Broadway Is Dark Tonight.

The dark sky had not a star in it, not one. There was hardly a moon. It was trying its best to pull itself over the clouds that kept it hidden. The many lights that lit up Broadway seemed dim that night. Danielle Gibson seemed to notice it, too. The city that she had grown so accustomed to looked dark that night.

She pulled her coat tighter as she walked out of the New Amsterdam Theatre. Her bright red dress was now hidden by a dark brown overcoat. She pulled her dark hair back into a tight bun and walked briskly out into the busy, bustling street.

Cars rolled past Danielle, trying their best to get over 10 miles an hour. The congested traffic made it somewhat easy to walk to the other side of the street. Granted, there were times where Danielle felt a car push on her a bit. She would usually send a sharp glare in the direction of the driver or say a stream of curses, but tonight, she just walked and ignored the rude, aggravated drivers.

She sped up her pace, trying her best to make it to her favourite bar before all the drunks and tourists started pouring in. The cold wind rushed her to an almost jog. Her long legs were freezing and she, then, regretted not wasting a few minutes to throw on some jeans.

It took her about ten minutes to reach her destination. She felt like every time her foot stepped in, she was automatically welcomed by the people and the alcohol inside. Mainly, it was the alcohol that usually welcomed her with arms wide open. The alcohol was what made her fall from the top to the bottom more bearable.

Now, Danielle Gibson was not an alcoholic. No. Not close. Alcoholics, according to Danielle, were weak, spineless. They could do nothing for themselves and all they looked forward to was their precious drunken state. Alcoholics are the ones who gave up, the ones who couldn't move on with their lives.

Danielle Gibson, however, was not an alcoholic. She was not dependent on alcohol. It was not a crutch. Far from it. It was just a gift, as Danielle would say. It was a reward. Alcohol had no grip on her. She didn't need it. She welcomed it when it welcomed her. They were friends. Just friends.

Alcohol and Danielle were friends for a reason, however. Alcohol always made her feel better, as a friend should. After a bad show or just a bad night in general, it would cheer her up, make her feel a little bit better. Alcohol never called her names, never looked down on her. Alcohol never talked badly about her performance, never wrote a bad review. In fact, there were few times where alcohol had ever kicked her while she was down.

Danielle glided inside, almost like a fairy. She seemed like a fairy among this crowd, however. There were the usuals who seemed like they lived inside the bar. Most of them were burly men and business men, two opposites who seemed to have more in common than they imagined. There were the drunkards who looked as though they had no home but the street; most wondered how they could afford so much alcohol. There was the woman who sat to herself in the same booth every Thursday night, never ordering anything that contained an ounce of alcohol; she just sat there reading.

Danielle sat up at the bar, placing her head carefully into her hands. With one hand she tapped rhythmically and with the other hand she flung a stray strand of her blonde hair out of her eyes.

It took a few moments until the bartender noticed her. He flashed Danielle a large smile and walked over to her. "Hey, Dani," his gruff voice greeted, calling her the nickname he had adopted. He pushed his messy, dirty blonde hair back, still grinning at Danielle. She was his favourite out of everyone who usually walked into his bar.

Danielle smiled back at the young man. "What's up, Frank?" She asked this distantly as she scanned over the many bottles of alcohol that decorated the walls behind the man.

Frank caught on to the tone in her voice and quickly replied, "Nothing much. Do you want your usual?" His hands were already shooting for the ingredients for her drink.

Her dark green eyes lit up. "Thanks, Frank," she said.

She had first entered that bar a few weeks after Frank had started and for three years she had continued to go there. Ever since then, Frank and Danielle had become relatively close. They had even been with each other outside of the bar. Granted, Danielle found it somewhat awkward seeing Frank outside that certain type of atmosphere. Frank, on the other hand, loved seeing Danielle outside of his work, where she was normal, beautiful, sober.

Frank placed in front of Danielle her drink, a White Russian. Danielle gulped most of it down, only waiting a few seconds in between to catch her breath. Her night had been rather dreary and lonely, and, well, she needed her friend by her side.

+ + + + +

"Dani? Are you okay?" The familiar voice seemed distant and distorted. Danielle tried her best to put a face to the voice, but failed. Her thoughts were racing. Her sight was blurred and everything around her was meshing together, blending together. Chaos reigned over her.

Frank looked down at his friend, nearly unconscious on the floor. He knew that this would happen. He didn't find this as a shock, seeing Danielle like this. He had seen it at the least four times before. He had come to accept that he would see his friend like this, no matter how much it hurt him.

Earlier in the night, as the number of bar attendants dwindled, so did Danielle's self-control. Danielle, needing the feeling of loneliness and depression gone, gratefully accepted the alcohol as Frank handed her drink after drink, and Frank watched on as Danielle played pool with a few burly men, only hitting the ball once, and giggling on as though everything said was hilarious. He watched as she climbed on a table and danced awkwardly, singing an incoherent song.

Frank watched as the depression started to sink in. Danielle made her way, slowly, stumbling, back to the bar, and asked for more drinks. He knew that the alcohol was going to do this tonight. Betray her. Beat her while she was down. Yet, she still continued to crawl back to it. Mid-way through one of her drinks, Frank could see Danielle clumsily wipe a tear from her eye.

Danielle could hear her friend who she had so easily come back to talk down to her. You'll never be on top again. Danielle could feel hot tears ready to pour. You're a failure.

After a few more drinks, Frank watched as Danielle fell backwards, falling onto the floor. He looked at her with no excitement. He knew this would happen. He looked around at his empty bar then at Danielle. He exhaled a heavy sigh and walked over to Danielle's now unconscious body.