She was gearing up, preparing for what was about to take place like a runner ready to sprint. Taking the steps two at a time, she darted up the escalator with intense fervor and raging motivation. To escape from that person, to run as far as she could until he was invisible from her eyesight and until she no longer had that burning, awkward feeling lingering. That was her purpose as she forced her woozy mind and her wobbly legs to reach the train platform. Taking the train meant escapism. As she was patting her back for an excellent job of slipping away, she saw him getting closer with that intense glare of “you can’t escape me.”
Her mind started screaming in denial. He was there in an instant like black magic, corporeally real. It was now a matter of retracting her claws and embracing sham innocence which she despised the most, of faking it, of being Miss Congeniality, of being an awesome girl he liked in the first place, of being docile when in fact, the devil inside her was seething with burning urge of slapping him in the face. Scorning her choice of heading home alone was beyond wrong. Literally snatching her independence, her freedom of nursing her own drunkenness, her solace of immersing herself into the world of her music, and her comfort of basking in the silence of the night bellowed inequity and disrespect. He already failed her more than she failed herself. With a heavy, riled heart, she bid him goodbye.