Off Track

Part 6: Elliot

Lee, u cant keep avoiding my calls. dad's anniversary is in two weeks and mom really needs u to be there.

I grit my teeth just as she sent another message.

For once in ur life can u stop running and face ur problems??? U seriously need to call me back. NOW.

What did she know about what I needed? What I needed right now was to go home, what I needed right now was sleep. I would deal with any other needs in the morning when I had at least ten hours of sleep for support. Something bright, burning hot like spilt lava flooded into my gut in that moment as I glared down at her message. I thought about replying back then, answering her calls and telling her exactly of what I thought about going back home.

My phone buzzed again.

If u don't answer my calls or my texts by the end of the day i'm coming to ur college and dragging u home myself.

I had months and weeks of stress weighing me down, a lifetime of grief had loaded vicious word after word into my mouth that were ready to be fired without a moment's hesitation. If I answered her right now I would say something too brutal to be forgiven. I sighed once more and settled back in the seat.

Bon Iver sang to me as my gaze wandered around the platform. Electronic keyboards and guitars swept in to provide a soundtrack to the afternoon. By the small coffee shop, a red-cheeked woman rummaged through her bag in an attempt to find money to pay for the large cup of latte she'd ordered. The little girl clung onto her leg and snivelling, her big green eyes welled up with tears as she stared up at the tall man before her. Dressed clad in all black as if he was unaware or simply didn't care that any other colour existed. He glanced down at the little girl and armed her with a quick fire smile that only served to bring the tears spilling down her face. He rolled his eyes like making little girls cry was a daily occurrence and walked off further down the platform where the crowd thickened and the sun wasn't high enough in the sky to reach.

The woman gave up looking for her purse and knelt down to calm the girl down. "Honey, what's wrong?" she whispered as she rubbed her shoulders.

The girl choked out a few more sobs before she pointed in the direction the man had gone. The woman understood none of it and settled on assuring the girl everything was okay. I glanced away, up at the sky, at couple arguing in the corner, the pigeon perched on the roof of the ticket shop, the passing train that zoomed by and left a blast of wind in its wake. I stood up and walked closer to the platform. It was crowded and hard to move and I didn't want to lose a spot and wait another half hour for the next train.

"The three-sixteen ARZC train to Edgewood is arriving on Platform Twelve," A woman's voice rang out over the crowd of people, "Please stand behind the yellow line and wait for the passengers to disembark before boarding the train. Thank you."

The Arctic Monkeys had reached their second chorus when the train pulled up onto the platform. My phone buzzed and buzzed and I briefly close my eyes before opening them. Violet's name flashed up on the screen for the umpteenth time in the last two hours. I let out a small sigh and sent the call to voicemail again. I looked up at the sky, clouds gathered and promised a thunderstorm in the evening. My gaze fell from the sky and I was met with weathered face of an older man. He seemed on edge, uncertain like he had lost balance a long time ago and had given up on finding it ever again. We stared at each other for a long moment, apprehension coiled in my lungs and fell with a thud into my stomach. The moment broke as quickly as it formed when the train doors opened, people rushed inside and sunlight glinted on a piece of metal that stung my eyes.

Inside the train most of the seats were taken except a few in the middle. I mumbled excuse me, excuse me, as I squeezed past everyone and slumped down on the seat. I folded my arms over my chest. The girl who'd almost fallen earlier sat opposite me, she placed her purse and a letter on the empty seat to her right. My eyes fluttered shut a few times but I tried to keep them open, falling asleep on the train was a dangerous idea that ended in missing phones and credit cards. I yawned and glanced back at the girl. She sighed the second she kicked off her heels and replaced them with sandals. I wondered why she bothered wearing them if they made her so uncomfortable. If she had a job, flats would still look professional. Maybe nervousness had prompted her to dress up in a bid to land the job.

The train jolted and the station and its people became a blur as it rolled away. The song switched and the steady drums and signature guitar notes of the Stone Roses played once more as I let my eyes droop, the weight of the last few days too heavy for me to bear. I'd only rest my eyes for a second or two. My stop was fifteen minutes away but a second or two turned into ten minutes, I was on the edge of sleep when a gruff voice yanked away any possibility. I grunted and looked up to find a conductor staring down at me.

"Ticket," he said, holding his hand out.

I pulled mine out of my jacket, gave it to him to stamp and closed my eyes once more when he moved onto the next person. The sound of raised voices, tense and confused, pulled me back to the land of the living. I drew in a breath in a desperate attempt to keep myself awake. I leaned forward a little to see what was going on in the next carriage when I spotted the older man with the weathered face holding onto one of the bars in the middle. His eyes darted around, at every point in the train for several seconds before he rubbed his cheek and moved to sit down. My eyebrows furrowed and I leaned back in my seat. The girl glanced at me, her eyebrows furrowed too, and I shrugged in response. Everybody else in the carriage seemed to be as confused except the man in black in the entryway, who seemed more bored than anything. He was more concerned with the view outside the window and occasional dust that settled on his pants. His outfit, made up of a long black coat and black combat boots seemed more suited for a spy movie or a Halloween party. He looked old enough to be in his senior year of college, maybe he'd gone to a frat party last night and he was heading home now. Or maybe he just liked dressing like that for the hell of it.

Whatever the reason, I didn't care enough to find out. My gaze drifted back to the girl before me. Her fingers flew across the keyboard of her phone as she texted someone. She paused. Her mouth parted to form a gasp before she replied. My phone buzzed again and I bit back a groan. I didn't let it ring for long this time, I ended the call within in five seconds. A moment later, a text buzzed its way into my phone.

Stop being a child and answer ur goddamn phone.

She was probably going mad, planning all the way she was going to kill me.

Lee, it's not just mom who needs there. It's me.

Guilt had long black tendrils that wrapped around constricting loops around my chest.

"Damn it," I mumbled and carded my hand through hair, tugging a little on the roots in frustration.

A gust of wind swept into the carriage, newspapers rustled, a few people grumbled and a letter landed by my feet. I picked it up and took a quick peak, it spoke of late payments and repossessions. I looked around for the owner of the letter. My gaze landed on the brown-haired girl, tears pricked her eyes as she dropped her back onto the seat. She stared up at the ceiling with a growing frown, muttered something and went back to texting. I turned the letter around in my hands for a moment before I read it again. A Mr. Frank Busch was late on his mortgage payments for his house by six months and they were repossessing it and almost half of his belongings. I raised an eyebrow. In less than a week he would be homeless and penniless. I looked up again, my gaze skipped from person to person, a pair of old women whispering to each other, a bold man engrossed in a newspaper, a teenage girl staring blankly ahead, the tall man in black staring intently at –

– at him. The worn man made of nerves and quivers who had moved into our carriage. He kept patting his pockets and muttering to himself. I glanced back at the man in black to find he'd disappeared from his spot by entryway and I looked over at the middle-aged man again who's increasingly erratic movements had the hairs on the back neck standing up. Led Zeppelin's guitar solo was cut off by yet another call from my sister. I picked up my phone to end the call, but another gust of wind came, chillier than before and slipped the letter of my hand and carried it down the aisle of the carriage. I thought it would drift out of the window or land on someone's lap but a hand caught the letter with practised ease. The hand belonged to the man in black. He pressed his mouth into a fine line as he gave the letter a quick glance before his eyes flashed up to meet mine. Something cold, frost in deep winter bit into the air and I swallowed.