THIS IS WHAT MAKES US GIRLS.

"IT'S GETTING LATE! I REALLY DO HAVE TO BE GOING!" I shout, trying to be heard over the blaring music in the club.

I'm annoyed because none of my friends can understand what I'm saying. Partly because of the music, mostly because of how intoxicated they are. I know that they're enjoying themselves and they won't mind that I slip out, so I kiss everyone on the cheek and say goodbye.  As I weave in and out of groups of grinding people, I start to question why I'm leaving because everyone looks like they're having such a fantastic time. But then I remember that I have to record for my debut album tomorrow, so I make my way slyly out of the club.

Stepping out was such a relief; it was so much cooler outside, and certainly less sticky. I take out my blackberry to call for a cab then lean against the wall and wait. I'm texting my manager as I hear a couple leave the club, but I don’t think much of it and go back to sending my message. For some reason I get an uneasy gut feeling, maybe from the drinks I promised myself I wouldn’t order or maybe telling me I should eat something, but it makes me glance up to see the couple farther down the alley. 

The girl is average looking, skinnier than I am, with dark hair and olive skin, although it’s hard to make out beneath the lighting of the dim street lights.  The taller guy is all up in her face and is making a complete scene, yelling harshly at her. I shake my head in disapproval- they both must have had too much to drink.  It's just the alcohol that's talking, they'll settle it in no time, no worries. I've been there and done that for sure. I anxiously light a cigarette and pray for the cab to arrive soon, because there is nothing more I want right now than to be curled up in bed. 

The argument starts to get louder and increasingly harder to ignore.  I hear him screaming an array of drunken words, messy and slurred, but I believe the loudest part calls her a filthy whore… I look up just as he raises his hand, threatening to hit her while she begs him not to with desperate Bambi eyes, but the alcohol takes over and he relentlessly slaps her. She immediately calls him an asshole and he spits at the ground in front of her and walks away.

He walks into the middle of the street, waving his arms and turns around to shouts, "DON'T BOTHER COMING HOME YOU BITCH! IF YOU DO I SWEAR TO GOD-" and he clenches his fists.

He walks across the street and on another block and he disappeared from sight. My heart drops as I looked over and I see the girl just standing there, in a daze, almost as she's still processing what was going on. She snaps out of it and looks up to catch me staring at her, despite my attempt to look away fast enough with the smooth distraction of my phone.

She wipes the tears away and lets out a hostile, "What do you want?"

I pretend like I didn't hear her and deeply inhale my cigarette. I know how she feels right now. My mind is clouded with all of the memories of my own past boyfriend and immediately I feel like I need to break down and cry. The girl takes out a cigarette too and hastily feels through her pockets, looking for a lighter.

A low, "You've got to be fucking kidding me" escapes under her breathe, but it was loud enough for me to hear.

I look up at her, showing my lighter and arching my eyebrows, as if to offer her a light.  She stammers over to me and places the cigarette between her lips and I carefully light it for her.  She takes a deep breath on hers, just like I had done on mine.

A few moments go by and she's still smoking it pretty hard so I break the silence and tell her, "You know, I don't think the cigarette will last with how hard you're smoking it."

Coldly, she responds "Listen, I don't need your advice. I know that you just saw what happened, and you don't understand, we're fine, I'm fine, it’s really none of your business."

I take a deep smoke and I look her directly into her hollow eyes, "Honey, you clearly are not fine, your boyfriend just left you, and if you go home, he'll probably kill you.” I laugh inside at how much I sound like my old friends.  “Whether you want to believe it or not, I know what you're going through, I've been through it before. Now you really should stop smoking that fucking thing so hard."

She looks down at the cigarette, nodding her head slowly and throws it on the ground, smothering it with her red converses. She looks back up at me and says "You don't know me or my life. Don't try to help me. But thanks for the smoke."

She turns to walk away but she seems so lost and broken that I just have to grab her arm and ask her where she's going. She says she's going home but I tell her, "You and I both know there is no home for you. You saw the way he clenched his fists. He was being serious. You'll probably wind up sleeping on a park bench and with the way the sky is looking, it won’t be a very pleasant sleep."

My cab pulls up in front of the side street.  The driver winds down the window and asks for Lana so I raise my hand, telling him that was me. Before I get in the cab though, I tell the girl that she could stay at my apartment. Even though I don’t have much room, I couldn’t bare the idea of this girl walking these dark streets all night.  Something about her reminded me so much of myself only a couple of years ago and I felt the sudden urge to help her, almost like it was my responsibility. She automatically shook her head, her pride nearly leaking out of every bone in her body.   

"Listen,” I tell her, “My apartment is small, but you’ll be safe and dry.  I'm not trying to help you or fix you or give you advice, I'm just giving you a roof over your head."

The cab driver is growing impatient and honks the horn. I open the door and tilt my head at the girl, as if telling her she could trust me. She gets in the cab right after me, pulls her knees up to her chest and stares at the city lights while we drive off in the night towards the Village, the place I’ve began to call my home.

After the long drive, I pay the grouchy driver and wish him a nice evening anyway.  I couldn’t be more relieved to see the faded brickwork outside of my building.  Inside, I offer her an old T-shirt that my sister had left the last time she was in town, and I shove the mess of cheap magazines and CDs off my couch, replacing them with an old blanket and a few pillows.

It seemed like it should have been awkward having this strange girl here, one whose name I hadn’t even learned, in my own home.  I rarely even have some of my closest friends over my apartment because I usually prefer to be alone, but I actually don’t mind her company. 

She looks at the T-shirt- it’s faded blue with the Yankee’s symbol, probably from Chuck’s old boyfriend.  I pick at my nails and try to look away to give her the privacy to change into it, but she seems pretty comfortable with removing her clothes in front of a perfect stranger. In fact, she doesn’t even seem like she’s in the moment with her baggy, glazed-over eyes- probably from the alcohol back at the club.  Was she maybe on drugs, too? Whatever, it’s not my business.

Her clothes melt off as if they had been weighing her fragile body down her entire life.  She slips on the T-shirt and collapses on the couch without a word.  I tell her goodnight but she just lays there, solemnly looking at a pile of junk mail on the coffee table that I’d been meaning to sort through...

I go into my bedroom and lie down finally on my own bed, thinking about my old life, memories of my past flooding in and overwhelming me. I keep picturing that asshole hitting the girl, and each time, my heart breaks. I know how she feels and I wish I would have done something to set her boyfriend straight. I try not to let it happen, but my eyes start to water.  Shit, I think.  Just as I'm about to silently cry myself to sleep, I hear whimpering coming from my living room. Curiously, I get up and quietly open my door and sneak around the corner. The girl is sitting, her arms wrapped around her legs, crying similar to how I had probably looked a few minutes ago. I lean against the wall and watch her. I feel her pain and her heart break.  I take in a deep breath and turn around to go back into my bedroom and quietly close my door. I wanted to go and comfort her, say anything, ask her her name, but I promised her all I was doing was offering her a place to stay, not a therapy session.