.

"Do you promise that you won't freak out if I tell you?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and her eyes kept darting about in a very paranoid fashion.

"I'm already freaking out, anything you tell me now can't possibly make it worse," I scoffed, observing her as she began to pace back and forth in the cramped area we were now in.

"I'm being chased by the mafia," she finally blurted out. My eyes widened as I stared at the gorgeously average girl that I was currently dating, and I started to wonder how I always ended up with the no-so-normal ones. My last girlfriend was a SIT (Stripped In Training), the one before that was an extreme protester who had been arrested five times for "overly energetic protesting" or something, and then there was the one who only ate purple foods--going out to dinner with her was a nightmare. For once, I just wanted a nice, cute, regular girl with no baggage. And somehow I found the one girl who happened to be on the mafia's Most Wanted list. Great. Just great.

"Why?" I questioned, surprisingly calm.

"Well, my last boyfriend happened to be the son of a mafia boss, but I didn't know that," she sighed with that worried look still taking over her face, "but the police did. They contacted me, asked for some information, and then when I broke up my ex, it came out that I was acting as an informant--apparently that was a big no-no in the mafia world, so now I'm being chased by assassins."

"Oh," was all I found myself saying. It wasn't that bad. Like, yeah, it was bad, but in comparison to one of my past girlfriends who had no clue what an "indoor voice" was, this wasn't too terrible. The chick who I was dating used to scream everything, and it was just awful. 

"We had to leave the restaurant, because I saw some guys that I recognized, and it would be really bad if they saw me," she said, her tone still hushed.

"So you're running from the mafia," I assessed, nodding my head at the established information, "and have you told anyone?"

"Not really."

"Like, not even the cops?"

"Well, they know I'm being chased."

"And they haven't assigned a specific police officer to you?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"Uh huh," I mumbled with a sigh. "Look, I feel really bad about saying this, but I can't go through this again. Babe, I think we need to break up."

She stared at me and then just slowly shook her head. "I really like you, though!"

"And I don't really feel like getting killed for something that I'm not involved in," I told her.

"Understandable, but I think that we can still make this work!" she assured me with a nod.

"Yeah, sorry, but unless you have one of those police detail thingies so that you don't get killed, I don't think this relationship is the best idea ever," I paused, watching her alert eyes that weren't quite trained on me, but something beyond. It wasn't that I didn't like her, per se, but more that I liked the concept of "being alive" more than her. Maybe it was just a crazy personal thing, but dying didn't sound too appealing. Like, ever. With one final glance to her, I managed a concise, "I'm sorry."

"I really enjoyed our time together," she said rather formally.

"Yeah, me too," I returned, beginning to walk out of the alley. "See ya around."

"Yeah, you too," she replied with a sad smile. I returned the expression, and then came out of the alley and onto a sketchy sidewalk.

I began to walk away, contemplating the brief time we had shared together and what it meant to me, when I suddently bumped into someone. "Geez! Watch where ya goin'," a bulky guy barked at me. He had a rough face and looked pretty scary. As I was observing him, he also happened to be scrutinizing me, and when I met his eyes, they glinted and he said, "You were that guy with the girl in the restuarant!"

"Maybe," I shrugged with a gulp.

"No, no, you were," he told me. "Where is she?"

"Who?"

"The girl. Is she your girlfriend?"

"No," I answered, for it was the truth.

"Uh huh," he moved his head around, not believing me. "Well, where is she?"

"I don't know. I think she went that way," I pointed in the opposite direction of the alley, not sure who the dude with whom I was talking was, but having a hunch that his intentions were exactly pleasant. He thanked me, went on his way, and just left me on the side of the sidewalk, thinking about what had just happened. Why me? Of all the people on the planet, why did this stuff always happen to me?