Everything You've Come To Regret

1 | anonymously yours

March 10, 2015

Oversharing and its bitter aftertaste
Exactly the wrong time in exactly the wrong place

⋆ ˚ ° ˚⋆

I tried to focus on the words in front of me, but it was hard when his laugh echoed so loudly in the whole wagon. I sighed and closed my book on the small table separating us. We had been on this train for twenty minutes and I already wished to be alone.

"I'm gonna buy something, I'm hungry."

He rose from his seat without even looking up his phone and headed to another wagon.

"Paul! Buy me a salad please," I called for him, but he was already gone.

I watched him leave and longed for the kind of feeling I had at the beginning. I knew I could be happier, that was obvious, but I was too scared to even think about that. I'd dragged him with me when I knew he didn't want to. Maybe it was my fault.

I picked up my book again and sighed for what felt like the thousandth time today, running a hand through my hair. I had spent the first hour looking at the landscapes passing through the window and he didn't speak to me once, only showing me tweets and complaining about my lack of sense of humour–which he clearly couldn't see. I was by far the funniest of us both.

Rubbing my temples in annoyance, I tried to find where I'd stopped my reading.

The silence was once again broken by two men taking a seat across me. How I wished that central aisle had a brick wall between us.

I raised my eyes to look at them and possibly tell them to shut up if they weren't too scary looking. They made themselves comfortable and shared a pair of earphones, their head tilted and tied by the white wire. The morning sun cast a spotlight on them like they were the only ones in this part of the train. Like two angels. Two loud and annoying angels, though. I wondered why they'd just arrived.

The taller one gave the other his earphone and laughed at something he said. Standing up, he smoothed his black shirt before making his way down the passageway with long strides. The other one stayed still.

I watched him running a hand through his dark slicked-back hair and gazing out at the rain's pattern as it trickled down the window. He seemed lost in his thoughts, as if he were reminiscing of all the bad decisions he had made in his life. He reminded me of myself.

A curious expression formed itself on his face, mirroring mine. I quickly lowered my head, realizing that he was now looking straight at me and had caught me staring. I furrowed my brows at my book, trying to give the impression that I was actually reading when all I was really doing was avoid a possible weird exchange.

I hoped he would look away and forget about this embarrassing moment, but he didn't lower his gaze once. Until he spoke. To me.

"What are you reading?"

A second passed before I slowly lifted my gaze again, unbelieving. Was he really talking to me though?

The man lifted one brow, visibly waiting for an answer.

"Oh... just poetry," I replied, my awkward smile appearing.

He smirked slightly; probably thinking I was dumb. Well, being social wasn't one of my biggest qualities.

"I bet you're a Jane Austen fan," he went on, shifting on the seat to face me.

"Well guessed. Are you?"

"Hopeless romantic then," he smirked wider now. "But no, not much. Don't get me wrong, I still like reading the classics."

Was it his way of flirting? I bet the guy had never read more than three pages in his life.