Page 1 of Kept
1
I’m not usually stupid, not usually a risk-taker or an idiot. Only on rare occasions, like tonight.
I blow my hair out of my face and grimace. I’ve had it up in a bun all day, covered in a little net, and my scalp itches from trapped sweat, my neck aches from the weight of it. Stray wisps are starting to escape and tickle my neck and cheeks as I strain to see where I’m going and try not to look as scared as I feel as I rush through the park.
“I think I can I think I can I know I can I know I can,” I whisper under my breath, my mind filling in the blanks with train sounds‘choo, choo’as I force myself to keep to a brisk walk and not a dead run.
As crazy as it sounds, I feel like I’m being followed, hunted.
‘I knew I should have taken a taxi – probably going to be murdered because I wanted to save a few bucks.’
“Stupid, you are being a stupid, weak girl,” I huff as I scurry along the uneven path, reminding myself that even if I am not being chased by some monster from my imagination, I still need to be fast, just not panicky-ridiculously fast, if I want to catch the 8pm bus home.
And if I run, I might twist an ankle. The ground is uneven, and I can’t see all that well in the dark.
I usually don’t catch this bus, I catch the 4.30pm. Tonight, though, I’d worked late and now here I was, right on 8pm rushing hand-in-hand with my paranoia and taking a shortcut through a deserted park.
‘Moron.’
Of course, the park is supposed to be relatively safe. The odd homeless drunk sleeps here, the odd teenage couple make out here, there are drug deals made and trysts in the skanky and unkept toilets – but other than that, I really shouldn’t be super worried. And yeah, I do know some self-defence, in my dreams, I mean, I’d watched lots of movies…I’d sat in on the odd self-defence class the students took at school when I had my lunch breaks.
‘I’m sure Icould defend myself if someone grabbed me. Maybe, nup, better to just get the hell out of here.’
I am so focussed on my steps, and my imaginary prowess at martial arts, and my breathing, and keeping my thoughts positive, that I almost trip over the object lying on the ground.
Squinting in the yellow light shed by one of the lonely unbroken streetlamps, I look down.
It is a book.
I don’t even considernotpicking it up. I love books, I can’t afford movies or a plush lifestyle, but escaping the drudgery of my world for a few days at a time in a good series was something I was a pro at. And I carry books with me everywhere I go, especially recipe books. Maybe someone like me dropped this book running to catch the same bus I’m aiming to board?
Stooping, I pick it up and slide it under my arm. I’m not stealing it, if it has an inscription I’ll return it as soon as I can, but I can’t just leave it lying here.
It feels warm under my arm, and I hurry on. I’m starting to feel like I will make it, like all the panic was for nothing when I hear the screech of the bus tyres and air brakes.
Dropping the book and my bag I bend down to unbuckle my sandals. If that was the sound of my bus pulling up, I need to run, and I can’t while wearing these. My feet already ache from standing most of the day, and I have a couple of blisters forming on the heels.
Normally we wear closed-toe joggers at work, to prevent slipping on the tiles if we were to spill liquids or ingredients. But my shoes had died the week before, and I am down to just one pair of summer sandals. Hopefully when I get paid next fortnight, I can get a new pair of joggers – but that doesn’t help me now.
‘Oh, fuck. Don’t leave me here, bus, don’t leave me here.’
I throw my sandals into my bag, grab the book, and take off.
The hairs on the back of my neck prick and the panic rises in my chest as it always does when I’m running in the dark, just like when I was a child. My overactive imagination conjures up all manner of creatures pursuing me.
It occurs to me that, barefoot, I could also possibly tread on a used syringe and end up with AIDS or hepatitis or something, but I push this thought aside – being left behind in this ominous black is of more concern right now.
As I sprint, I hear noise to my right, the crackling of sticks and a rustle from within the thick underbrush beside the path. Shrieking, I almost trip over in fright, just as I’m joined on my left by a laughing group of youths wearing their college colours, racing across the grassed area and egging each other on.
I can’t help but giggle too, in relief at my baseless fears, as I cast another quick, frightened look at the bushes and join the group rushing for the bus.
I reach the bus first, and the whoosh of the doors closing blows my ridiculous hair into my face, my bun having slipped loose. Pressing my palms to the glass I smile ruefully through the door at the driver.
He smiles back and shakes his head in admonition at me and the youths behind, before operating the lever and opening the door, allowing us all to tumble inside.
Thanking him, I show my bus pass and flop into the seat closest to the front, scooting over to the window.
The college students make their way to the back of the bus amid raucous joking and laughter.
