She sat opposite him. Teasing him he thought. Why must she sit there? As the train leached forward he couldn’t help but use his peripheral vision to take her in. Pink high heels, short denim skirt, dark navy boobtube and a gold necklace. Asking for it some might say, but not him, no he didn’t think that way anymore. No wonder she’s shivering. She was pretty, he could definitely see that, why ruin it with such vulgar clothing, he didn’t think that should be allowed, but there wasn’t anything he could do to change it. His stomach served as a distraction as it rumbled with discontent. He wished he could have afforded lunch. Never mind, not long till home, just a few stops, then he wouldn’t have to look at her anymore. His house wasn’t nice, but he was content with it, it had a shower, a toilet, a TV, a kitchen, and a bed, he didn’t need anything else, simple man, with simple needs, especially now the drinking had stopped. That’s why his wife had left, he remembered the mornings he used to wake up next to her, to see the blood on the pillow and the bruising on her face. He felt ashamed, but the drink had got him, trapped him, he couldn’t control the ‘other him’. That was the past, and now as he sat on the train he tried to forget it, tried to focus on his reflection in the window, but she was still sat there, messing his mind up. He stole a direct glance at her chest, another twinge downstairs, calm down, not now. The train pulled up to his stop and he noticed that she was getting up as well. Bitch.

The End

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