Empty Gold - {ryden}

14. Desolation

14. desolation (noun) - anguished misery or loneliness

Ryan smelled the semi-familiar scent of smoke fill his nose as he walked out of the back door to find Ashley sitting on the concrete steps facing the adjacent alleyway, cigarette dangling from her delicate fingers. Ryan sighed gently, shuffling over to her and sitting down quietly. Ashley offered Ryan her cigarette, to which he politely declined. After a few quiet beats, Ryan spoke up gently. "Wanna talk about it?"

A few more quiet moments ticked by before she answered him, her voice coming out small and breathy. "I was living in a shelter when I met Brendon," she said softly. She took another small drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly. "That was about five years ago. He hadn't lived in LA really any longer than I had, he just seemed to be doing better for himself."

*     *     *

July 17, 2013

"These are all the tips you made tonight, Ashley," Ian said as he handed her some folded up bills.

Ashley flipped them open and counted them quickly to herself. Her heart dropped in her stomach as she spoke softly. "Are these included with the tips from the stage?"

Ian looked at her sympathetically. "Most of that is from the stage," he said softly. "Ash, don't worry, okay? Business will pick up when the tourists come in and tips will be even bigger. Maybe you'll even catch a club promoter who likes you enough to want you to sing for them for actual cash and not just tips from a jar."

Ashley smiled a small, watery smile as she nodded. "Thanks, Ian," she said quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

He nodded at her once more before she left the small bar, her jacket pulled tightly around her small frame. It was unusually chill for a mid-summer night, but it didn't really bother her as she strode slowly back to the shelter. About five blocks inter her walk, she happened to turn around for the sixth or so time to notice the same man who had been walking behind her since the bar was still behind her, a good fifty feet or so back.

Her pace quickened as she slipped her hand into he coat pocket, hand grasped firmly around her small container of mace. She rounded a corner of an alley she didn't have to go down and hid herself against the brick. Once the man came into view, she rounded herself on him and sprayed him right in the face with the pepper spray, hearing him call out in pain before she turned around and kept walking.

"Ashley!"

The man's voice is what stopped her, and she whipped around quickly only to swear under her breath. The street lighting in the particular spot was enough for her to see the man's face and she swore a little louder. "Brendon, shit!"

Brendon was a regular customer at the bar, and a decent tipper when she was on stage playing her music. They often talked about classical composers, old jazz and blues singers, and why certain musicians and bands couldn't make it in the music industry nowadays. Hell, Ashley could almost consider them friends.

And she'd just maced him right in the eyes.

"Fuck, Brendon, I'm so sorry!" She pulled a small package of on-the-go Kleenex out of her purse and tore some out. "Brendon, don't you know not to creepily follow girls down the streets this late at night? I thought you were some crazy person trying to follow me home!"

Brendon just grimaced slightly as Ashley handed him the tissues. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, but fully sincere. "I figured waiting outside of the bar hours after I'd originally left seemed a bit on the creepy side."