Passions of a Caged Bird

Part I

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I was on the train when I first saw him, his dark eyes brooding and intentional, and his hair disheveled. It was a tuesday, and the rain and fog had left a mysterious and homesick gloom in the air forcing the streets to almost be abandoned. However, the train was warm, and I was grateful to be sheltered from the rain and the emptiness of this howling city. My coffee was bitter, more so than usual, so I began using it as a generic hand warmer as I watched the approaching station swallow me whole. We slowed to stop, and I braced myself for the chill as the doors slid open. Almost instantly, a gust of piercing cold hit me and I tucked myself into my thin coat for as much warmth as it could muster. Poor thing. It was more used to an occasional light sprinkle or shielding me from the morning air, but with the heavy downpour of rain and non-stop cold, it barely kept me from freezing. Oh well. I guess I should've bought warmer clothes already. But as I watched the train doors let in almost visible puffs of frigid air, I sank back into my thin coat and knew I wouldn't go out there to shop any time soon.

Just as the doors were about to slide shut, a man practically threw himself inside, causing other passengers to give a quick look of either concern or disdain before returning to whatever task they were so enthralled in before interruption. The man leaned against the wall, panting and closing his eyes, giving me a chance to get a good look at him. He wore a long black coat that looked much warmer than mine and had probably escaped from some parlour in Victorian London. His hair was jet black and hung around his face in a messy but fond way, and complimented his somewhat tall and slim figure. Normally I wouldn't stare so long, but as I followed the lines of his face continually, I found I couldn't look away. His brow was stern, but still retained some level of innocence, perhaps caused by his youth. He looked to be in his twenties, and although he looked youthful, he seemed to carry some kind of weight that comes with old age. I was so compelled by this creature, I jumped when he opened his eyes, revealing beautiful black oceans that I had to tear myself away from. Trying to recover from impolite staring, I bussied myself with sipping the bitter coffee and gazing out the window as the ground began to speed up. I could feel his eyes, like black lasers, burning into my skin, and I forced myself to look away. Painful minutes went by with me staring out the gloomy window, and he staring at some part of me. I could feel his eyes like fire, scanning over parts of my body, and I wondered if I had finally gone crazy. Two years since my last date, and not one phone call or one night stand since. I just didn't need a boyfriend. They're messy and I came here for school, which was a chance I couldn't risk for some boy. I declined to attribute the lack of dates with my uncanny and awkward demeanor, or the fact that my choice in men had always been poor. Ranging from psychopaths to cheaters, I had dated them all. After highschool, I had taken a year off, which rolled into two, and were filled with more men than I want to admit. This was my chance to focus on myself, to better my education and career. And yet, I couldn't stop picturing the man leaning against the door watching me. It gave me chills. Finally, I buckled beneath the pressure and stole a glance at the man. His eyes met mine and in a panic, mine darted away and back out the window again. Well, if he wasn't engaged before, he certainly was now. I steadied my breathing as I heard slow footsteps wander from the door and close in on my seat. Gulping, I reminded myself; No Boys.

He threw his body on the seat beside me as though it weighed a ton. I debated whether I should ignore such an obnoxious entry, but instead stammered, "You can sit there."

Instantly I felt foolish and returned to staring outside, and fiddling with my coffee. I watched his reflection in the window. His movements were dramatic, and his dark features drew me in as his pale face broke into a smile. He chuckled. I felt a wave of nerves course through my body at the sound,and forced my breathing steady.

"You can sit there too." His voice was smooth and deep, and I melted beside him. However, in an attempt to conceal my nerves, I looked at his face and glared. Once again our eyes met and I looked down. I noticed he smelled like cigarettes and cologne, and found the mixture oddly enticing.

We rolled off in a brief fit of silence. His presence beside me filled me with nerves, and the pressure to speak was crippling. Unfortunately, as previously mentioned, I have awful and debilitating awkwardness that left me no words to say, and no comfort to be okay with silence. I settled with glancing at his pale hands, which rested between us, and biting my lip furiously. My mind wandered as I thought of his hands, his thick fingers, and how cold they would be running up my thighs...

"So besides staring at strangers on trains and sitting in silence, what do you do?"

Startled, and embarrassed by my brief erotic fantasy, I shifted my body to face him. His face was even more beautiful up close, and I found myself beginning to slip into a voyeuristic erotic wasteland. However, this light conversation starter threw my poor social skills over the edge and I began to mentally panic. Words. Where were the words? He watched me struggle for a split second, before a change came over his face. His eyes became dark and determined, his mouth lifted slightly on his right side, and he leaned his face closer. Having had my words abandon me, I helplessly settled with meeting his gaze, and holding it for as long as he would allow. I tried to pull myself away from the deepness within them, but a pain so deep lured me closer, and I found myself utterly obsessed with what could have caused it. I must have looked like a psycho for staring so intensely, for he quickly leaned back in his seat and looked away. His hands left the armrest and fled to his pocket, where he conjured a cigarette and a lighter. Shocked, I looked around at the sparse community of train riders, and at the no smoking sign above the door.

"I don't think you can do that. We're on a public train you know." My words came back, and I was more grateful for them than I had been for anything in my life. He laughed as he exhaled and turned to face me again. " You seem to have a thing for telling me what I can and can't do."

Around the train, people began turning their heads and grumbling. Afraid someone might approach us, my words came out in a flurry.

"It's not that, it's just look." I pointed to the sign. " No smoking. You're going to get kicked off the train. Or someone could come over here and beat you up or something, I don't know. You should put that out."

"I like it when you say shouldn't instead of can't." He tucked his cigarettes back into his coat pocket. "But if someone comes over here and beats me up, then they come over here and beat me up." He took a long drag and exhaled slowly. I watched the smoke swirl around the seat in front of me, which was luckily empty. Astonished and oddly unfazed, I gathered my bags and prepared for departure.

" If you don't care about getting beat up, that's on you. I get off at the next stop, and I'm not a part of this." He snickered as he casually closed in on another drag. All of the sudden, his hand leapt from his pocket to mine, which were resting on my bags. They were cold, and large and instantly upon touch, I felt my stomach turn upside down with butterflies. They felt exactly as I thought they would, and the image of them making contact with my bare body flashed through my mind once again. I was in a dangerous position. I could feel myself catching feelings for him, and I hated myself for it. It was as if I had been two years sober from a terrible and highly addictive drug, and in an instant, succumbed to my passions, leaving me a vulnerable addict once again. The worst part was, I knew he was no good. From his moment of entry he had presented himself as a carefree, rough guy with little to no regard for those around him. This revelation left me angry with him, for taking my sobriety and not even following through. However, as I shivered beneath his touch, I found I didn't have the capacity to harness any anger against him. I was under his full control.

"Do YOU want me to extinguish it?" His smooth voice rumbled. As I attempted to summon words from my slow and unwielding brain, a man stood up as an answer.

"HEY! You can't smoke in here man."

His hand never left mine, and he gave me a look that demanded an answer. Unsure, I stammered that yes, I would like him to put it out. He gave me a slight smile and looked up at the man standing up. He wore a long Seahawks jersey covered by a red windbreaker. His dark skin reflected the train lights, that created a harsh and somewhat intimidating atmosphere.

"Look at that sign dawg. If you don't put that out, I'm going to come on over there and make you." Sarcastically, the man next to me raised his hands as if he were going to be shot at. He then slowly lowered them to suffocate the cigarette on the armrest by the aisle. The other man sat down as people throughout the train grumbled in agreement.

"Learn how to fucking read, kid." People turned their heads and returned to normal. I shifted my body to face him again, and this time, he followed my lead. He smirked.

"What was that about?" I asked, as condescending as I could muster. Once again, The train began to slow, and my heart sank. What a heartbreaking, sobriety destroying, short, frustrating fling.

"What was what about?" His half smile matched with his piercing eyes forced me to avert my gaze once again. As we came to a halt, I met his eyes one last time.

"It was nice to uh meet you." I stuttered and got prepared to stand up. He extended his hand in a sarcastic, yet coldly serious way. Once again, our hands met and I forced myself to stand up. I was too far in already, and there was no way anything was happening. His hands felt like a cold reminder of that. I walked solemnly to the doors and felt the frigid air wrap itself around me. I heard them slowly close, and it marked an official separation. I sighed as I began to make the freezing trek to my apartment, which luckily was nearby. It wasn't raining yet, but the air was heavy with it, and I quickened my pace. As I left the station and emerged on the cold pathway to my home, I heard footsteps behind me clunking heavily on the concrete. Curious, I turned my head slightly and saw the man from the train walking with his head down and wrapped in cigarette smoke. My heart leapt Was he following me? I couldn't begin to imagine why, and yet I had this funny feeling that he probably was. Temporary fear sent bursts of adrenaline throughout my shivering body, and I quickened my pace. I may have bad taste in men, but I wasn't stupid either. Suddenly all of my childish fears of walking alone at night surged through my mind, and I forced myself to walk even faster. My apartment was around the corner, it wouldn't be long...

Grateful to be alive and unmolested, I shoved the key in the door and entered my dark and comely apartment. It felt good to be home. I threw my bags and keys on the table and made my way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, turning on most of the lights along the way. It was warm and cozy, but I was slightly damp from the intense humidity outside. I turned the kettle on and made my way to the bathroom for a nice long shower, and hopefully to wash away some of the confusing emotions that had racked my brain.

My roommate was away at some spiritual buddhist retreat, and I was glad to have the whole apartment to myself. She was a fellow college student who paid her way by writing informational articles for a website about clean vegan eating. She had short blonde hair she wore in mini pigtails, and large grey eyes. I had met Mariah at a welcoming assembly of freshman, and we shared the same age, which was old for a freshman. She was a great roommate, and she alway made food, but I was happy to be alone tonight. Although my rich fantasies replayed themselves constantly in my mind, I felt more free from the man's grasps than I had felt on the train. His face remained vivid in my head, but I had separated myself from it, and forced other thoughts and images into my head.

I took a long, hot shower that made the walls sweat, and my skin turn pink. It felt refreshing and wonderfully clean. The kettle, which had been screaming for a good five minutes was louder than ever, and I wrapped myself in a towel to rush to its rescue. As I violently turned the stove knob off, I heard another sharp buzz come from my door this time. I paused. My circle of friends at this point was beyond slim, and I couldn't think of anyone it could be besides a neighbor. My heart began to pound. A silent thought crept up on me and whispered that it could be the man from the train. It couldn't have been hard to follow me here, and I didn't attempt to cover my tracks. I waited for the door to buzz again. Here I was, standing in the kitchen in a dripping towel, waiting for my fantasy stalker to ring my bell and invite himself in. I realized I had wanted him more than I thought. I sighed. Either way, I should check to see what it was. I ran to the bathroom once again to grab my robe and slippers, and grudgingly made my way to the door. I swung it open, and was surprised to find no one there. I looked up and down the hallways, which I discovered were empty. As I was about to close the door unsatisfied, I looked down and saw a small wooden box with a black ribbon. Once again, I looked up and down the hallways, but no one was there. I leaned down and picked it up. It was fairly light, but I could tell the wood was real. I was nervous. One too many episodes of Lifetime had convinced me that I could blow up or be poisoned or kidnapped at any given moment. Hesitantly, I brought the box inside the apartment, and bolted the doors shut. The wood was smooth. I ran my hand along the edge several times, enjoying the feeling of the glossy wood before pulling the ribbon and slowly opening the box. Inside, on a pillow of black satin laid a necklace. Well, it looked to be more of a choker, as it could only fit snuggly around the neck with little room for movement. It was silver, and in the center was a keyhole. I picked the necklace up and turned it over in my hands. Inside of the box, on top of the little pillow was a note. I grabbed it quickly and turned it over.

From the guy on the train,

See you soon.

I gulped. The message was foreboding, and sent both fear and satisfaction throughout my body. I took the necklace out again with my heart racing. There was no key for the necklace, rendering it unwearable, but it was beautiful to look at. I may have fucked up this one, big time. He wasn't only a careless rebel, he was also a stalker. A beautiful, mysterious, captivating stalker, but none the less, frightening. I put the necklace back and placed it on the table. I turned back to the door, to make sure it was locked, before dreamily wandering to bed, where I lay, fantasizing all night.

Part II

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I worked at a bookstore about four blocks from where I lived, and was there when I wasn't at school. It was called Charlie's Choices: Used books and more, and it was almost always deserted. I enjoyed the quiet and excessive time alone though, as it gave me time to study for my classes, and sneak in a few recreational books as well. Outside, it was raining furiously, and the windows were so foggy, I couldn't see out of them. I had two hours left on the clock, and I had just finished sorting the new books onto the shelves, leaving me with two hours for study, or relaxation. I chose the latter, and laid back behind the counter, shielding my face with a copy of Jane Eyre. The days following the night I received the necklace were bland and much less frightening or exciting than I had subconsciously hoped. No strange bump in the night or feet behind me, but the beautiful man with estranged tastes still resided heavily in my mind. I thought I saw him everywhere; on campus at the cafeteria, walking home I thought I saw him in the park, on the train, at coffee shops. His features turned up all around me, and I could feel myself slowly becoming crazy. I both longed for his touch and presence, and longed to never make contact with him again. He had done a number on my comfortable lifestyle without men, and I was still spinning in his words.

I allowed myself to become enthralled in Jane Eyre, as to gift myself some sanity. The rain created a comfortable symphony, letting myself tune out any outside noise, and I became lost in the world of ink and paper for a few hours. As closing time approached, I began to pack my bags and prep the store for closing. Just as I was getting up to lock the doors, someone came in, bringing with them a pool of rain. I looked up, and gasped at whose eyes met mine. It was the man from the train, his hair a wet mess, and his smile half lifted.

" Hello you." He ran his fingers through his jet black hair, and I only melted a little.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" I asked, as if I hadn't memorized his features already. He laughed and came closer. My heart raced and I grabbed the counter for support.

"Don't you remember me? Ah maybe not. My name is Reed, you know me from being an asshole on the train." He made a sarcastic bow and looked up at me. I bit my lip hard to focus on a response.

"Oh yes. You uh...also left me something the other day." I glared at him, hoping this would let him know that I knew he was stalking me, and preying on my awkwardness. However, all he did was smirk and run his fingers through his hair again.

"Did you like it?"

"I can't wear it, it's locked." He smiled back as a response.

"Why are you following me? Are you going to kill me in an ally or rape me on my way to school? I need to know so I can plan for it." These bold words fell from my mouth before I had the sense to stop them. I felt myself internally exploding in the aftermath of such destructive words. He raised his eyebrows.

"Well which would you prefer?" I met his eyes briefly, and quickly looked down at the counter again. He slowly began walking towards me until he was on the other side of the counter. He reached out and put his hand on top of mine.

"Would you like to go to dinner with me?"

Shocked at such a change in pace, I looked up with my mouth hanging open. I hadn't gone on a dinner date in two years, and the last one had ended with a broken condom and me turning him out. I had promised myself I was here for school, no boys. No men. No weird stalkers you met on trains. But as I looked at his face again, refreshened by his random appearance, I subtly convinced myself that two years was enough. This crazy psychopathic man before me was the embodiment of everything I wanted. Lust had always won out on logic for me.

"What? Now? Tonight?" I pushed my dark brown hair behind my ears as a nervous habit. He watched me do it, with the same fascination I had for his movements.

"Yes. Now. Tonight. See, I want to know you. Are you too creeped out to give me a chance?" He leaned in close to my ear. "I would blow you away."

I shivered as he whispered that and knew in an instant that there was no going back. I was manipulated, and stalked, but I couldn't rationalize not giving him a chance. He was extremely curious to me, and left me wondering what happened to him, why he looked so pained, and what it would be like to feel his body entangled with mine. The latter was so enticing, it spoke for me.