Inhospitable Place - 2. Chapter 2

I’m looking at you. But you don’t see me. You’re too preoccupied with the sleek silver iPhone in your hand. Your slim fingers rapidly tapping away. Perhaps recounting a work story about an overzealous co-worker to a friend. Maybe replying to an eager potential suitor on a dating app. Or leaving a funny comment under someone’s Instagram picture. Whatever it is, you’re too engrossed to notice me watching you from my seat.

I’ve finally established your pattern. You take the 5:30 train on Mondays and Wednesdays. The black backpack suggests you’re coming from class. But you’re not a typical university student sporting a hoodie, sweatpants, and dark undereye circles. Your clothes reflect professionalism. On Monday it was a white button up shirt and black dress pants. Today it’s a black sweater and well-fitted jeans. My intuition says you’re taking real estate classes. Regardless, I very much appreciate your attention to detail. Hygiene is so very important, after all. “Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness” and all that jazz.

You sigh and look away from your phone for a brief moment, take in the fast-paced view from the window. Whoever is on the other end of the phone, they seem to be agitating you. I wonder if it’s a significant other. You must have one, you're far too good looking to be single. I wonder if it's a man or a woman. I haven't figured that part out yet, although the Britney Spears song blasting from your headphones last Monday has me swaying one way.

The side view of your pale neck is magnificent. The marks I could leave on that neck; a beautiful collage of bruises...but let me not get caught up in my daydreams. At least not yet. I have to be patient, meticulous. I can't act in a hurry, that could be my demise.

Besides, from previous experience I've come to realize that this is the most exciting part of the process. The slow buildup to the ultimate crescendo. The details, the observations, the notes, the mind games. The physical release that comes later is powerful, but short-lived. This, this is the meat of it all.

The train stops and three more people get on. A woman sits next to you, her elbow brushes against your arm. You’re startled out of your thoughts, but you shoot her a quick, polite smile. You're a nice boy like that. She smiles back then grabs a book out of her bag and starts reading, while you go back to the silver device.

I enjoy looking at you so much that I almost miss my stop. For a second I wonder if I should just go through with it tonight. You look so good. Too good to pass up. And I can feel myself getting to that point of no return, it's been building up again for a while now. But then my phone buzzes in my pocket. I check the text message. Luck is on your side tonight.

I grab my briefcase and make my way towards the door, bumping shoulders with a homeless man whose toxic odor lingers on long after I get off the train. I brush off my shoulder and quickly contain the flicker of uncontrolled anger at the pit of my stomach. Now is not the time, nor the place. You don’t even glance in my direction, still mesmerized by the warm glow of your phone screen. That’s okay. By the time you really notice me watching you, it will be too late.