The Midnight Train [DISCONTINUED]

Fancy Arrival

CHAPTER 3

Fancy Arrival

Aaron

Stupid girl.

She should know to avoid me.

Her breath hitched as though her voice was sucked back down her throat and her jaw slacked, wide open, as though she just noticed something important. My stoic mask melted into a smirk. The girl probably only realised that she should be avoiding me. She stumbled with her words, stuttering and tightening her ridiculously patterned blanket around her.

Ha. Yes, she’s feeling insecure and unsafe. So she should. She should just run away from me right away – if she knew what was good for her. She shut her mouth, silencing the nervous gibberish spouting out. She took a deep breath. “Do you wear contact lenses?”

Her voice rang clear and continued echoing on and on as my face fell.

She was an observant stupid girl. Luckily, I could generate the devil’s worth of lies about whom and what I am, so I have plenty of practice for these kinds of questions. Yet, when I tried to stare directly into her eyes, because usually, it makes the person questioning unsure, I felt as if I couldn’t hide who I was from this peculiar girl.

Then, I noticed her eyes; warm hazel with flecks of golden tones all around, and surrounding her constricted deep, dark pupils, a ring of blue-grey which was gradually toning and spreading outward. Normal people didn’t have eyes like that.

Smug as ever, I decided to answer her question with my own question. “And you, do you wear contact lenses? I leaned in towards her face until they were only a few centimetres apart. In a firm tone but questioning tone, I asked, “Hmm?”

By now, I was staring daggers at the girl, and she was taken aback from my close proximity, leaning backwards so that she could have more breathing space. She would probably leave me alone after this encounter.

This shy, teenage girl was predictable.  There was no way that she could be Her. Everything she said to ‘Freak Food Lady’ was probably just coincidence, even if her preferences lined up to that of Her’s.

Predictable, vulnerable, weak. Yep, I’ve got her all figured out.

‘Carrie’ furrowed her eyebrows, suddenly interested in her caramel boots but quietly groaned under her breath before staring daggers right back at me.  I wasn’t at all intimidated by her but if looks could kill, I could hand her a mirror and she would be buried deep, down under.

“I asked you first!” she burst.

“Hmph,” I huffed, “Yeah, well, look Beety, I asked you second.”

She looked completely offended. At what, I’m not quite sure. “What did you just call me?” Girls are so typical.

“Hmm,” I teased, in mock of deep thought, tapping my chin. “You mean...” I purposely held my tongue suspensefully before tauntingly ending the sentence, “Beety?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? My name is Carrie!”

Huh, so much for the predictable shy girl. There was more to her than I thought. I added a mental note, Loud, Outbursts when defensive.

“Well, Beety. Your face is as purple as a beet, so maybe Beety works for you.” Her face wasn’t really purple but she acted like she was purple now.

“Excuse me?” She was obviously exasperated at this point. I was getting smugger by the minute. I didn’t know what it was about this girl but I needed to keep my distance. I applied my stoic mask again, letting no emotion slip through.