The End of Escape

Escape is a small white pill gone in one gulp and white lines of numbness sniffed straight to her brain. Feelings melt into a puddle underneath patent high-heeled shoes. Escape pierces through her skin and breathes its release into blood. Memories of grabbing hands and stabbing pain shrink to a dot as she gulps air like a fish on a hook.  Escape is crawling out of the sewer into the sunlight, dazzled by brightness before falling into the next drain. It pushes the pain far, far away into an echo she can barely hear.  Escape turns down the volume on groans and lies. The weight of him on her. He’s gone now, but the crushing continues. Endless, breathless.  Seconds or minutes or hours of escape, stop her from ending time altogether. She only knows what to escape from.  Not where to escape to.

But now, resting against her shoulder with milky satisfied breath is a tiny creature she wishes to stay for. Her shaky hand on the back of this boy.  Her feet pressing into the carpet. With strength she wishes to possess, he lifts his head for a moment. Nearly wakes. Then he settles back down to the sweet relief of sleeping with someone safe.