tagNovels and NovellasExpress Way Ch. 01

Express Way Ch. 01


Chapter 1:

Depart, hence!

"You know, a vacation is not such a bad idea after all." John said to me as I rushed about the apartment to two of us shared during University. "I mean, our first year was quite hectic.... Where're you going again?"

"London." I reminded him as I stuffed random clothes into one suitcase. Maybe it was a bad idea to stay up with a bottle of lotion last night.... "I – I'm not really going there for a vacation, you know."

John looked at me with raised eyebrows as I continued to dash around my room, retrieving all the stuff I thought would need for the trip. "Is that so? I don't remember you ever telling me this...."

I paused to shrug at him, but after that I continued to pack wordlessly.

"Is she cute?" I halted and felt a slight blush creep up on me. "Oh, I nailed the gender it seems.... Maybe good ol' Ethan will finally lose his virgini-"

"Shh, damnit!" I knew no one else was here, though that didn't stop me from attempting to shut him up. "It's ... its strictly business if you must know!"

John had a sidelong smile on his stupid face as he leaned into the doorframe of my small room. "Tip, if you want to get laid you should ac-"

"GET – OUT!" I threw a pair of my boxers just to emphasis my point. I think he got the point, since he rushed from the room.

Like John has said, our first year at University was ... well, hectic to say the least. It seemed as though the many teachers I had throughout my school life had been right in saying that University is different, way, different from High school and below.

First of all, living on campus was difficult when you've got to share a floor with assholes of all different shapes and colours (I couldn't help but think of John). Then there were the actual classes, which I had a problem with.

I was, what one would call, a lazy student. One who could make it through easily enough, but found it too ... too tiresome to do. I was the laid back type, satisfied with just hanging out with friends, or doing ... other activates.

I've actually taken up to masturbating more often than usual, if you must know. Since the downfall of my last relationship with a certain grey-eyed French oriented girl named Bastila, I no longer felt guilty whenever I ... did the act. While being lazy, I was still loyal to any partner I am with. And I wait for them to make the first move, rather than myself. John has said that that's a bad way to go about a relationship. And, truthfully, I think he's right.

Every single girlfriend I have been with has tossed me away unceremoniously because either I was too boring or never took the initiative in it. Though, in truth, John has had triple the number of partners as me and still hasn't found the one yet.

I sighed as I snapped my semi-large suitcase close. I still had this childhood fantasy of making a family unlike my own. I grew up with arguments every day between my parents and my few siblings. It seemed like a dream just to have a bit of caring in a family of four while I was a kid, but now, I could make it happen.

That is ... once I find the girl. I thought sadly as I left my room.

"So," John seemed to pop out of nowhere as I entered the small kitchen and fixed a glass of water (I wasn't the drinking type, unlike John). "What're you doing on this 'business trip' eh?" He asked me as he leaned back in his chair and pressed his small cigarette into his mouth.

I cringed as I chugged my glass of water (I had never liked the fumes that cigarettes produced). "Just a formality of sorts," I answered truthfully.

"Oh?" He cocked his head.

Rolling my eyes, I answered. "Get your head out of the gutter, dude. You know how I work for that knife distributor company?"

Puffing his cigarette once more, he nodded saying, "mm-hmm."

"Well, apparently this woman, a ... Miss Gibson. Wishes to make a large donation to the company, and I am representing my section of the workfor-"

Stabbing his depleted cigarette into a nearby ashtray, John interrupted me. "So, is this some sort of test, or what?"

My heart sank, truthfully I had thought of that already. My boss and I had a ... shaky relationship. I suspected that this was a test to see who I really worked for: myself or him. If I worked for him, I could agree on something with this ... Gibson woman that would benefit the company greatly, or I could do something that would give me some assets up front. Either way, I would need to make a decision that would affect my job in this company greatly (since I didn't get paid a whole lot....).

"You ... you could say that." I answered him, shakily pouring another glass of water.

John eyed the clear water for a moment before commenting on anything. "You really should try this stuff," he rose from his chair and begun to fish in one of the many cabinets below the sink. When he returned, he carried with him a bottle of, what looked like, wine. But I knew better.

John was an active rogue. That is what I called him at least. I knew he stole from everyone (including me, his supposed best friend) and he was good at it. His character was likeable, too likeable really, a bit cocky in the end. And because of this, one would let their guard down around him, not suspecting anything. John always brought some form of container everywhere he went, claiming he was doing a favour for his cancer-infected mother, or that he was exchanging empties.

But I knew he was filling up that container (wine bottles, beer bottles, coke bottles ... anything really) with hard contraband.

"What is it?" I asked slowly.

John laughed and popped the cork on the end, pouring himself some. "They call it the Green Fairy." I eyed the green liquid oozing out of the bottle and figured where "they" got the name.

"And they are...?"

"French, of course! Can you pour me some water?" I wondered why he asked this. And he seemed to read my puzzlement quite clearly. "They say we're supposed to add all this crap to it, part of what makes it taste better, you know?" I nodded slowly, unsure of what I was getting myself into as I handed him my own glass, my thirst no longer parched.

He fished a fancy looking spoon out of a drawer and placed a cube of sugar on it. I didn't remember him getting the cube, though that maybe because of the strong odour coming from the glass near me.

Soon enough, because of the sugar cube and the water I gave him, he was downing it like there was no tomorrow. I found it quite sad that the drink lasted less time then what it took to actually make the drink.

"So," he said, brining me out of my reverie. "You want to try some?"

He knew I wasn't an alcoholic type of guy, yet he would subtlety try to make me try it from time to time, knowing that I would become addicted to the taste immediately. I fumbled for an excuse and found it quite close, up near the ceiling was a clock.

"Jesus Christ," I said, picking up my suitcase and swiping my hat and coat from the nearby closet outside the kitchen. "I've got to go; the train's leaving in half an hour!"

"Wait!" John called to me as I was rushing towards the elevator outside out apartment. "You're going on a train?"

I nodded simply as I entered the newly opened elevator.


Brandishing my ticket for the nearby conductor was all I needed to do when I arrived at the train station five minutes late. I literally leaped into the nearest door onto the train (with my suitcase, I might add) and was rewarded with a smiling conductor.

"Ah, Ethan Shaw, you have arrived at last! I was beginning to worry that we were going to have one empty compartment!" He said cheerfully, taking my suitcase and leading me down the empty corridor. "You'll be in room ... 103, which is right here. Only got one neighbour to worry about!" He added as he stopped abruptly in front of a sliding door which he opened and pushed my suitcase inside.

"Thank you," I said, entering the room and glancing back at him.

"You're very welcome, Mr Shaw. Now, I should tell you that every compartment comes with a nice fluffy bed and a washroom." He bowed and turned to leave, but then jumped slightly in remembrance. "Oh, right. The Express will have to stop at Parry Sound for ... certain reasons." He cleared his throat and stepped out of the small compartment with another bow.

I shut the door and fell on my bed, dismissing the midway stop in a three day trip as I heard the whistle from the front of the train that signalled the start of our journey to London, Ontario.


I awoke some hours later (according to my wrist watch, which I had taken off before I had fallen asleep) only because I heard a sequence of bangs and shouts erupting from the compartment next to mine. I grumbled something incoherent and rose from my not-so fluffy bed. I turned on the nearby lamp, noticing through the small window above me that night had fallen.

"Eve dear, let me ex-" Groaning, I ducked my head under one of my two pillows, attempting to block out the noise.

Though no earplug in existence would be able to block out the shouts coming from this, quite angry, woman. "NO, HAROLD. I'VE LISTENED TO ENOUGH OF YOUR ... YOUR EXCUSES. GO AWAY; GO TO TH – THAT BLONDIE SLUT!"

"Don't call her a s-"


After hearing several thunderous footsteps signalling the man's retreat to a separate section of the express, I sighed, relaxing my grip on my pillow. I knew now, I could finally fall back into the blissful dream realm.

Luckily, the walls dividing every compartment allowed me to sleep while my neighbour, unbeknownst to me, wept for hours on end.

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