Couldn’t get all the me-too’s and sexual harassment/abuse stories I read about yesterday out of my head. This morning I opened up my word processor and this came out. Based on a personal experience.
It had been a long night. I put my headphones on and played some calming, melancholy music. Two hours till the night train reached its destination. It was pitch black outside. Only every once in a while, a light flashed by.
I took out a book, even though I felt too tired to read. I placed my bag on the seat next to me and stretched my legs out. I comfortably occupied almost the whole four-seat area. If only I had a cup of tea. A cup of tea would have made this perfect.
I saw some movement from the corner of my eye. Someone pushed my legs aside. I looked up from my book. A young man sat in the seat opposite me. He smiled. Almost the whole coupe was empty and this guy had to force himself into my cosy space. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t sit somewhere else.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Fine,” I mumbled and turned back to my book.
“You’re very pretty. You have a unique look about you. Not like the other girls.”
I ignored him. Hopefully he would get the hint.
“Can I have your number?”
I kept my eyes fixed on the page.
“Those are cool shoes. I’ve never seen anything like them.” He touched my knee. It felt like a hit from a sledgehammer.
I wiggled my legs away.
“You’re very pretty.”
I glanced up reluctantly. “If you don’t mind, I would rather be alone right now.” I cringed at the polite words that came out. I should have said: ‘Get the fuck away from me, creepy motherfucker!’ Why am I always compelled to be polite?
“Can I have your number?” This asshole already had his phone out.
“Please, I would rather be alone.” I still had my headphones on. I couldn’t believe this was happening through the divine tones of Lana del Rey. I hoped I wouldn’t associate her music with this creep later.
“Give me your number.”
I stuffed my book in my bag. “Fine, I’ll leave.”
He shot back, his eyes widening. His mouth fell open with puckered lips. For a moment, I felt guilty for offending him. I hated that guilt.
He recovered. “No, don’t. I’ll leave.” He inclined his head towards me and took my hand between his. “I’ll leave.” He sounded so earnest. Yet he didn’t let go of my hand.
White-hot rage boiled up inside me. With my free hand, I reached for something in my bag. The lights crackled.
Half an hour later the conductor walked past. “Tick—What happened here?” She gasped.
I looked down at the cleaver in my hands. It was red and sticky. My lovely floral dress was ruined too. The seat opposite me was the worst though. Like a red waterfall had crashed over it. Then there were the body parts…
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to make such a mess. It was just—He wouldn’t leave. Why couldn’t he take a hint?”
“He harassed you?”
“Oh, honey. Are you alright?” The conductor’s eyes were full of sympathy.
“I suppose. It could have been worse.”
The conductor shook her head. “Don’t say that. These things should never happen. No woman should have their safety compromised for merely being outside and alone.”
The cleaver was still warm.
“Look, there’s a bathroom up there. Why don’t you go and get yourself cleaned up? I’ll take care of this.” The conductor motioned to the carnage.
“Thank you.” I smiled weakly. “Thank you so much.”
The conductor shrugged. “Like I said, these things should never happen.”