Somehow, as though through the grace of something invisible, Johnnie managed to escort Dorothy out to the awaiting taxi that night.

Disgusted, Michael had no other choice but to watch from afar as one of his closest friends was practically dragged through his club. He wished that somebody other than himself would keep an eye on her. Not let her get to that state. More so, though, he wished that Johnnie never existed.

-

The next morning, sunlight streamed in through the tattered curtains, casting a yellow beam of light onto Dorothy’s sleeping eyes.

Awakened by the ultra violet onslaught, she blinked cautiously several times and rubbed her eyes, smearing last night’s makeup across her rosy cheeks.

“Johnnie?” Dorothy’s voice was raspy and dry. “Baby, where are you?”

She felt around the bed covers, discovering nothing but his old, ratty pillow. Music streamed in through the partially opened door. Johnnie often left the radio playing.

Looking around the room, Dorothy realized that she was alone. Again.