night-time regrets

She steps lightly over the pavement cracks, her thin stilettos nimbly securing the worn down path. Past the greyed-out buildings, the dogs, oh the dogs. A dank, musty aroma wafts between the blackened alleyways; it reeks of cigarette smoke. Her light summer dress wallows in the cold, midnight air. It's not enough to look the part; you have to feel the part. Past the crumbling buildings, the perverts secretly eyeing you as you pass. A coy whistle rings out from the darkness, but she ignores it. No, she needs to be someplace else. She'll be in trouble otherwise, trouble that she does not care to experience again. Beneath her caked-on mask of foundation, beneath her darkened eyes laced with mascara, beneath her red, red lipstick- are the signs of his regrets. Bruised. Blackened. He said he was sorry. He looked like he was sorry. Her heels clip the concrete, faster, faster. What are you doing woman? Get home.

Is there any choice?
She needs him, oh she needs him.