I live in an old beat-up Airstream in only the shittiest of trailer parks, just south of Hollywood. I don't know my neighbors, and I don't think I care to. Judging from the sounds that come from their trailers every night- sounds of fighting, clinking glass, and screams of hallucination from whatever street drug they're on- they aren't exactly the best caliber of people. But then again, neither am I. Not anymore, anyway.

I work as a singing waiter at a rundown coffee shop in the worse part of Hollywood, serenading pretty girls, striking poses as I hand them their order. Anything for a tip. Sometimes they slip me their numbers, hastily scribbled on a paper napkin ring or the back of their check, and sometimes I call them, invite them over for whispered compliments and breathless encounters on my thrift store couch , and when they leave I never speak to them again. It's nothing personal. I just can't. And I still haven't figured out why that is.

This isn't at all how I imagined my life playing out- this isn't how things are supposed to be. I was the golden boy of my high school; I starred in every show, had the teachers fawning over me and girls practically fainting every time I gave them a second glance. I was meant to get out of this place, go far and be somebody, but, dammit, even the best laid plans get fucked up beyond repair without you even noticing, and by the time you do, it's too late to do anything about it. You can't will something into reality just because you want it, and that whole 'hard work will pay off' thing is bullshit.

My parents have long since given up on me, and stopped the weekly phone calls where they'd ask hopefully about what I was up to and then not even bother to mask the disappointment in their voices when the answer was always the same: nothing. I can't even remember the last time we spoke. My birthday? Maybe Christmas. It doesn't matter- all of my days blur together anyway, a mess of dirty coffee cups and unpaid bills and auditions that never amount to anything, callbacks that never come, connections always missed and always finding myself in the right place at the wrong time. I'm only twenty-two years old, but I can't help but feel like my fate is sealed, like I'm destined to live paycheck to paycheck in this crappy RV, doomed to a life of anonymity like I'd always feared I would be.

I swear I see her sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, black curls cascading down her back and light glinting off the studs in that hideous belt she always insisted on wearing. I know she isn't there. I know she's off being Broadway's latest darling, making a name for herself like I always knew she would, like I'd always intended to do for myself.

But still, I keep her around, even though I know I shouldn't. I can still smell her on my plaid shirts and feel her lips against mine, kissing me in the way only she knew how to do. I can hear the purr in her voice when she'd whisper in my ear, and I can feel the warmth of her smile, rare though it was. She's always with me, even though she's long gone, and of all the mistakes I've made in my life- and, trust me, there are more than a few- losing her is the one that I just cannot seem to forgive myself for.

Author's Note

So I woke up in the middle of the night last night with this sudden inspiration for this story, and I couldn't go back to sleep until I'd outlined it. This is going to be another multichap, and I hope to update every week.

I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are welcome and appreciated! :)