Departing The Train

Serena wore tight black leggings, brown boots with a square working heel, and a pale gray sweater. A white and brown scarf accented perfectly over the sweater, which was modest and suggestive. A school teacher, Serena was on her way to work, clutching the purse with hundreds of graded student exams in it, as she neared the 34 train. It ran from the outskirts of Chicago inwards, where she spent exactly 33 minutes every single morning. In the past, she used to look out the window between lesson plans and grades, listening to music, or taking a nap before shift. But things were different now. They'd been different for awhile.

It had started when they were just sitting next to each other. He barely spoke to her, except those first words. "Don't fight me," he growled so fiercely into her ear that had her doctor decided to give her pain or allergy medicine, she would have been knocked enough that she wouldn't have cared more than the average fire fighter.

The man on the train at first placed his hand on her leg. It moved up, and up, and up every day. So when Serena was on top, begging for it, he was moved to the bottom, it was a surprise to see just how much he wanted. And how much he refused that accusation. The two sat away from everyone and near the bathroom. Winston was out.

Thinking on it, Sahara meads against the wall.