find me when you wake up [closed]

[etherthief]

She's awake.

She sits up, breath catching in her throat, heart hammering, adrenaline flooding her system. It's okay, it didn't happen. Didn't happen. It was just a dream.

The sun's still rising but she doesn't care. She rolls out of bed, falls to her knees and struggles to get up, get dressed, get moving. She wraps her hijab carelessly, bullies her arm into a makeshift sling as she shoves her way out the door. She fumbles with her phone.

I'm getting on the green line, she types out to Greta. Meet me at GCT.

She breaks into a run as soon as she hits the street.

Comments

[andhiswife]

Greta bolts upright with a gasp, one hand on her chest, the other groping blindly across the bedclothes for Iman before she fully registers where she is: at home, in the semi-dark of approaching dawn, her body--she yanks aside the covers, touches her fingertips to the unmarred skin above her ankle--her body healthy and whole.

It was just a nightmare. She's all right. She's alive.

Oh, god, Iman--where is her phone?!

She stands too quickly and has to pause, swaying, as dark blots make a foray into her field of vision and then retreat. Then she stumbles to the counter where she left her phone to charge, picking up the device just in time to receive Iman's message.

Her fingers are clumsy; it's largely thanks to autocorrect that she's able to get out a coherent: On my way.

She dresses quickly, splashes cold water on her face (when was the last time she cried in her sleep?), grabs her bag, and heads out the door.

The subway will never be her favorite mode of transport, but on this particular morning, it doesn't--it can't phase her. There's something bracing about the noise, and the relative normalcy of the early morning commuters is reassuring. She considers continuing to text Iman, but doesn't know what to say that wouldn't be better said in person. She settles for keeping her hand over the pocket it's resting in, feeling for the buzz of an incoming text.

Less than ten minutes later, she's reached Grand Central Station, though it's bustling even at this hour. She pulls out her phone and texts: I'm here. Where are you?