The 5pm Train to Nowhere

This was never supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. But it had. And here I was, trying to squeeze the straps on my suitcase back shut after having had to open it for a phone charger. I should have grabbed something else too, another bag, but I hadn’t been thinking clearly.

“Tickets, please!” A male voice called from the door to the carriage as the train swayed gently along the tracks, the steady click-clack picking up speed in a way that soothed my racing pulse. It was carrying me, far away, as quickly as I could go.

I shoved the suitcase into the rack and dropped into my seat, rummaging for a second to pull out my ticket and hand it over. The conductor barely glanced at me, but I still averted my gaze. My eyes still burned enough that I knew they were red and puffy. I wasn’t here for pity. He clicked my ticket and handed it back, moving along down the rows without comment. I shivered, realizing I’d have to open that damn suitcase again to get something to keep warm. I reluctantly stepped back out into the aisle, feeling the eyes of every other person on the train crawl slowly over me, even though their heads stayed down or turned away, out the windows.

I settled the unwieldy suitcase across the seat and unlatched it with a grimace. Getting everything in the first time had been hard enough. The more I messed with it, the more impossible closing it seemed.

My life burst out of it at the seams. Scattered photos and documents tucked between scraps of cloth and fabric, soft, silky odds and ends as well as warm, puffy, colorful, thick winter items. Toiletries filled the mesh section on the inside of the lid. I draped the nearest piece of fabric over it hurriedly, then pulled it down, my cheeks flaming red. I couldn’t leave it behind, to let him give it to the next girl he brought to our home. All while I worked myself to an early grave.

I draped an old college T shirt over the toiletries instead, carefully sliding my hands between and around objects so as to disturb as little as possible. I finally reached the soft sensation of the fabric I’d been looking for, pulling out a smooth cardigan that felt nice enough to be a fancy blanket. I wrapped it around myself before squeezing the suitcase back shut. A picture fluttered out, drifting towards the floor. I snatched it up, my heart constricting painfully in my chest. I stared at it, hot trails tracking down my cheeks before I folded it and roughly stuffed it between the edges of the cursed suitcase before slamming it closed with all my weight and strength behind it. My phone began buzzing from under it. After seeing the number on the screen, I slid the button over to ‘deny’ and set about heaving the suitcase back into the rack over the seats.

My phone was buzzing again before I sat back down. The lady sitting across the aisle gave me the stinkeye. I just sighed. She’s not worth your time. I reminded myself. I scooped the phone up, rejected the call, and set about blocking his number. He could call my–formerly our–lawyer for answers.

I was going to focus all my energy on my new life, building the one I’d always seen in my dreams. I’d told him, when we first met, that he wasn’t going to get in my way. Now I just had to prove it.