Trigger Warning. This short story contains information about violence, sexual assault that may be triggering to survivors.
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I prefer taking the train home rather than driving. Living downtown has its merits. I can walk and observe people, aware that sometimes, someone is also watching and observing me. It helps me to think long and hard about my next move.
It
was late. The train was empty. I noticed that they had upgraded their seats.
They were now a cerulean colour with specks of white and turquoise. I recalled
the time I was in a hurry and entered the train. A majority of the people were
standing up and there were two empty seats that no one would take. Thinking
myself lucky, I sat in one and felt my skirt immediately dampen. Someone had
peed on the seat. I spent the majority of the day with the stench of urine
clinging to me. I was livid. I could’ve killed every passenger on the train, I
was irate.
The
memory made me jump out of my seat and stand. Casually, I looked up and in bold
block letters was an ad that said: An Eye For An Eye Makes The Whole World Blind.
The statement inspired nothing out of me. I looked at it, wondering if it was a
call to come to church, but there wasn’t a logo affiliated with it.
I
got off at my stop and walked a few blocks—about 10 minutes---before coming
face to face with my destination. I stood outside too long, longer than I
needed, just staring at that twelfth floor balcony. Two of my charms clinked together, and I
remembered to walk.
When
I knocked on the door he was surprised to see me. He let me in. I followed him
into the living room. I’d been charmed by the décor, the beautiful lamps the
black and white art once upon a time.
“I
brought wine,” I offered, handing it over to him.
He
seemed taken aback but I could see the relief and joy on his face.
“Red
wine…my favourite,” he exclaimed, walking into the kitchen and returning with
two glasses. Pouring the wine, he set the bottle on top of the glossy white
table that sat on a plush, off-white carpet. It was a beautiful scene—there was
ambiance. We had a beautiful view of the city skyscrapers; there was soft jazz
in the background, and the right amount of dim light provided by the lamps. He
sat across from me.
“I
feel like we are celebrating,” he remarked looking me in the eye shyly.
I
made a great show of thinking about it, a kind smile on my face. My eye noticed
the gold trumpet sitting on the dark brown shelf behind him. My next charm. I
walked over to where he was and sat close to him, one hand holding the wine
glass, the other in my bag. He seemed discomforted. My throat was dry, my heart
was beating fast. I felt as though all the blood was rushing to my ears. I
wanted to throw up. I’d done this too many times to count, and yet this felt
different.
“We are celebrating friendship…forgiveness.
The past is the past, no hard feelings.” I smiled at him and raised my glass.
“To new beginnings.”
The
elation on his face was blinding. “To new beginnings.”
He brought the glass to his lips. The ad from
the bus flashed before my eyes, but before I could think, I saw him tilt his
head, part his lips to take the wine, and my knife-wielding hand slashed with
surgical precision at his neck. The glass in his hand landed on the white
carpet almost soundlessly, and his body followed noisily, hitting the table. This
wasn’t the first time I’d done this yet I froze. The blood on my face and
clothes felt like it was seeping into my pores. I wanted to jump out of my
skin. But I had to remain calm. I walked to the bathroom. Cleaned myself up
carefully, tossed the bloodstained tissues and towel in my bag. I had to be
extra meticulous as I cleaned any trace of my presence. The more I cleaned up
the more paranoid I became. I couldn’t breathe.
Once
outside, I was calm again. The fresh air
re-oriented me once more. My neck felt tense, my shoulders extremely heavy. My
charmbracelet felt weightier even. But I took a deep breath, forced myself to
stand up straight and rounded the corner toward home.
