It's 4am and I'm standing on the corner of a dark street in the pouring rain. Soaked through. Shivering. My dress is ruined. My heels that were once so comfortably slung on my feet are now juggled in one hand. In the other, I hold my bag, with nothing in except my lipstick and copper. Not enough money for a taxi home. My friends have gone seperate ways, and drunk little me decided to wander off. Returning to the scene of the crime, my friends all text saying they'd gone home or to flats or parties or other bars. You were my first choice and my last resort. Dialling your number, I was shivering and pleading that you'd answer. You didn't. So with cut feet, light-headed and absolutely dripping wet, I stumbled to your flat. I leaned on the buzzer. No answer. I fell onto the steps, and got shelter underneath the overhead roofing. I buzzed again. This time, chucking my shoes to the curb and trying to keep moving, from one foot to the other, in a poor attempt to keep warm. It isn't working. The rain begins to pour, and I sit down. Surrounded by puddles, that are getting increasingly deeper as the minutes pass. Just when I think I'll try my friends again, there's a sound. Something that makes me look up, stop studying my filthy, sore feet, and acknowledge that there's a presence behind me.
Just when I thought I didn't matter, just when I was about to walk away. You open the door, half-dressed, barely awake, and looking fairly confused, you pick me up, and help me inside. My eyes are heavy, I'm dripping wet and my make up is working its way down my face along with an undesirable amount of rain water. The next thing I know, I wake up on your sofa. I'm wearing one of your old t-shirts and a pair of tracksuit bottoms that are three sizes too big, and make my legs look like they've ballooned over night.
You greet me in the most perfect way imaginable,
and there's a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of me.
"Thank you," I mouth, as I slowly sit up and my eyes get reacquainted with my surroundings. I catch your gaze. You look at me, like I'm worth a million dollars. Even if I am in your old clothes and my feet are filthy, and my hair is lank and sticking to my head. A smile from you, and last night's disaster fades away, like the stain of breath upon a mirror.