dark side. || r.s.l.

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part one.
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     Half past one, and I was exhausted. Keep your eyes open, Dylan. Only two stops left.

     The train stopped, and the doors opened. My eyes were shut, the mascara feeling heavier than it should, and I didn't expect anyone to come in. After all, it was half past one in the morning.

But then I heard someone panting. A loud thud, right next to me. I opened my eyes and looked at the person that had taken place in the seat next to mine — although there were plenty other seats left. In fact, the whole damn train was empty, and this guy decides to sit next to me?

     I frowned at the smell of bitter almonds and something metallic. This guy probably hasn't showered for days, I thought. And if he has, he must have used the wrong shampoo.

     "Dude, can't you sit somewhere else?" I asked, raising one eyebrow. The guy turned to me, and I looked at him under the hood of his pitch black sweater.

     Dark circles surrounded his eyes, his blonde, slightly greasy hair hung over his face, but his skin was smooth. He was still panting a bit, gasping for air, as if he had just ran a marathon.

     "Are you okay?" I asked, and he nodded, but then he shook his head.

     "Do you have a car?" he asked, slightly pushy. I nodded, wondering where the hell his conversation was going. I wasn't in the mood for a talk. So tired.

The train doors shut, and it began to move again.

     "Do you live near?" he then asked, his voice raspy. I shook my head no. If the traffic was bad, it took me about an hour to reach my apartment. I hoped that that wasn't the case. So damn tired.

     "Good," he mumbled, and he looked over his shoulder, as if someone was following him. I took the time to examine the rest of his body, and noticed something on his hand. Wine?

     Then, I recognised the metallic smell. I still wish I never did. Blood.

     I got up and ran to the back of the train, where I threw up. I couldn't handle blood. I couldn't handle vomit, either, and the fact that the train was moving at full speed didn't quite help — so I threw up, again. I had to close my eyes to keep myself from vomiting any more.

I want to sleep.

     "You have to help me," the boy spoke, as if I hadn't just emptied my stomach in the back of a train. Arsehole. 

     "Help you?" I said, looking at him. "Why the fuck would I help you?"

     "Because I'm going to get arrested if you don't." He got up, and walked over to me. "Please?"

      I looked at him and sighed. The puppy eyes. He's got puppy eyes. Damn it.

     "What do you mean, arrested?" I asked. The train started to go slower as we reached the final stop, and so did my brain. I had been working all day, and all I wanted was sleep.

     "Doesn't matter," he said. "I just need you to take me to your place."

     The train doors opened. "What do you mean?" I asked. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. The boy tensed up as two police officers stepped into the train, and looked at us. I wanted to walk away, but then the boy spoke up.

"This isn't the moment to Justin Bieber me here, baby," he said, suddenly sounding confident and sweet instead of hurried and nervous. His hand — his bloody hand — slipped into mine, and he intertwined his fingers — his bloody fingers — with mine. With widened eyes I looked at him, but he smiled and led me out of the train.

"We should go on date nights more often," he said, loud enough for the police officers to hear. Once we were outside, I pulled my hand from his and slapped him on the cheek.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" I exclaimed, and he shushed me as if we were in a library. But we weren't in a library. We were in the middle of a damn city, where no one gives a shit if you're loud or not.

"I'm Ross," he simply said. I looked at him, disbelief washing over me.

"That was a rhetorical question," I said, crossing my arms in anger, but also confusion. The guy, Ross, looked over his shoulder, only to find the police officers walking out of the train station.

"I'm sorry, I promise I'm not like this," he said, almost as an excuse, and he pressed his lips to mine.

I must've fallen asleep on the train and now I'm dreaming, I thought, too tired to pull away. I didn't kiss back. I just, well, stood there.

The police officers passed and Ross pulled away. I slapped his other cheek, leaving a bright red mark.

"I deserved that," he said, looking down at his black Converse.

"Hell yes you did," I said. I turned around and walked to my car.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, and I heard footsteps running after me. I unlocked my car door and sighed.

"Can I please, please, spend the night at your place?" he asked, the puppy eyes piercing straight through my soul.

"I don't know you," I said, getting into the car. Before I got the chance to start it and drive away, the door opened and Ross sat in the passenger seat.

"I'm Ross, 21, I play guitar, drums, bass, keys, violin, flute, and I sing a bit. I don't have a house and I'm a great cook. I also love dogs. And blankets."

"Why are you—"

"There, now you know me," he said. "Can I sleep at your place?"

This kid is the most stubborn person I've ever met, I thought. I just want to sleep. Alone.

"You're leaving tomorrow morning at dawn," I said, and I drove home. I wasn't in the mood for a discussion about this. He'd sleep on the couch, I'd lock my bedroom door so he couldn't rape me in my sleep, and I'd lock the front door as well. Thank god I live in an apartment, seven floors high. There's no way he'd jump out of the window, if he were to steal something.

Ross said something else, but I didn't listen. He sounded so far away.

So far away...

I'm tired.