i am intervening.

part one - november first

you weren't used to your hands being this thin. your knuckles were sharper. you could see tendons move and form shallow channels. you wrapped your hand tighter around the metal pole as the train jerked and swayed in the tunnel.

"west fourth street," the train's announcer crackled over the loudspeaker, whisking you from your stupor. the doors opened and shut quickly. you were one of the few people that used the subway at a ripe three in the morning, but your job needed someone to cover the graveyard shift and you needed the extra money.

the train began to pull out of the station, picking up speed as it traveled through the tunnels. the dim yellow lights above your head flickered as the train car rocked on the railings. the white bunny ears you wore as a costume bounced with the motion. this year's halloween was the worst. no friends invited you to a party or celebration. whatever. that was yesterday.

you look at yourself in the reflection of the door window that separates the train cars. through your reflection, you notice a man in a bunny mask standing alone at the end of the train, focused on typing on his phone. he leans against a metal pole, still focused on his phone, but occasionally looking up towards the ceiling, or fidgeting with his red tie.

you look down. you shouldn't stare too much. you glance back to the bunny man, who is peering at you.

"he's staring at me," you think to yourself. out of impulse, you give him an awkward wave. he glances back to his phone, then to you, then to his phone.

"what's wrong with me what's wrong with me," you yell at yourself internally. you turn around, facing away from him, fiddling with your phone so you look like you actually are doing something.

the stations went by until the train slowed to a halt at your stop.

"jay street," the announcer hissed. the  the metal doors rattled open and you stepped off the train onto the concrete platform. you quickly hurry up the narrow metal stairs as the train pulls out of the station. out of the corner of your eye, you can see the masked man looking up at you.

the air outside is chilled. small raindrops beat at your thin jacket as you walk home, your hands in your pockets, your feet aching. the sidewalks are cracked and speckled with black, year-old gum. you pass by shuttered stores and tall apartment buildings looming above you. apart from a few homeless, you're alone as you make your way to your apartment. your building is illuminated by a lone sodium vapor streetlamp, giving it an orange tinge.

you shake your keys out of your front pocket and slide the key into the lock. the heavy meal door creaks on its hinges as you push it open and shut. begrudgingly walking up the old linoleum-lined steps, you slide off your bunny headband. you open the door to your apartment and flick on the table lamp by your door. the pale yellow light brightens your apartment. your fridge hums as its motor picks up. light from the streetlamp pours in through the slatted curtains.

you wash your hands in the sink then open up the fridge. besides three day old pasta, there isn't anything to eat. you close it.

rain taps against the thin glass windows as you take a quick shower and then head to bed.

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car horns blare in the street below your window, startling you awake. you rub your eyes and check your phone. 3:32 pm. no notifications. you smooth your hair off of your face, standing from your bed. the hardwood floor is cold. you look at yourself in your mirror, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

your phone chimes as someone calls you. you read your boss's name on the caller identification. "oh no..." whenever your boss calls nothing good comes from it.