I'd had a long, long day.
At that moment, all I wanted was to get home, have a hot, soothing mug of coffee, and go to bed, sleep my worries away. I just wanted to forget about it all, forget that spiteful look on Mr. Jenkins face when he fired me. It was obvious he had hated me from the day I started at the job, he had been looking for a reason to fire me all along. When I came in ten minutes late, he had me doing hours overtime... I know I shouldn't have put up with it, but it was my job, it was what I'd always wanted to do. I loved it, Chris was so happy for me when I got the job.
It's strange that something that made me so happy unraveled my life. Chris had broken up with me a few days after I got it, and by email, for Gods' sake. I didn't even answer it, knowing he would be waiting for a reply, just went to sit on my bed and cry. He had been my teenage love, we'd been together for years, but clearly that wasn't good enough when his mother said she hated me.
The most ridiculous reason in the world, isn't it? If it had come from anyone else, I would never have believed it, never in a million years. But this was Chris, a guy who tried to please everyone, telling them the truth, never lying, but taking it back in a moment if it hurt them. I know he meant it, I know he couldn't bear hearing my voice if he called me or broke up in person. That was just the kind of guy he was, a characteristic that had always annoyed me slightly, although I secretly found it amusing, endearing almost.
But, anyway, it doesn't matter now, he's moved away. Originally I was meant to be going with him, but that clearly wasn't an option any more, so I stayed in my flat, the flat I'd moved into when I left home, and had somehow never left. It was a good place; I had had the most amazing luck when my cousin moved out of it. She owned it, and let me live in it, I was paying off the money I owed her slowly, but it was happening.
My shoes were clicking on the pavement, splashing water when I went through a puddle. It was raining slightly, not the kind of rain that feels almost satisfying, the way it shoots down from the sky, pounding into the floor. The sharp bullets against your skin, soaking you in a matter of minutes. I always loved the rain when it was like that, but when it was like this, pathetic drizzles, I hated it, it was so depressing and sad. Like the angels were crying, weeping over something dreadful. I just hated it.
I turned into the train station, entering the cramped heat that belied the cold drizzle outside. Bodies were crammed together at this time, moving as one, with the occasional perverted man who would try and sneak a grope. I pulled my thick black coat around me, suppressing a shudder as I thought of an incident a few months back, a guy using the crowds as cover to press me into the wall and shove his hand up my skirt and inside my underwear. It was horrible; I just shoved him off me and ran like hell through the crowd, earning myself a few curses and elbows, not stopping until I got to the platform, where a train was just leaving, luckily for me. I was terrified he might catch up with me!
Today however, there was just a mass of tired, irritable people trying to get home as fast as possible, away from the rain, away from the crowded streets, away from London, into their haven where they could recuperate in peace from the day. The weather had a dreadful effect on people.
I finally got onto a tram, crowded beyond human belief, and found myself squashed against some man who was clinging to a pole, desperately trying to keep his balance in the tide of bodies. As the train turned a corner, I found myself thrown into him, and I turned to apologise, when I caught sight of him. Any words of apology died in my throat as I looked at him, and saw him properly for the first time.
He wasn't good looking, in the sense that most people find guys handsome, but, to me, he was stunning. His face was quite pale, with high, high cheekbones, giving his face a beautiful angle. His eyes were dark brown, the colour of melted chocolate, and they had that look to them, a kind of soft, dark brown swirl to them, as though they were pools that you could drown in. His dark brown hair was down to his ears, flopping over his face, shiny and sleek, the kind of hair that makes you want to run your fingers through it again and again. His lips were perfect, a dark pinky colour that looked so kissable it was hard not to move over to him and kiss his mouth softly.
I only realised I was staring when he smiled at me, and gave me a slow wink.
I ducked my head, feeling the warm colour spread over my cheeks. I glanced up again after a second, and saw he was still watching me.
