On the Dancefloor


3:OO AM. My phone was in my hand and I was running. My heels were in my hands and mascara was streaming my cheeks. That was the last time he saw me. Shoes in my hand, hair flying out behind me, running as fast as I could. Out of the bathroom and onto the dancefloor. Onto the street and into a taxi. I didn't want to go home. I knew once I was alone and in the silence of my own room I'd start to regret leaving him. And guess what, that’s exactly what I did.