"Are you coming for me?" she asked when she called and woke me up that morning. I didn't know, I got up in a daze, put on the first clothes I found (my only Diane von Furstenberg dress and a leather jacket) and grabbed a taxi down on Fifth. Lincoln Tunnel never seemed so endless, my heart in a violent uproar all the way to the airport.
I stumbled through the terminal building as if in high heels on the ice in Central Park and melted the moment I saw her through the crowds. Her slender body on my bed an hour later, me touching her hair periodically just to see if she's really there, and she was. She escaped just like me but we both know we'll never really get out of this dark.