Take Flight

I'll Take You

Oh, hell no. The woman tries to stand straight, leaning against the wall, trying to mumble an apology for hitting you and making you drop your last joint. You can clearly smell vodka all over her.

If there's one thing you hate most than noisy places, it's drunk people, and you are already pissed off at this unknown girl who just fell on you. You lift your eyes to the heavens and sigh.

You can't really see that woman in the dark but she looks about 25 or just slightly older - not over 30 - and her hair looks dark. She's wearing black pants and a matching tank top, and you know by the smell that she spilled vodka on them. She starts to cower against the wall, and you know what is about to happen. You stand back so you don't let any chance of getting stained. As predicted, the young woman starts throwing up out in the street.

"Hell, no..." you whisper.

The woman at your feet tries to get up again, and you can't help but reach for her arm to help her up. You might seem a bit rude or harsh, but inside, you have this thing that makes you help people ; anybody, at any time. You help her stand up and keep your hands around her arms to make sure she's stable. You still can't discern her face very well in the night.

"Do you have somebody with you ? Somebody who can take you home ?" you ask.

"No... No ! No ! I'm alone ! I'm alone !" she almost cries.

"Okay, okay, it's fine. Calm down," you calmly say, "I'll call you a cab, so you can get home. Okay ? You can get home safe in a taxi."

"No... No, I can't, I can't, not the taxi. I don't... I don't want to be alone, not again. No !"

You start getting less and less patient as she doesn't seem to want to cooperate.

"You might have someone to call then. Who can get you home."

"I can't go home ! Mad can't see me like that, it's ter... it's terrible, I'm terrible..."

"Who's... Mad ? Is that your boyfriend ? Your husband ?"

She sweetly chuckles.

"It's my... it's my son."

"Great. Well, we can call his father then ; he can come and get you !"

"No, no... He doesn't have a father. I'm alone."

I'm almost tired of hearing her saying the words 'no' and 'I'm alone'.

"Well, I don't know what to do, then ! I'm willing to help, but apparently, you don't ! You even have a place to stay ?"

"I... Yes. Appartement. But I don't wanna go alone.Nnot the taxi. No, please..."

You hear her starting to sob, and you can't help but sigh once again. It's a pain for you to say these next words, but you don't want to leave her alone - especially not as drunk and vulnerable as she is - out in the streets after 1 in the morning.

"If you give me the address, I'll take you. I have a car. I can take you there."

These few words feel awkwardly sexual to you, and you pray for her to be too drunk to notice.

"You... you'd... would do that ?"

"I... Yeah."

You can see her eyes shining with tears looking straight at you, and the gratefulness in them sweeten your judgment about her. She's probably a lost girl, a single mom who's lost control over her life and unfortunately found comfort in alcohol. Who are you to judge, having found comfort in smoking weed.

"Alright, c'mon."

You put your arm around her shoulders so that she can lean on you as she tries to walk as straight as possible. She's slightly taller than you - and probably older than you - but right now, you're taking the lead and the control over the whole situation ; she seems to be the most vulnerable out of you two. You keep walking this way, her in your arms, until you reach your car, parked a few streets away.