Three AM, I woke up to her banging, not the good way but on the door. The front window rattled as I peeked through the blinds. She looked great, she always looked great, but now she looked dirty and disarrayed and desperate. The door muffled her a little, but I could hear her yelling for me to let her in. That used to be my line.
She was upset. Of course I opened the door, and I don’t think I’d ever seen her so happy to see me. I held her, and she needed me, and we ended up back on my bed. The apartment’s small, so it’s not like it was much of a trip, but it was a hell of a ride.
Afterwards, when she was still and I was dry and she had her head on my chest, I realized she hadn’t been asking me to let her in. She’d been asking me to invite her. And that’s different, isn’t it?