Thank You

Run

Nothing much has changed since those nights before Christmas when I would roam around the empty streets after midnight. The memory of the snow has gone away long ago, and the usual puddles of dirty rainwater are back all over the floor. Everything looks the same but feels so much different. If not too long ago, the dark alleys were what I longed for, what I looked forward to all day, they now only bring back memories of a sad night over a month ago. Nighttime now is the moment of the day when I can worry the most without being able to refrain the thoughts and the hundreds of scenarios playing loudly in my brain. It isn't the peaceful haven it once was, and for so long too. It is torture these days, to have to go through another night is unimaginable. The streets seem familiar but so oppressive, like closing on me each step I take on the broken sidewalks. I am starting to feel the same way as most people when overexposed in the blackness of midnight, it isn't sweet but threatening. Maybe it also is because my world has seemed to be getting less bright over time, as I don't receive any news from her. And well, the last two times I wandered outside my house after dark, she was there.

These two nights, she had captured my attention, and here I am now, restless because of her. I wished too many times to go back to these moments I wanted framed in time so dearly. Only the thought of her eyes staring at me back from my ceiling the very first night I had seen feels better than today. Nowadays, my entire life is worry. Nothing could bring me peace but seeing or knowing for a fact that she is safe. But could I be sure of a such thing, knowing very well what kind of household she lives in ?

My heart pounds heavily in my chest I speed up in the dark, my temples throbbing, causing a headache worse than any other. My feet are mechanically making me move, almost so fast that I believe to be running. The growling and roaring of an ancient engine make my senses more alert at once, and I start sprinting towards the bus stop that I can see afar, not even looking back to see how far the old vehicle is behind me. When I am merely a few feet away from the bus stop, said bus drives past me, stopping a little further long enough for me to hop on, out of breath.

The chauffeur doesn't even look at me while I step into the vehicle and starts driving back again at the same time the doors or slowly closing. The bus is empty – not that it is much of a shock at almost three in the morning – and I can clearly see the seat close to the broken window in the back waiting, but I sit in the front, the closest possible to the door. I can't allow myself to even lose the five seconds it takes me to walk from the back to the front of the bus, each one counts in my mind.

The ride is silent, but chaos is still wrecking my mind. There isn't a second I don't spend thinking I might be too late, that she might not be as safe as she told me she was a month ago. Guilt makes me choke as I can't shake the thought that it might have been because of my reply, my letter, that she may be unsafe today. I close my eyes and try to create a void in my head as we drive through the sleeping suburbs. It takes too long to arrive, being in this bus has never felt longer. I glance at the window too often, noticing I don't keep my eyes closed for more than two seconds, and the landscape doesn't seem to change so much. It surely doesn't change into the one I want to see. Slowly, the shapes shift into familiar buildings - looking dead as ever, but familiar still.

Minutes before the bus stops moving completely before opening its door, I am already up on my feet, ready to jump off and run as fast as I can. And I do. The instant the door opens up on the grey street plunged in a dim lit darkness, I step out in a hop, my legs starting to activate. I may not be the most athletic person, but I don't mind the pain in my body as the freezing air burns my lungs and my breath is shortening quicker than it ever has before. All I feel is exhaustion, but I don't slow down in the least. I am getting so close, and my heartbeat is growing faster by the second – I could not tell whether it is caused by the running or by the fact that I am about to see her again after so long. A month. Who knows what could have happened over the course of thirty-one long days ?

The images I saw in her eyes on Christmas Day - that faithful night – flash in front of my eyes, playing again and again inside my brain, and no matter how much I try to shake it off, it won't stop. I can see her beautiful face damaged by the blows I had heard her take while hidden in my small cupboard, the busted lip and the bruises all over her body. And in those icy, yet warmth-filled eyes, a horror movie contrasting with the beauty and the pureness of the person on which it was reflecting. I could see that one scenario playing over and over, worst than any other because I saw it through her.

My breathing is cut off as I'm chocked up by too many visions blurring the world around me, and I collapse on the wet sidewalk, my knees hitting the ground in a small crack. I know it will bleed, but I need to get up, breathe again and finally find her. I have to. I need to. I shouldn't have waited for so long, but I only held onto her words telling not to come. I would do anything she'd ask me, but I need to come to her. I take support on my scraped hands to stand on my feet again, but before I can take one more step, my breath is cut short again. I only had to lift my eyes to find it. The house is rising right in front of me.

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diana in wonder woman mode. reading to go save her queen.