"Melody! Oh, Jesus Christ!"

Dan rushed to my little bed in the busy ER, his face and body tremoring in panic, but exuded relief the second he laid eyes on me. His always perfect hair looked disheveled from the amount of times I had to assume he had combed his hands through it. As his eyes took in my battered face and bruised body, he let out a strangled sound and nearly choked me as he crushed me in his arms.

"Mel," He cried in a strained voice against my neck. He squeezed me tighter when I hugged him back. "Oh, God, Mel, I..."

"Schh." I stroked his back with my bandaged hands. The doctor had patched me up and cleaned up the deep cut along my eye socket. I hadn't called Dan until I was sure every spec of blood was gone so he wouldn't have to see me like that. He always worried too much. Always cared about me... "I'm fine, Dan. Doc says I'm good to go home. Only superficial wounds."

"Mel, I'm so sorry," Dan finally drew back to look at me properly. Thankfully the darkness of my skin didn't show the blackish-purple bruises too much, but apparently dark wasn't dark enough to stop him from tearing up. "Did you talk to the police yet? Did you give them a description of—"

"I did. They think they already know who he is. Apparently he's done it before so his face is on record... I'm sure they'll catch him soon."

Dan nodded back, but pressed his lips tightly together, knowing full and all how often these guys were truly caught; Rarely. His eyes slid down to my dress and saw how it was torn some places. He let out a broken sound again. "This is my fault... if I hadn't pressured you into going out—"

"Okay, there's gonna be none of that," I warned him when he was about to start the whole 'it's my fault' speech. "It's nobody's fault but the goddamn shitpiece who assaulted me, so don't even start, Dan. I'm too tired for that."

He pressed his lips tightly together again, but sighed. "Alright... I just... when you didn't come back from the alley and I went out to check, all I saw was your clutch on the ground... Christ, I just panicked, Mel. Worst hour of my life, and then I get that phone call."

I looked at him for a moment as he cupped his face, shaking and fighting what I knew were tears. He was in shock. I pulled him in for another hug, and he gladly clutched me back, crying softy against my shoulder. "It's okay. It's over now." For now. "Where's Kyle? What did you do after I left?"

Dan slowly pulled back, his eyes red. He quickly wiped them down, erasing any tears that lingered on his lashes. "I sent him home and promised to call when I heard anything. He's worried sick, too."

"You should call him and tell him I'm fine," I told, sitting up straighter. "I'll get changed in the meanwhile. Did you bring the bag of clothes I asked for?"

Dan quickly picked up a plastic bag from the floor he had brought, placing it in my lap. "I brought you your flats, your sweatpants and that t-shirt you stole from me you like wearing."

"You're an angel," I tried smiling up at him, seeing a small smile lift to his lips as well, but his eyes didn't quite twinkle the way they were supposed to. I'm sure mine didn't either. It was a start, though. "Go call Kyle. I'll get changed."

After another quick hug, Dan left me to change alone, closing the curtain around my bed. I then begun stripping. My knees hurt as I dragged the loose fabric over my cuts. The asshole had goddamn thrown me onto the asphalt.

I donned Dan's overlarge t-shirt which was his old college shirt. It fit me comfortably. That's why I usually slept in it. I then slipped my feet into the flat shoes he packed as well since I had lost my heels running from...

Don't think more about it. My head was still throbbing from all that had happened. I was still in shock, too. My mind couldn't fully comprehend all that had happened tonight. What I had been through. It was going to take time and sleep to process it...

And him.

Me and Dan drove home in a cab and he made sure to tuck me safely into bed while promising me a delicious breakfast when I woke up. We didn't get home before 4.45am in the morning, so it was safe to say I was going to sleep for a long time. I was both physically and mentally exhausted from running and fighting and crying and overdosing on adrenaline. Not to mention the massive hangover that was biting my ass as well, as if the rest wasn't bad enough.

But as I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, I only saw one thing, and surprisingly, it wasn't the devil who's face I thought would haunt me for days. Maybe even weeks. No.

I saw him. Blue oceans, glowing behind a mask of darkness. My savior. My guard.

I fell asleep with him on my mind, those dark-blue eyes burning my corneas until I knew I'd never forget him.

After tonight, I knew how to find him.

~~~

If my intuition about him being a veteran was true, then there was a place I knew I could search for him. It wasn't a place known to the common person, but to those who had grandparents who had fought in the war, they knew where the lost souls went when they didn't feel like they belonged anywhere anymore.

There was an old building on 32 Mill Road that had been a shelter specifically built for veterans. It had coincidentally been called 'The Veterans Place', but it closed down years ago. Still, even though the building was abandoned, homeless veterans gathered around and behind the building, sleeping there as the soldiers before them had. It was a sense of comradeship, a place where they could feel together in their lost, post-war world.

My heart clenched as I stopped up in front of the building that Monday morning, watching the homeless people gathering around it. Tourists were taking pictures of them like they were some exciting city attraction. I felt my fist tighten around the plastic bag I was holding, but stopped myself when my wounded hand began to hurt. I reminded myself why I was here.

With a deep breath, I centered myself and began my search. I walked into the alley lining up to the building where a strange neighborhood of homeless people had set up their homes. Small makeshift awnings and tents created a labyrinth of houses while some lived out of old shopping carts, paper boxes, or simply just what they could carry in a small plastic bag, not much bigger than the one I was holding.

But there was no sign of my guard.

I sighed and looked down. I knew it wouldn't have been that easy. After days of searching, it would've been just too easy if he had really been here...

But I couldn't quit just yet. With a deep breath, I turned to the first homeless guy who was sitting underneath his awning, whom from the looks of it was chewing on an old piece of hotdog.

"Hey," I carefully said. The homeless guy looked up, his tired eyes showing nothing in particular at my approach. "I was wondering if you could help me. I'm looking for a homeless guy, I was hoping you'd seen him."

"Who are you looking for?" He murmured tiredly, his voice ever so slightly slurred and his breath reeking of alcohol. I noticed a bottle sitting besides him, half empty. The torn label just barely spelled out Jack.

"I don't know his name," I confessed and swallowed. "But... he's tall. About my age, I think. Brown hair, blue eyes... beard? Uh... checkered shirt, trench coat?" I fought to remember any vital detail I could recall about my savior.

But the homeless guy grunted and shook his head. "Don't know him."

"Are you sure?" I tried, pushing a little. I could feel I was so close. I just needed to ask the right person.

He shook his head again and I therefore moved on after thanking him. I asked a couple of more; some willing to reply, others shooing me away. The ones who replied all shook their heads, claiming they hadn't seen him. I was beginning to lose hope.

I finally approached the seventeenth homeless guy who was leaning up against a dumpster, singing and mumbling to himself, seemingly lost in his own world. I had to call him twice to get his attention.

"Wha?" He rasped after a moment, blinking up at me, then grinned brightly. "Hello, sweetpea! Want an autograph? Do you have a pen?"

"Uhm... sure," I said when his words sounded sincere. He seemed like he long ago had surrendered his mind to the fallen. Still, his memory might work. "But I was also wondering, have you seen a tall, homeless guy with a checkered shirt, a beanie, a beard and blue eyes?"

"I've known lots of good people in my career," He told while I fished out a pen from my jacket pocket, letting him shake his credentials down on a small piece of an old cereal box. Phil Vercas. "They come and go... this one guy used to lug my bag for me... lost him in 91'... good guy, never hurt nobody but them Iraqis..."

91... Iraqis... "You were in the Gulf War?" Phil didn't seem to understand half of what was coming out of his mouth, but he still spoke the truth. He wasn't lucid, but he knew what once were.

"He was a good guy... you don't find guys like Lenny anymore... we always used to sing together... everyone always called us the next Stevie and Paul..."

"I'm sorry for your loss." I said, squeezing his arm a little. "I... I was hoping you could help me with my own. I lost a... a friend of mine. He lives on the street as well. I was wondering if you knew him. I don't, uh, know his name, but he's really tall and wears a trench coat—"

"You mean Tony?" Phil prompted and then chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, he comes 'round here. Quiet fellow, doesn't like to sing, but loves classical music..."

My heart raced up. "That's him." That had to be him. Right? "Do you know where he is?"

"Sure, he's right here," He nodded and then suddenly shouted, "Ey, Tony! There's a bird here to see you."

Reeling back in shock, I turned around to find a pile of newspapers behind me moving, and out from under them, a face appeared. Tired blue eyes opened and looked up at me.

He'd been sleeping right next to me.

"T-Tony?" I tried. Was that his real name or one the street had given him?

The newspapers shifted again as he slowly brushed them off, sitting up. He ran a dirty hand down his face before dragging off his beanie and running it through his tangled hair as well. "What are you doing here?" He rasped, tiredly.

I caught a sudden flash of something white on his forehead as he pushed his hair back. My eyes flickered to what I realized was an old, deep scar right along his hairline, going down to his temple. The next second, his hair fell back into place and hid away the jagged line. He pulled his beanie back on and turned up the hood on his coat, and in the process, I noticed his knuckles were scuffed from last night. Dried with blood.

"I... I came here to... find you," I got out, my breath turning erratic as he lifted his eyes and connected with mine. He had black lashes that framed his piercing blue eyes. Behind the soil and dirt, his eyes stood out. It made them all the more intense.

"Well now you have," He replied. My mind vaguely registered Phil picking up his humming and singing behind me. "What do you want?"

"To... thank you," I swallowed when he averted his eyes again, as if looking at me had started to bore him. Or annoy him.

"You did last night."

"Not properly," I specified and now held out my plastic bag to him, the bag full of the home-cooked food I'd made and wrapped up. A couple of sandwiches. A foil wrapper with some French fries. A smaller plastic bag with some fruits. A Tupperware with chicken soup. A thermo pot of coffee. A bottle of water. A carton of juice.

I'd packed food I knew could survive the street and last a couple of days. Knowing how most of them ate at shelters and knowing the quality of that food, I made sure to pack a wide variety as well. Just in case there was one thing he didn't like or was allergic to. It was the best I could do, yet it just didn't feel like enough. He'd saved me and my soul, and my thanks to him was a bag of food.

Thanks for saving me from getting raped. Here's a sandwich.

Tony, or whatever his name was, shifted his eyes to the bag, frowning a little, but then reached out, taking it as I held it out. He peaked at the content, frowning even more. He then closed the bag again and nodded. "Thanks."

I blinked perplexed as he with no other words then stood up and took the bag with him. I glared after him when he started walking away, making his way through the maze of camps.

What the hell? What now? Let him go, give it up, or go after him?

I sighed deeply, closed my eyes for a moment, but then cursed it all and walked after him.

I couldn't let it go. I really had to be obsessed.

"Wait!"

Surprisingly enough, he didn't stop, only kept walking as I struggled to keep up. I jumped over sleeping homeless people, made sure I didn't accidentally step on someone. Tony walked through them with ease, informing me he did come here often if he knew all the small loopholes. All the shortcuts.

"Tony, please, wait," I pleaded as I finally caught up with him. He let out a small sigh, but then slowed down, allowing me to walk beside him.

"What do you want?" His voice was chipped this time.

"I just..." How did I start explaining? What could I say that wouldn't make me sound like a lunatic? "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, I just... I can't forget that night at the subway station. When you played the violin."

His shoulders tensed up at the mention of the violin and his jaw clenched shut. Avoiding my gaze, he stared straight ahead and kept walking. "You were assaulted last night, yet the other night is the one you can't forget." His voice was almost mocking. Angry.

Blunt, but truthful. He had such a point, and it only emphasized my own; near rape didn't even cloud over that night he played. It was that potent, that amazing. "Yes."

He closed his eyes for a moment, but then sped up his pace. "I shouldn't have taken it. It was a mistake."

"No—I mean... yes. You should've taken it," I stepped in front of him and held my hand up to make him stop walking. He did. He met my eyes, narrowing them when I swallowed hard. "You should've kept it."

A muscle flexed in his jaw behind his full beard. "What?"

"I... I didn't take it back," I told him. "It's in my apartment. I... I-I've been trying to find you since that night... to give it back to you. It belongs to you."

I knew I'd said too much now. I officially sounded insane, but Tony showed no affections to my little speech. Then again... with a friend like Phil, maybe my insanity didn't seem like much...

After a long moment of silence, Tony finally unlocked his jaw and averted his eyes. Whatever glimmer of emotion he had shown at the talk of the violin washed away that second. "You shouldn't have kept it. I don't want it."

"But..." I started when he was about to walk away, but never got any further.

"But nothing," He threw back, stopping up abruptly to strike me with a hard glare, almost threatening me. But not quite. "Get rid of it. I said I don't want it; accept it and leave me alone."

He turned and walked around me, his shoulder brushing past mine as he headed further down the alley. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been keeping in and then turned around and looked after him, not really knowing what to do.

This was it. I'd done what I could do. There was nothing left for me to say that could make him change his mind. He had made it up. He wanted nothing to do with it.

Sighing, I turned on my foot and walked back where I came from. I couldn't believe this was the end... after everything... the fairytale didn't get a happily ever after...

Because fairytales aren't real. Snap out of it and come back to reality.

I took his words and accepted it.

There was nothing more I could do.

• • •

Cynics are born from those who've experienced the truth and lost it.