Page 49 of Meet Me at the Metro

“I’m alright. I just need to clear my head—get a plan together.”

“Text me, alright?” Connor sighs, and I can see the genuine concern written all over his face. “If you need anything, just message me, and I’ll be there. And we can just meet up for our piano lesson sometime later this week.”

“Shit!” I had totally forgotten about our plans for our first lesson. “I’m so sorry. I can stay. I don’t want to bail out on you.”

“Stop apologizing. Go home and get some rest. Get your mind straight. We’ll start them up on Wednesday.”

My hand reaches out for his as I find it hard to express how grateful I am for his grace. “Thank you. You’re the best.” I look up to see him blushing, and it isn’t until then that it clicks what the implications of my actions mean to him. Abruptly, I pull back my hand. “I-I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Later,” he nods. “Night, Ellie.”

“Night, Connor.”

I don’t know where my crippled foot will be taking me tonight, but I feel as though the train is the best place to start. I make my way to the nearest station but immediately regret my decision when I come face-to-face with all the challenges crowds and stairs present to a girl on crutches.

My ankle's throbbing when I finally settle in a seat on a departing train, and a monotone British voice rings through the speakers overhead,“The next station is Camden Town.”

The wheels of the train roar as they speed down the underground tracks, stopping only when they reach the next platform. The doors glide open, releasing the majority of passengers and leaving the seats of the carriage empty, except for the one I’m currently occupying. I use this opportunity to my advantage and kick my weak foot up onto the unoccupied seats next to me. It’ll be several more stops before I muster enough strength to start walking with my crutches again.

“Please mind the gap. Doors closing.”

I glance up to find a tall body hurriedly slipping through the train doors right before their rubber-edging close shut. With his back to me and a hand clutched against the overhead railing, the man catches his breath from the close call. It isn’t until I go to look away that he begins to face me, and his dark brown eyes widen when they find mine. I sit up straighter in my seat, my spine stiffening as he approaches me.

“Eleanor?”

My mind spins with bewilderment, hardly wanting to accept the sight in front of me—the person in front of me.

What in the actual fuck is John doing here?

15

FUNNY GIRL

E L L I E

Why is John here? How is this even possible?

As my eyes thoroughly inspect him, I find so many emotions washing over me—surprise, frustration, sadness, contempt. They form furious knots in my stomach and send waves of nausea rippling through me. My mind’s hazy while my eyes rake over his tall, lean stature, dusty-brown hair, and dark brown—so rich they almost look black—eyes. As familiar as I should be with every inch of the man in front of me, the longer I stare, the more it feels like I don’t know this person at all. His infidelity and lies stole away the identity I had for him, along with any ounce of my respect or trust.

All I perceive when I look at him is deceit. I can’t take it anymore—can’t stand to even look at him.

The train reaches its next stop, and I don’t wait for the doors to open to gather my belongings and start making my way toward them. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking back, but that doesn’t stop his feet from shuffling after me.

“Eleanor, wait.”

I don’t listen to his order. I keep moving on my crutches until my feet are on the platform outside.

If I could, I’d be running right now—I’d sprint as fast as I could so I wouldn’t have to hear his voice or listen to his meaninglessapologies.

My attempts to flee are put to an abrupt stop when his hand tightly grips my wrist. “Don’t walk away when I’m trying to talk to you.”

“I’ll do whatever the hell I please,” I scoff, yanking out of his hold. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“What’s your deal?”

“Look, I don’t know why or how you are here right now, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to speak to you. I don’t want to see—”

The words are stolen from me as John’s hands shove me back against the paint-coated brick wall of the station. I’m speechless, frozen in a state of pain and shock as my spine settles against the cold stone. I hate the way I shiver as he takes a defiant step toward me—I hate how scared I become of the vacancy of this platform right now.

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