Or if she rejected me again, then I could take pictures of her fucking in a horse costume and blackmail her into loving me like she should.

I don't make threats," she said. "I make reality.

If that was the last time we met, I was satisfied with my parting words. But if that was the case, why was I crying on the way back to the train as if I'd experienced a death?

I licked my lips where I could still taste their glove's fabric. Bitter leather and sweat. The taste of being alive.

I hoofed it out of the alley, returned aboveground. Collided with people as I tore down the street, running fast as I could, chasing demons I would never catch.