Enter Apathy

Escaping the Trauma (2.)

Warning: Substance abuse//suicide attempt may not be suitable for some readers.

Another day, another dollar, right? Isn't that how the saying goes? As she pours coffee into a go-cup, Lilliana dreads the thought of having to take the train to work. I gotta save up and get a vehicle. Working for a big-time publishing company has its perks, but a car isn't one of them. With her coffee cup filled she begins to head for the door, but stops at the mirror and notices how wrinkly her blouse is. She had tossed it onto her dresser last night without realizing the consequences that came from neglecting to lay it out neatly. Too late to change now, she sighs and walks out of her apartment. It isn't a long walk to the train station.

She arrives after ten minutes, just in time for the seven o'clock train to get there. A young boy runs to the entrance and trips as he crosses the threshold. Lilliana glimpses the mother's face, lacking the same concern as her own. She knew why she didn't care, but the mother? What's her problem? Maybe her head is stuck as far in her phone as it is up her own ass. A mother owes it to her child to care. Lilliana shakes her head and boards the train after most of the people have filed in. Her green eyes roam from left to right, searching for a place to sit, but finds none. No issue; she's young and has no problem standing. People bustle in to the vehicle, moving this way and that. A woman wearing a deep blue coat argues with a grey-haired man a few paces from where Lilliana decides to stand. She isn't trying to be nosy, but they're close enough and talking loud enough for her to hear them clearly.

"I don't care if you had to work late, you should've called me to let me know. I sat there for three hours, Don. THREE."

"How many times do you want me to say I'm sorry? I told you, I don't help what time I get out of the office, especially if the clients aren't happy with the paperwork! I tried to make it home, but when I was leaving the office Patricia told me my client called. Then I sat there for another hour and a half listening to them bitch. D'you really think I wanna come home and have to hear it from you? Not even just at home, but here, too? Give it a rest already."

If looks could kill, he would be a dead man. Woman in blue snorts and starts again, "The client? You really think I'm stupid enough to believe you stayed there to be on the phone? I know you were fucking your assistant. You came home smelling like perfume, for fuck's sake! You know what, you can tell Patricia that she can have you. If you don't show up for dinner tonight, don't bother coming back at all." With that, she turns her back to him and faces the other side of the train. The man groans and rolls his eyes. When he pulls out his phone, woman in blue turns back around to argue once again.

Lilliana averts her gaze from the ridiculous scene. Two adults acting like children. Nothing is more annoying than two people that shouldn't be together but refuse to acknowledge it. Damn idiots. The ride's almost over, the ride's almost over, she keeps reminding herself. And then, she shouldn't be bothered until long after she's settled into work. Til' then, though, she has to deal with yet another blight of humanity; an old drunkard, wearing a grey windbreaker and a torn hat. He's laying down, occupying a few seats, all the while pissing on himself. The deeply yellow liquid drips steadily onto the already filthy floor, pooling and spreading. A frown creeps across her face. She finds people disgusting, especially the ones like this. How hard was it, to pay attention to your son, to not argue in person and let everyone know your business, to not piss on a public transport? She is doing none of these things. She could personally attest to the fact that it isn't hard to be decent. Even if only a little. Train speakers let out a soft beep just in time, and a screen with red letters on top of the entry way to the next section reads, "Wellingot". It's the next city over from hers, and just as small. Only, more populated.