Savior

You wake up in the dark.

Your first though leads back to your brief bought with depression, your little motto, your dark secret.

You think: the darkness has finally closed in and I am alone. He didn't save me.

You're second thought: I don't know where the hell I am.

Boy is it dark. Your head swivels back and forth and you blink, trying to get your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Your memory is foggy. It feels as though you're on a couch. Cheap fabric, it's definitely not your couch. You shut your eyes and try to think back. 

A late night phone call roused you from bed. A familiar voice had been there, though you couldn't remember whose. You asked how they got your number, but your chest was pounding as if it excited, rather than angry. Leaving your apartment. Panic. You needed a cab and fast. You stood in the middle of the street arms raised. The stacks of city lights flit by like windows of subway cars as you streaked through the night. Inside the cab, time seemed to move too slowly. You had to be somewhere. Somewhere, but where?

Getting there, your an up flights of stairs, flights and flights. Tripping, you scabbed your knees more than once, but kept going. A door, bright red and strange in the group of condominiums. You knock loudly. Someone answers--their face blotted in your memory. A scream, a hug, laughter, and awkward silence. Something.

Beyond that you could not gather. But you were not home.

You extend your arms and move them around, hoping to hit a lamp or light switch. You do, in time, and breathe in before pressing the button to turn on the light. It flickers on, then off, then lights again, but dimly. You gather your surroundings.

Yes, you stayed at the apartment with the red door.

You look down.

Ben.

You smile.

Sleeping on the floor was the boy you loved once. You had loved him too late and he got away. There, on the floor, he lay in a slumped pile, curled inward towards where you would have been on the couch. Still protective, you think with a smile, even after all this time. You exhale. His hair sticks out at odd angles, and his eye lashes kiss his cheeks. His mouth is lightly ajar and there is a soft wheezing sound coming from his nose. His skin is caramel in the honey light. Boy have you missed him.

But why are you in his apartment? Why is it still dark outside?

You want to wake him up and ask. But you don't.

His hand lays idle on the floor. You reach down and take it in yours. Laying back down on the couch, you close your eyes, still with his hand in yours.

Some questions, you think, are better left unanswered.