Seen this done before.

Continuation, Chapter 2

"I care enough because I just saw a grown woman cry her way into what I can only assume is a broom closet!"

"I've seen worse things happen to her, it's illogical really. I've seen men sexually assault that woman, spit on her, push her around, yet she sucks it in, deals with it. Yet, Some man, not too keen on talking in that exact moment tells her so, then everyone starts noticing and caring. People are too absorbed into their drinks to notice the world around them. You see a woman slap a man, you assume he's a creep. You see a man slap a woman, what do you assume? People judge off of sight, not context."

I felt proud after my monologue, I'm sure there was an error or two within my logic. With the influx of dialog, I didn't think Abigail would give a damn enough to call me out for it.

"Those are nothing but absurd examples used to illustrate your point, painting a picture where you aren't the villian!"

"Do you see me as a villian then?"

"I just see you as another *** in another *** pub." She said, throwing her hands in the air as a mother giving up on a father. Fed up with defending him, trying every angle to force herself with him. I was all too accustomed to it. Eventually she would come back, but not tonight, not yet at least.

However, I was greedy, I wanted more that night, I was put into a manic state from the Pastor and Reagan. At this point my life felt pretty worthless. Not that I was depressed, I just didn't want to be there or anywhere at that given moment. To be relieved of all uncertain moving parts while also wanting to further torment myself.

I had let her leave. I know I shouldn't have, but I had to watch her leave. I wanted to feel some form of pain, I couldn't tell you why. It's just the way I've gone about my life.

I laid my eyes upon Abigail, watching her leave to move on from this town. Far beyond the bright house lights. I couldn't tell you why it pained me so, perhaps it was her demeanor, not afraid to be herself like so many others are. It was all so perturbing.

To be honest with you, I had almost cried. Not from grief, joy, or anything of the sort. Something down inside of me wanted out, I just wouldn't let it be.

After contemplating at my unfinished drink for another minute or so, I decided it was my time to leave.

I paid my tab, nodded a farewell to Reagan, who had now come out of her hiding. A tear of sorrow loomed upon her face, still visibly upset from our altercation. Something was stuck on her mind, perhaps a feeling of resentment. Whichever case, I stared into her eyes as I had left the bar and out onto the sidewalk.

It was peacefully calm whilst eerily silent throughout the streets. The winds loved playing down the boulevards when no one was around to get caught within them. No one except a couple every now and then, chatting louder than they believed themselves to be. Awful tricks the wind played, to move sounds across distances, making them heard from almost anywhere. Other than windy howls and the low rumbles of distant cars, there was nothing to be heard. No secrets to be shared with the outside world. No one man to bear witness to.

It felt liminal to be outside then, there was nothing inherently wrong with being out so late. There was just this nagging feeling that persisted with being out in the open cold. I thought of it as my body screaming, yelling at me to not be here, to run away as far as I could. I never listened to it however. I chose to ignore the warnings and carry on, I enjoyed the way it all felt so liminal. The once bustling city now full of broken brown brick buildings, walkways with waves weeds, and fences obscuring alleyways. The breeze hadn't even made an attempt to subtle the mood.

Either way, what stood out to me like a sore thumb was this woman walking down tge sane sidewalk I was. About average height, brunette, never got a chance to see her eyes, I found it peculiar. For a women to be out here at this time. So I lowered my breath, silenced my footsteps, and began to follow her from a distance.

I wouldn't call it stalking, I had no malicious intent. I wouldn't risk and materials on raping and killing her, it would be a waste of my time. Neither do I fantasize of rape. It just became a way to fill my schedule, an exhilarating way to discover more about said person with only one rule, don't get caught.

I glided off onto following her, keeping my eyes locked dead center at the back of her head, with an emotionless look on my face. Eventually I gave up, it was a fruitless pursuit, I had thought about reaching out to her, showing her some innocent routine. She would've bought it, would've fallen for it. She just didn't mean anything to me.

I had stopped where I was, still alowing for my breathing to be silenced. I wondered where it was she could be heading to, who was there waiting for there, perhaps some small animal or a significant other. Whichever case it was, her hair bounced on her shoulders against the breeze as she turned a corner, disappearing from sight. Part of me wanted to give myself a second chance, I thought it had been too late however, she had already disappeared far off from this world. I would never know who she was, what colour her eyes were, her sorrows, or her troubles. It was all too familiar. My mother happened to be the same. I know nothing about her anymore, she left my life at an early age, I never truly cared. My father must've remarried some other woman some four years later. Perhaps it was then or even sooner that I stopped seeing my parents as parents, but rather just more estranged adults living with you, guiding your way through life. Either way, it spun any parental figures far from view, leading me never to possess that connection many others had.

There was this time I was chatting with this girl, she had told me her parents were divorced and she never felt right after that, she missed being with her family, being loved as a whole again. I mentioned that mine were the same way, instead of going on about how unfortunate her life was, she stopped to show me pity. It was all so strange.

After standing in the wind, hands burried deep in my pockets, I trudged on through the cold harsh breeze. After a few minutes of walking, I came upon an intersection, traffic lights beaming red and green, dimly illuminating the street. Gleaming off of the slick road, some green shades reflected up onto a few nearby buildings.

Underneath one of the light polls was a faded descanso. Some scratches were present on the plaquered, grains of dirt and rays of light had each taken their turn soiling the road side memorial.