But just as I’m about to head out behind Sam, I think back to the stalker presentiment and for some reason, I get that same weird feeling. The feeling that something is going to go wrong. That something isn’t right. “Wait,” I call, stopping just as Sam heads out. “Throw me the keys. I need to lock up,” I say, because I am not taking any chances.
I see Naomi and Sam get into the car, and panic settles in my chest. I stop in my tracks. The train station isn’t close by, and I’ll probably be late if I don’t get a ride. But the thought of getting into a car, even with my sisters, sends a shiver down my spine. My father’s accident… Mason’s. My heart races, pulsing with memories I’d rather forget. I’d hoped this fear had gone away, but it’s still here. Horrible and relentless, and clearly affecting me more than my sisters.
“Come on, Addie! We’re going to be late!” Naomi yells from the car.
“I… I can’t. I just… I can’t get in the car.” My voice comes out strangled, desperate.
“Adeline, we don’t have time for this. If you don’t get in the car in five seconds, I’m leaving without you,” she snaps.
Tears prick at my eyes, but I refuse to let them see. “I’ll catch the train,” I manage to say.
I make a decision - one I might regret later. Without a word, I take off running, my shoes slapping against the pavement as I sprint through the streets, the wind whipping against my face so ruthlessly I swear I’m seconds away from falling backwards on my butt. But I don’t stop, instead I just run faster, weave through the streets and silently pray I’ll be able to make it to the train station in time.
This must look really weird. But just as I approach the station, my legs burn, and I meanburn, and my breath comes in short gasps. Clearly, I need to join a gym. With one last burst of energy, I sprint up the stairs and onto the platform just as the doors begin to close.
I quite literally stumble onto the train. Barefoot. And as I enter, I get some weird looks. “Yes, I’m not wearing any shoes,” I say, awkwardly putting them back on.
Jeez, have these people never seen someone barefoot before?
I don’t have time for their judgement. At least I made it on time.
Relief washes over me. I can’t believe I actually made it.
I scan the crowded train, desperately searching for an available seat. To my dismay, I quickly notice there is only one left, and it happens to be next to a stranger with his hood up, which only slightly covers the cap he has on and the sunglasses covering his face. Gathering my courage, I approach him.
“Um, excuse me, is this seat taken?”
Silence.
Feeling slightly awkward, I take the seat anyway. “So… crazy morning, huh? I almost missed the train,” I laugh nervously, but he just stares ahead, completely uninterested.
Way to ruin the mood.
“I had to sprint like crazy just to catch it. It was like a scene out of a movie, you know? Dodging people left and right, my heart pounding, and then finally, just in the nick of time, I made it,” I say, fidgeting in my seat.
More silence.
“You know, these shoes, they’re not exactly the best for running. In fact, they’re more like flimsy pieces of rubber and cotton attached to my feet. So, when I realized I was about to miss the train, I did the only logical thing I could think of—I kicked them off and ran barefoot through the station.”
I laugh more to myself than anyone else.
I begin questioning myself when I’m still met with silence. Am I making a fool of myself? Is it too much? Clearly, I don’t know how to make friends.
Please get me out of this moving vehicle before I throw up.
Please say something so I don’t actually end up doing that.
I glance at the stranger, hoping for even the slightest acknowledgment, but his gaze remains fixed ahead, as if I don’t exist. It’s almost as if I’m talking to an invisible wall. But just when I’m about to give up any hopes of a conversation, the stranger suddenly turns to me, and although I can’t see his eyes—or most of his face for that matter—I can feel them.
Like heat.
Like gravity.
Boring straight into me like I’m made of glass and he’s not all that impressed by what’s underneath.
And yet.
There’s something about him. Maybe it’s the cut of his features, or the sharpness of his jaw. The symmetry of it all.
