Chapter 24: The Next Stop Is... (Part One)

355K 14.1K 253
                                    

Penny's eyes slitted open as she squinted up at the digital subway car display.

3:52 AM: The next stop is . . .

She shut her eyes again before the next line scrolled onto the screen. The next stop didn't matter. She intended to keep riding this train all the way to the end of the line, wherever that might be. Somewhere deep in Brooklyn, undoubtedly. One of those gritty, seedy neighborhoods out there, with a name that sounded more like a vacation destination: Brighton Beach? Coney Island? Sheepshead Bay?

It should be close to dawn by the time she got there. And then what? A cup of coffee? Wouldn't that be nice. Maybe she'd emerge from this endless subway ride to nowhere and find herself standing in the the early morning sunshine in front of some cozy 24-hour coffee shop. The kind with a working fireplace and big wide overstuffed armchairs, where she could curl up and close her eyes until her hundred bucks worth of coffee refills ran dry.

Penny sighed. She knew she was kidding herself. The end of the line was fast approaching, and there wouldn't be any coffee shops when she got there. She knew what her next stop had to be: a phone call home to her parents in Minnesota. She couldn't avoid it any longer. She couldn't pretend that she might figure a way out of the mess she'd made without their help.

Her parents would come to her rescue, of course. They'd pay for a plane ticket home and let her stay rent-free in her childhood bedroom for as long as she needed. Just the idea of it made her want to pull the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and bury herself inside. She could only imagine the looks on their faces when they came to the airport to pick her up. Penny, their pride and joy. Their capable, independent daughter. High school valedictorian. Ivy-league educated. Bound and determined to become a famous surgeon ever since the age of five. And now here she was, riding a subway train all night because she had nowhere else to sleep. Down to nothing but a borrowed sweatshirt and a Metrocard. Not even a driver's license, she realized with a wince. She'd left it in her wallet, back at Greg's. She couldn't get on a plane without it. Would they let her on a train? A Greyhound bus?

She sighed again, but this time the sound came out more like a muffled sob. Tomorrow, she told herself. She'd figure it out tomorrow. Her problems would seem less insurmountable in the daylight. For now, the urge to close her eyes grew increasingly hard to resist. Penny tilted sideways on the subway bench and allowed her head to droop against the hard metal railing beside her, ice cold from the chill of the air conditioning. A shiver ran through her in spite of the warm sweatshirt, and she wrapped her arms tight around herself to stop from shaking.

A cup of hot coffee. That's what she longed for most right now. Or maybe a few sips of scotch. That might do the trick even better, come to think of it. It hadn't been so long ago that she'd sipped expensive scotch out of a red plastic party cup and felt the alcohol burn its way down her throat. Of course, it hadn't been the scotch that warmed her up that night. She didn't need it to warm her tonight either, come to think of it. She knew the surest way to ward off the chill. She only needed to let her mind drift in a certain direction. How many times had she done it before?

It didn't hurt that she was wearing his sweatshirt just now. She pulled the edge of the collar up over her nose and inhaled deeply. It smelled like him - like the scent he left on the collars of the stale dress shirts he used to ask her to take to the dry cleaners. The scent he left on his pillowcase. On his sheets. She'd fallen asleep to it that night - the night she fell asleep in his bed.

Penny still didn't quite know how she could've allowed it to happen. She only meant to put her arms around him for a second. Just for a moment. But somehow the moment had lengthened. She must have closed her eyes. The next thing she knew, she'd woken to the morning sunlight streaming through his bedroom window and the sensation of his body stirring behind her. She'd felt him - every inch of him - molded against her back. He had one arm flung across her hip and the other one around her waist, holding her against him. Every muscle of her body had frozen in surprise, the instant she realized where she was.

He'd started moving then. She could feel his stubble scratch her skin as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, and then he traced his lips upward toward her ear And still she hadn't dared to move. Was he sleeping or awake? Did he realize what he was doing? Did he even know who it was cuddled against him in his bed?

"Penelope," he'd whispered in her ear, as if he'd heard her silent questions. The movement of his mouth against her ear had sent a shiver down the length of her body. But a shiver of warmth, not cold. She could summon the feeling again now, if she concentrated. Even here on this cold hard subway bench, she could still feel that rush of delicious heat, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

Penelope, he'd whispered. Not Penny. At work he called her Penny. He'd used her full name before, but he'd never spoken it out loud. Only in writing. Only in emails from his personal account. Emails she had committed to memory, long ago.

"....rule #4: if so shitfaced in Brooklyn that you forgot rule #3, don't fall in love with penelope. rule #5: if inlovewith penelope, whatever you do, do noooooooooooooooot email her...."

He'd been drunk when he wrote that. Obviously. But it hadn't been alcohol saying her name in her ear that morning in his bed. She knew he wasn't drunk. And if he was calling her Penelope, then what else might he say? What else might he be thinking? She'd turned in his arms to face him, unable to resist the urge to look at him - to see if his eyes were open.

His face had looked calm. Peaceful. She almost might have thought he was asleep, but his eyes looked back at her, half-hooded with heavy lids.  He lifted one hand and slowly traced his thumb across her cheek. She felt the shuddering warmth flow deeper within her and gather in a pool in the pit of her stomach - a ball of liquid heat that flared hotter still, as his thumb hovered and then moved downward to trace her upper lip. He was going to kiss her. He was staring at her mouth. She'd seen it in his face. She'd see his lips approaching. Her breath had caught in her chest, as she shut her eyes in sweet, delicious, urgent expectation.

A moment passed. Then another. Then she felt his lips press softly against each of her eyelids in turn. But still she kept them closed. Waiting... waiting... waiting... until at last she felt his weight shift against the mattress. She opened her eyes to see him standing on the far side of the bed, pulling a white terry-cloth robe around his shoulders.

Penny willed her mind to stop there now. She didn't want to remember the rest. She wished she could forget the way he'd looked. The way his eyes had looked everywhere else - everywhere but her.

"I think it's time we re-established some ground rules."

He always was a stickler for the rules. At least he was consistent.

************************************************************

David (dpowers80@gmail.com)               3:03 AM

To: Penelope Stewart

Subj: cnan't sleep

you see penelope, there are certain rules. ruuuuuuuuuules. rule #1....

************************************************************

No, David Powers never met a rule he didn't like. Just as long as he was the one writing the rule book.

Dear Readers: If you're enjoying the story, please don't forget to VOTE COMMENT, and ADD it to your reading lists. Thank you! ❤️

It's Only TemporaryWhere stories live. Discover now