Anastasia

Empty

1996

Her long golden hair blew lightly in the wind whilst she was leaning on the edge of the bridge. The only light shining was the street lights and the stars. In her left hand, she held a burning cigarette and in her right hand a bottle of white wine that only had a sip left. She sat there on that abandoned bridge, gazing down at the water as it reflected a face that she couldn't recognize as her own. She laid back and closed her eyes but all she saw were flashes of memory from the day her world was reset like she was a faulty piece of electronics that had to be returned to the factory default. She took a deep breath and lit a cigarette watching the cars below pass by every 10 minutes. It's times like this when you're sitting on a bridge on top of a long abandoned highway on the old route to San Diego that you either feel two things. Freedom or out right despair in the back of your head telling you to jump.

She was feeling none of those things. She wished she had actually felt something. Anything.

"I just want to see the light," She replies. However, her little fragile form was too weak to gaze up at the night sky. Sadly, she would never see the light which she was oh-so passionate about.

"Ma'am." The low voice and the light of the flashlight the security guard was holding in his hand jolted her upright as she squinted her eyes trying to get a better view of him, "You're not allowed to be here."

She sighed and stood up throwing her cigarette off the bridge and climbed the railing onto the pedestrian sidewalk.

"Sorry, I got caught up." she smiled that famous smile at her and brushed the dust off of her jeans.

"Hey, aren't you Anastasia Rinaldi?" the man was now grinning and flashed the light to her face which caused her to bring her hand to her face trying to guard it off, "Shit, you are."

She gave him a weak smile, "Sorry, I'll be leaving."

"Hey, mind if I get an autograph for my wife?" he pulled out a small notebook and a pen from his jacket pocket.

Her eyes got dim as she looked over at his hand with the notebook questioning whether or not she should do it, thinking about what if he told the press that he had found her on the side of a bridge abandoned highway. She sighed and took the pen and paper from his hand and jotted down her name.

"Thanks," the man smiled "We're huge fans."

She nodded, "Good night, sorry for the inconvenience."

"Oh, it's okay. We all gotta find a way to get out of our thoughts for a little bit, between you and me I sit there a lot too." he laughed and put the notebook into his pocket.

She chuckled and waved goodbye at the man before going off to find the car she had parked in between two bushes.

She drove home that night with no thoughts in her mind. Nothing. It was like someone had reset her whole brain, her memories, her fears, her wishes, dreams...she could not seem to remember any of them.

His warm smile greeted her empty eyes as she walked into their home, "Hey, babe. I was wondering where you were." he wrapped his arms around her taking in her even skinnier frame. She smiled up at him hoping he wouldn't see past through her emptiness, she tried to guard them as best as possible. He was going through so much with the band and himself already. She was scared that the way she was feeling was going to rub off on him. That was the last thing she wanted.

"I just went out for a drive after I was at the studio." she put her coat on the rack and walked into the living room "You speak to Axl at all? You guys were gonna meet up?"

His grinning face got serious all of a sudden as he pulled out his cigarette and lit it sitting on the couch, "No. I don't think I will be talking to him in a while." he shrugged "Whatever."

She sat on his lap, cupping his face in her frail fingers and kissed him, "He needs you way more than you need him. Trust me. Whatever happens, he's screwed without you. Let him be screwed." she rubbed his shoulders.

He laughed and took her hand, "And that is the reason I'm marrying you. You hate this shit even more than I do." he chuckled.

--

He sat in her now empty house. The camera men had left and he was now alone in her house in the middle of Palm Springs. The couch was a lot comfier than he had remembered. He touched it softly grazing his hand over the white leather remember every moment they had shared sitting and sleeping on the very spot.

He never understood why she did it. Perhaps it was a show of power, a need to be the one in control. Perhaps she did so to prevent her life from collapsing; she always talked about how she walked on fine pieces, how everything was momentary for her. She was not a light soul. She carried thunder and rain and ruination deep within her. She was always a little bit sad, a little bit angry, and a little bit scared. She was frightened of the darkness within her and so she became the darkness so as not to be afraid. Pale blue eyes hindering an even darker color behind them.

He loved the dark. He loved the storms. He loved the girl who carried them inside. He thought maybe he could have calmed those storms, carry her back to safer waters, but no, not with her. She would never let him do, say or understand anything that was going on in her head. No matter how much he had loved her and even still to this day love her, he hated her for not letting him in. She left one night, slipping away into the darkness. A dark soul. She left behind a little bit of sadness, a little bit of anger, and a little bit of fear. There is no way to bottle thunder and rain and ruination.

The sweet ache of regret was welcomed into his heart. He was used to pain, he had learned long ago how to use it to build walls between himself and the world. His walls were not as effective as he thought-the loneliness still stung when it first landed. But he was a master, he told himself he was in charge of his own heart, and his head would always win in a fight. His past hurts would stop his heart from trying again, the accumulated scars blocking any feelings from interfering. At some point, he knew that you had to stop blaming yourself for what went wrong. It is, of course, more easily said than done.