Secrets Make Us Dead {C.H}

0.1

I sit on a bench in the subway weighing out my options. The underground room had a smell of musk and cigarette smoke overwhelming my senses. Stifling the nerves that twist through my stomach threatening to spill the lunch from a few hours ago, I walk to the map once again. As my gaze sweeps across the smooth surface I see litterings of so-and-so was here and multiple profanities stretched across the border, creating the image of young teens awaiting the arrival of their bus while they scribble small things of vandalism across the map, people struggling to look over the doodling hands. I run my hands over the layer of plastic protecting the flimsy material underneath, envisioning the hundreds of people who have stood in the same dark tan spot I stand now. I take in more of the markings observing the way some have faded past visible, their once solid words appearing transparent. I note how the air is becoming more dense and the feeling of dread sinks in me, making me feel as if I'd drop if i weren't careful. I take a quick glance around seeing nothing but the faces of the people who have been here since I arrived. I shake my head pushing the thoughts away as I turn back to examine my placement on the map and run my finger to the warehouse that's on the opposite side of town, cussing as my finger runs over an astray piece of plastic that slices my index, leaking an alluring red that contrasts against the dark brown on my skin.

"Do you need something to stop the bleeding?" A smooth but deep voice questions behind me, feeling the breath of their question change the temperature of my shoulder. I know I don't. I learned long ago to carry first aid supplies when on the road. My bag has all the things I could ever need but when I first went on the road I was told to keep that a secret. One of the many I've learned to and holding up with promises I turn to the stranger, feeling as if I'd ran a marathon as my eyes meet the penetrating stare of his dark brown ones.