Two Steps Back

Mizpah (HxE)

Mizpah--The deep emotional bond between people who are seperated by distance or time.

The first time Emily sees him on her bus she gets off at the next stop. She can't sit there and wonder whether he will recognize her for half an hour journey it'll be. She recognized him instantly obviously her breath catching in her throat from the second she saw his six foot one frame duck to make it through the door. She pushed past him to get off the bus her eyes cast downwards and wisps of her brown hair fall into her face masking her but as she sees him sit down as the bus drives off leaving her alone at the bus stop she feels something inside of her cracks. He didn't recognize her.

It was two more weeks until she saw him again on that same bus at 9:33 in the morning when he got on at the same stop that Emily had gotten off at last time. It's not as if she cared or remembered. The bus is busy and all of the pairs of seats have at least one person as sitting in it she looks down praying that he won't sit next to her even though deep down she wants him to. He walks closer before sitting only a row in front of her on the other side of the bus. She refuses to look at him but he commands the seat with ease and she can hear the tittering of the blonde girl whose sitting next to him. He shifts and she can see her. Slim, model pretty with blonde hair (much like her own before she dyed it in an attempt to forget about everything), which is layered in perfect curls over her white top. She tears her glance away as though she's been burnt and busies herself with ferreting in her bag for something but she's not quite sure what. The half an hour passes slowly and she taps her French manicured fingers against window impatiently by the time the bus reaches its last few stops. The breeze, which hits her as she exits the bus, messes up her carefully styled and braided hair but she doesn't care. Indeed she finds it oddly invigorating, almost enough to hide her indignation about the girl who gets off at the same stop a scrap of paper with his number on it clutched in between crimson red nails which are only a few shades darker than the crimson of her cheeks.

The next week she doesn't expect to see him but she isn't surprised by his presence and when like before he walks through the aisle looking for somewhere to sit she doesn't duck her head and instead sits up tall. He doesn't notice her and walks past her and lounges in the last row of the bus like the cool kids at her prep school used to do. She wants to look back at him. She wants to say something, anything but she doesn't. She keeps her gaze trained forwards and the nails in her left hand drag against the back of her right hand whenever she considers doing anything but sitting up straight with perfect posture formed from years of ballet and dance. She gets off all to happily, conscious of a pair of eyes digging into her back.

He sits in the pair of seats to your right and she shoots him sidelong glances for the next three stops. She knows it's not particularly subtle of her but she can't help in and when a large man even by his standard but it's all fat and pudge in contrast to his lean muscular physique, every inch sculptured muscle formed from hours in the studio, sits beside her she recoils slightly looking down away from the man. He smells slightly sour not quite like sweat or even body odor but it's an unpleasant smell which hangs around her clashing horribly with the delicate jasmine scent which she sprayed liberally on her pulse points this morning—more than usual especially considering what she has to do later but she couldn't resist it and for a second after she'd sprayed herself she couldn't help but imagine a scenario in which he recognized her scent. It's the same one she has always used and he'd commented on it and how despite the fact that by the end she'd sheen with sweat she would still smelt like jasmine. She had always flushed when he said that, her red cheeks growing redder. There was something oddly personal about him recognizing her scent but she couldn't put her finger on what. By the time she should get off the bus she hasn't snuck any more glances at him and she's tempted to sit on that bus until he gets off just to give her more time to remember his features but she doesn't and instead gets off the bus and with only a small regretful look backwards she walks off, black heels clacking against the slate grey pavement with purpose.