The Neon Refuge

The bell above the diner door jingled cheerfully, entirely at odds with the soaking wet, tragic figure that had just walked in.

The diner was mostly empty, populated only by a tired waitress wiping down the counter and a lone truck driver eating pie in the corner. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, reflecting off the red vinyl booths and the sticky linoleum floor.

"You okay, honey?" the waitress asked, pausing her wiping to stare at Harper.

Harper nodded, unable to speak around the massive, agonizing lump in her throat. She dragged her suitcases to the furthest, darkest booth in the back corner and collapsed into the cracked vinyl seat.

She was a disaster. She caught her reflection in the dark, rain-streaked window beside the booth. Her face was pale, her eyes red and swollen, black mascara smeared under her eyes like raccoon masks. Her wet hair hung in lank, pathetic strings.

* Beautiful. Elegant.* The words from Julian’s card echoed in her mind, a cruel, mocking soundtrack to her current state.

Harper broke.

The dam she had been holding up for three weeks completely shattered. She crossed her arms on the sticky Formica table, buried her face in them, and began to cry. It wasn't a delicate, cinematic weeping. It was a massive, hiccuping, devastatingly ugly bout of crying. Her shoulders shook violently. She sobbed for the loss of her best friend, for the loss of her home, for the brutal, undeniable realization that she was entirely unlovable.

She cried until her ribs ached and her lungs burned. The waitress came over, silently placed a mug of black coffee and a handful of paper napkins on the table, and gave her shoulder a pitying pat before walking away.

Harper wiped her nose with a rough paper napkin, taking a shuddering breath. She pulled her phone out of her wet coat pocket. The screen was cracked, but it lit up.

There were twelve missed calls from Julian.

Fourteen unread text messages.

* Harper, where are you?*
* What does this note mean?*
* Harper, please pick up the phone.*
* It's pouring outside. Where did you go?*

Harper stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the power button to turn it off. He was just being responsible. He was just doing his duty as a good guy, making sure his pathetic roommate didn't drown in a gutter.

Before she could power it down, the bell above the diner door violently chimed.

Harper didn't look up, too busy wiping another smear of mascara off her cheek.

Heavy, urgent footsteps slapped against the linoleum floor, moving rapidly down the aisle between the booths.

"Harper."

The voice was breathless, panicked, and entirely familiar.

Harper’s head snapped up.

Julian stood at the edge of her booth. He looked absolutely wild. He wasn't wearing his tailored coat. He was wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, thrown on hastily. He had clearly run through the storm without an umbrella. He was soaking wet, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping from his jawline onto his shirt. His chest was heaving, his dark eyes wide and frantic.