It was late, dark, and dreary when he found her. Besides the sound of the cold rain pelting his old, worn coat and the scratchy rasp of his breathing, the city was oddly quiet. Of course, he could make out the sound of taxis honking their horns and vehicles whizzing by on the outside of the alley, but all of that was just white noise to him now. He tore off his frayed gloves and fell to his knees before her.
She was pale, her dark hair falling in stringy strands across her cheeks, which wore no rosy color. He gently pressed his fingers to the hollow of her throat, pressing harder and harder when he felt nothing. The rain kept pelting his face, and he could not tell its acid droplets from his own salty tears, but he knew he was crying. No, he thought. No, this isn't happening. No. No! He took his hand from her neck, and cupped his face, rocking back and forth on the heels of his old sneakers. Peering through the cracks in his fingers, he looked at her again.
Her long eyelashes cast shadows over her hollow cheeks; the darkness of them matched the black color of her long, greasy hair. She was clad in stained sweat pants, a shirt many sizes too big, a brown raincoat which he remembered used to be a bright yellow, and slippers wrapped countless times in duct tape. She had been so beautiful. But no matter how much he looked at her face, he could not stop his eyes from looking at the empty bottle that had once been full of pills that lay in her lifeless hand. When did this start? She didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve this. He hit himself in the head. Why did she do this to herself? Why?
"No, no," he moaned, stroking her hair. "Char, why? Why'd you do this? Why would you do this? No, no, no." All of the past came flying at him. He remembered their childhood together; telling ghost stories late at night in her tree house he had helped her dad build; the books they swapped as they read together in his room; doing every project in school together; walking in on their first day of high school with big eyes and a cat on their tongue, only to relive all of the details on the bus ride home together; that day in late spring junior year when he finally came out with the feelings he'd been holding in for so many years, that he loved her; one week later when, after steering clear of him for those long days, she told him she loved him too and they kissed; 7 months afterwards when she told him about her hate towards her older brother who had abused her for so many years, and that that was the cause of her bruises, not accidets; when he told her he was going to kill him, but she told him she just wanted to leave for a little bit, leave it all behind; when he told her they could run away together, and she agreed; that final night when they left letters for their families and spent their savings on a train from their life in Pennsylvania to a whole new one in New York. That's how they had ended up in the city.
At first it had been easy. They had bought fake ID's and lied about their high school education, and scored two jobs at McDonalds. Eliot found a group of runaways who said they had room for a couple more, and promised Charlotte that it would be safe for them to stay there until they saved up enough for a small apartment. They lived off of hotdog stands and water fountains, with the occasional visit to the homeless shelter when things got rough. They joked about making a sign that said, "If two teenagers from Pennsylvania can live in the big city, anyone can! -Charlotte Baker & Eliot Wood". But then the manager tried to make a feel for Charlotte, and Eliot started a fight. They both lost their jobs, and though they had gotten lucky the first time, they couldn't seem to find an opening anywhere.
As the money ran short, they started to lose some weight and black circles rose underneath their eyes. Their days were made up of wandering the streets stopping into every store they though they could maybe find a job at, and their nights were filled with sitting around a fire in the alley their new runaway friends welcomed them into. They created bonds with all of them. But one day, police officers found it and Eliot and Charlotte were lucky to get away. Charlotte broke down once they got far enough away, saying that she didn't want to go back to her brother, and that her father would be so disappointed.
Their nights were then spent sleeping in different closed alleys, taking turns sleeping. Until they came across another runaway campout place. Eliot had never imagined so many kids with stories like their own. But their new home's welcome led to a dark monster that would end up tearing the two apart.
One night a boy Eliot had grown to enjoy offered him a smoke. Eliot accepted, thinking nothing of it. But then he started to become light headed and felt as if he were flying. He made Charlotte take some, and they spent the night gazing into each other's eyes and forgetting everything else in the world. When Eliot came off the high, he found out it was weed, and wanted, needed, more. Charlotte and Eliot were hooked, and they spent many months trying any way they could make money; loading things for movers, helping street cleaners clean, even stealing small knick knacks in Chinatown and reselling them in order to pay for the weed.
Eliot loved the feeling of it, but Charlotte felt like it was a part of her that she could not let go of. She started downing any pills she could get her hands on, smoking any smoke she could get a smoke off of, snorting any powder she came across. When Eliot confronted her about it, she cussed him out and asked if he even knew what had happened in her past. He said that he thought he did, and she just brushed him off.
It was months later when he found out that she had been selling her body in order to pay for the drugs. He broke down. At first he was furious, knowing that she was choosing the high over him. But then he understood; the high was amazing. But he loved her more than the high. The high had never been who he was. Was it? He brought it up to her, and tried to wrap her in his arms, telling her it was okay. But she just yelled at him, and asked him again if he knew what her past had been.
"It's my only escape from this hell!" she had screamed, spitting into his face. It was only later when he found out from one of her prostitute friends that her brother had not only abused her, he had sexually harassed her as well.
He didn't know why it was her escape. He didn't know how hurt she was. He didn't know why she hadn't told him, why she had told someone she barely knew, but not him. But he did know one thing. He loved her. He loved her so much.
Days started passing by where he didn't see her. They didn't even sleep in the same cot in the alley anymore. Fellow runaway girls starting flirting with him, where once they wouldn't have even tried. He couldn't even have a real conversation with her anymore. And she wasn't herself. But he loved her.
When she wasn't high, she was panicked. When she wasn't panicked, she was high. When she was high, she was happy. She told him she loved him, even though he wasn't the only man in her life anymore. She opened up to him about the drugs, telling him she wished she had never met them. But when she was panicked, she was angry. She told him she hated him, but then fell to her knees sobbing, crying, "You know I love you, I just want the drugs! Please, please, get me the drugs! I can't love you right now! I need the drugs! Come on, Eliot!"
And then it started raining. And it never stopped. For days, it didn't stop. And she wouldn't come back. She had gone on one of her missions, and he had dismissed it, wanting to give her space, thinking she would come back. She always did. But then she didn't. And it kept raining. He searched her regular spots, but couldn't find her. It kept raining. And one night, he couldn't fall asleep. So he walked in the pouring rain. And he found her. Like this.
She was no longer alive. She was gone. Gone, and he was still there. It was my fault. I made her meet him. I made her meet the monster, the drugs. I killed her! He hit himself again, and the rain seemed to pour harder. He looked at her, at the beauty he had relished in so many years. At the sweet lips he had kissed countless times, at the small hands he had held. Yet he would no longer hold them. He would no longer kiss them. And he could no longer look at her.
I need to bury her, he thought. I need to bury her! He didn't know where he was going to take her to bury her, but he would bury her. He would.
He was bending down to pick her up into his arms when lights flashed at the end of the alley. Sirens wailed in his ears. The sadness he carried with him only became heavier as he saw those flashing lights, heard those wailing sirens. But he knew they would find her. They would take care of her. They would ..
"Drop your weapons!" He heard someone shout. They thought he had shot her. Oh, God, please. Please help me.
Eliot looked one last time at Charlotte. His first love, the girl with whom he had thrown away everything to spend a life with. He ran his finger across her cheek one last time, reliving the love story they had created together. A whole novel could be written about their love, ending in sorrow and tears with Charlotte's unexpected death, he knew. Her life was over, and he felt like his was too.
At that moment, the rain stopped. Abruptly, God himself closed the window in the sky. And at that moment, Eliot knew. He knew that this was the end of Charlotte's story. This was the end of their love story. This was the end of their adventure. But it was not the end of his. His story was just getting past the prologue, and he was living it.
He knew there would never be a day gone by that he didn't think of her. That he didn't cry for her. That he stopped loving her. For love hurts. But he knew that he couldn't die along with her, even though their love together had fallen along with the pills in her hand. He didn't know much about he afterlife. Maybe she would be waiting for him there. But he had to let her go. He looked down one last time at the girl whom he had loved.
Then he ran.