Victoria - A Stranger on the Train

Last night. In a rented apartment.

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Tchic. Not today...

He actually heard the air's whoosh; with such force had the door been opened. But it was a gray, vacant stare what prowled out of the bathroom. Calm, too calm. It didn't match the tone she'd picked for the last five minutes on her phone.

The wind whispered gale into that street, howling and testing their crystals as they shook.

"Sweetheart?"

The small, breathing rag doll in the cushion never flinched. Thank God, he thought.

For Victoria, his voice was a distant echo under the clouds humming thunder. The windows pattered with incipient drops; abnormally thick drops. The weather mirrored both her spirit and temper.

"Victoria, sweetheart?"

...

That headache again. Too many hours this week. Or had it been this month? This quarter? It was hard to remember. Which was good; the more she understood, the closer she felt to a rageful bout of destructive catharsis. Right now it was at the tip of her fingers.

How does he DARE? she thought. That fucking pathetic excuse of a--! URGH!

There had to be an apt lamb among all the meaningless trinkets decorating shelves and cabinets, tables and walls -- seven years worth of little sleep--if any--and nearsightedness. But this time, burning the whole 'shitty' apartment wouldn't quench such fire. She managed to confine it within the loop of her pondering.

"...Sweetheart. Babe?"

Her trapped leonine march froze. She hated that one.

"WHAT?"

He reminded her of the baby. With the windows convulsing against their frames, making him sleep had been hard. Malcom hadn't dared to touch him since.

She followed the trail of his gesture to a tiny, blissful smile. It would only take seconds before her eyes swelled. She looked up and swallowed with secret compunction; a secret she kept from herself. She crossed her legs on the opposite chair biting down on a thumbnail.

"Um..." her clean sole anxiously shaking before him made him feel as a stray dog, with the steak inviting him to jump up and bite. It'd been a while. Focus. "Babe, what happened?"

"Nothing," she snapped, "everything's great."

"Right... Okay."

4, 3, 2, 1...

"You know what?" she started.

He drowned down a snort.

"He thinks he's won. Yeah! HA!" she scoffed exaggeratedly, "he thinks I'm just gonna step aside and let him take it. He thinks I'm gonna let him take eeeverything."

Malcom knew how the conversation would end. What was the point? Victoria only listened to Victoria. He'd very much rather to take this moment and admire the toned legs, that face... or how her new fashion clung to her breasts -- he hadn't even had the chance to enjoy their new size! She was so stubborn with that, he thought.

Still, there had to be some merit to his role. He looked for something to say, something soothing or wise while Victoria shook her head to the ghosts around her mind. Nothing. Only rain. Countless drops raised their voice against the pavement, driving away the trash that no one dared to pick up. Their explosion made a white curtain that'd reach up to any man's knee.

Her eyes began to well too, but Victoria wouldn't cry; she mustn't. When he reached out, she stood up with a furious scowl -- she didn't want his help or his pity.

Malcom sighed. Prying her open to this much intimacy had been an ode to patience over the years, and he could only get so far. Man, could he use a drink right now.

"Was it him, over the phone? The new guy?"

There was an answer, just not to his question.

"I could leave tonight," she whispered. Yes! That's it! She thought.

"What? To go where?" Oh no. Usually, once the thought got into her head... "Victoria, no. The rain. Babe look, look outside. It's a storm."

"I'll call a cab," said Victoria, already listing items to pack.

"Is this for the meeting? That's like, Friday! It's friday, right?" his insistence went unnoticed. "Do you really not see the weather outside? Honey, listen, listen at the windows -- no one is going to drive you there like this; it's a very long drive. What happened? You still had time." He chased after her every move, hoping to make some time for her to calm down, maybe then she'd see reason.

"Who was that on the phone?"

"Hngh...could you stop getting in the way?

"Victoria, no one will drive you, not like this."

"So what? We have a car, don't we?"

"Hah! Are you serious right now!?" he turned to the couch, startled by his own volume. "Are you serious right now?" she moved quickly between drawers and the closet while he put the baby back in his crib as if defusing a bomb. "Victoria, you'll just get pulled over. Listen, why don't you tell--"

"No. Why don't YOU leave me the fuck alone!" she hissed.

Her open cursing confused him.

"... Victoria, I'm trying to help you."

"No. You know what? I'm done. I don't want YOU to do anything," she glared at his bewildered frown. "Don't you understand!? I'm so close, Malcom, so close. THIS is my chance. I've invested such a big part of my life preparing; I'll finally leave that shitty floor, I'll finally BE someone and leave all those smug, hypocritical cutthroats behind... And here comes this prick, who thinks that with a little smile he can bribe his way up to my job, MY job, Malcom! All those years, all those nights reading clause after clause on the screen, competing with a bunch of incompetent, treacherous... Ugh! And a hand tied behind my back just because of my tits too...and for what? A couple barbecues over the weekends and oh! He's the new favorite! No, NO! I'm closing the deal; ME, not him. ME!"

For the first time in their marriage he was worried about her mental health.

Under no circumstances would he allow her to drive tonight, at least not until whatever was happening to the sky had passed, which wouldn't be soon by what he'd heard on TV.

"I'm sorry, honey. Wait," he grabbed her arm.

"Where are the keys?"

"No. Listen, I understand what you're going through, but I can't let you drive tonight. You can't even see past the... Where are your glasses?"

Victoria hated them. Everyday she'd call a cab just to avoid the look. If she were to miraculously drive there, he was certain they'd sit comfortably inside the glove compartment.

She took a deep breath. "Give me the keys, Malcom."

"Honey, listen. I get it. I get it, okay? I understand..."

"STOP saying that! You DON'T understand. How could you? The last... what? Like-- Three, four years? You've tried every single thing anyone could possibly imagine, and failed. No regular job was interesting enough for Mr. Jeff Gordon. Ooh no, you had to think of the most twisted and elaborate shit to start from the ground up and even then -- when things get serious you quit. You've never stuck with anything in your whole life. 'You understand', no! You have NO idea what it's like to give up everything for a job. You're rich, you've never had to work for a damned thing."

"My family has money. Keep it down, alright?"

"Oh my God!" she groaned, rolling her eyes, "You know exactly what I mean! What was your first job? Remember that? I mean, a race driver! For God's sake! Normal people worked their skin off in two shit jobs while you were out there racing go-karts and drinking champagne at four. What? Did you think that was normal?"

"Victoria, calm down. All I'm saying is--"

"I know exactly what you're saying!"

"... I'm saying--"

"I don't understand how you live like this, you know? Doing nothing all day and getting shitfaced at night. All you care about is drinking and fucking. It's all you think about," she grimaced.

"What!? Oh I'm sorry. I'm sorry I want to have sex with my wife. And, doing nothing all day? Really? Remember the baby?"

"We wouldn't even HAVE the baby if it wasn't for you!"

"Tchic..."

"Why did you have to bite it open? Why!? I mean... My God, are you fucking twelve?"

"Are you seriously still on that!?"

"You FORCED me to be a mother in the most important moment of my career! And now you want me to throw everything away for fucking rain?"

The baby wailed. His head throbbed. He pressed his eyes with his fingertips, desperate to grab a thought, any thought. She stood in front of him with a hand out.

"Give. Me. The keys!"

"Victoria--"

"No, give me the keys, Malcom. Give me the fucking KEYS!"

There it was. A voice. His father's; the ruthless negotiator, the cruel disciplinarian. His lungs filled with a burning gust that thundered beyond his lips.

"STOP!!"

His deep voice reverberated through the room, setting her back straight in attentive shock. Victoria froze. She could've sworn she felt the glass of the small table vibrate beside her. Malcom never shouted. Even the baby was silent.

"Six years, Victoria... I know you like to think I'm an idiot but you're not as smart as you think you are either; I can see stuff, Victoria, same as you. We're like stones in your shoe, right? I mean, you treat us like some stray cats you picked up. Like you've never needed anything or anyone because it's just YOU against the world. WELL! Guess. Again... You think I don't know why you shut up about divorce after we got from Vegas?"

Her expression shifted from captive fright to incipient awareness.

"Yeah. I know you didn't know before the wedding, but after you found out, I suppose you thought being married to the boss's son wouldn't hurt, huh? Give you more of a chance."

Victoria blinked and swallowed.

She tried to protest, but it came out tame and apologetic. "No! I-I... It wasn't like that!"

"And yes. It was an accident, but deep down I wanted it. I wanted--! You know? A part of me hoped you'd wake up from that dream. That you'd wake up to your own fucking family. I admire you, Victoria, but yes, you're the one living a fantasy. You're chasing a ghost! Like, the carrot hanging from the stick. And you know the worst part? I don't even think you like your job!"

She stared back at him wide eyed. Each word cast a bigger shadow. It wasn't so much what he was saying but that he was saying it at all.

"Malcom, I promise you, it wasn't like that."

"You know what? You're right, I don't understand but I do know something you don't. I know what it's like to have what you want. I've been to parties with the 'elite', Victoria; seen stuff that I never told you about 'cause most would make you sick. I was at the TOP. I was literally like, surrounded by people waiting for something of mine to rub up on them, some even begged. Yachts full of blondes willing to do whatever. Man... I've lived a lot, Victoria. Not like my Father, but a lot. And you know what? You'd be a fool to trade this...for...it."

He remembered those last words, they weren't his.

He looked at the lectured child with her hands holding at her navel. She was stunned. He hoped whatever had taken him would last a bit longer and straightened, commanding and towering.

"I know your job is everything for you, but you are not leaving tonight. Tomorrow we'll figure something out, even if I have to drive you myself."

She frowned, sprung from the trance.

"N-No! I--"

"I said no, Victoria," he sentenced. He said something about the baby before closing the bedroom door behind him, leaving her alone in the living room.

The wind spread raindrops in every direction with random violent bursts -- much like her thoughts. She felt guilty. Why? And what'd just happened?

The baby cried again. Her breasts answered, pulsing like an urgent bladder. Sensitive, too sensitive. If there was one thing Victoria couldn't bear was pain. It was time. Curiously, she walked to find more than wobbly legs on her way to the room.

What?

She looked down and around, but there was no one with her to magically notice. She got into the room more than upset.

"Here, let me," she said, transitioning the baby to her own chest.

Malcom had seen her nude before, just not breastfeeding. She'd go as far as to lock herself in the bathroom to pump. This time, when Malcom turned to leave, she held his hand.

"No. S-Stay."

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Victoria fell asleep on the living room, re-reading terms on the 95+ pages long contract and fantasizing with the life-changing commission from her first merger.

That night, she dreamed with the plane again. It was so vivid. There was this strong smell lingering over that of jet fuel and leather. She felt dizzy. A faceless man in the aisle had put so much cologne, the lady sitting beside him had to cover her nose with a scarf. Victoria was sitting by the window, with no scarf, angry and anxious. If they found out she'd chosen to marry some guy in a drunken spree in Vegas her career could be buried before it was born -- she was struggling enough as it were.

The very one funding the trip had--unknown to her--had a crush on her for years in high school. The night before the plane, he'd been the one who offered to take her back to the hotel (before a collage of five suggestive grins). Victoria though, didn't rest. She persuaded him to drink one shot after the other, until they blipped from midnight in luxurious hotel room to spinning, distant cave in cheap motel.

Her headache came along with puking and chanting: 'never again'. She was bruised and naked. The worst was the ring. What was she thinking?

An hour of arguing came to nothing; in his mind, he'd won the lottery. After so many, bolt-on model wannabes; his first crush. The striking, slim blonde of his teenage fantasies, with young, amazing tits, and eyes mesmerizingly gray, his. And those legs... But her feet--! he'd had seen it all, but never had he found feet like hers -- perfect, just perfect, he thought.

Back in the dream, the plane had begun to shake. A unintelligible voice over the speaker threw some empty words of reassurance. She noticed her seat belt had locked in place. Malcom's face--the most experienced of the group--offered just an awkward smile. She could see the clouds flashing purple-blue serpents outside the right wing and each tremor was followed by another, only stronger, until it felt as if a giant hand was checking the plane for coins. It was so ironic. A lifetime of controlling preparation bore her turbulence at the world's 'safest way to travel'.

The moment she stepped on land (on a different airport, hundreds of miles away), her voice hoarse and disheveled with one tit bulging out of her bra and some buttons missing from her shirt, she solemnly promised never to fly again. Ever.

She woke up to a montage of the passengers mouths, screaming, which shifted and twist into the sound of her alarm.

Victoria shuddered. She rubbed her eyes, stretched and turned, enjoying the touch of cotton. There was no one beside her. The baby was sound asleep in the crib. About time the little monkey slept his eight hours.

She brushed her teeth in scarlet underwear before her morning ritual. She was confident that with the amount she'd forced herself to pump the last two weeks, the baby would have more than enough during her business trip. She was close to four ounces per session; more than ever.

With her new regime she'd pump once before work, feed the baby upon arrival, and once more before bed. And that's not counting thrice behind closed curtains at her office, her private space -- or supposedly so.

Her boss had 'accidentally' entered for an 'urgent' matter twice last week, unbothered as usual by the sign on the handle. Fortunately, she'd learned to cover up a long time ago. "Which one is it? Was it an accident or was it urgent?" she'd said to HR. There had been several incidents with her manager recently--enough to fill up a folder--but each and every one of her complaints withered away over the same unused desk. She could see them every time she went down there.

Unbelievable, she thought.

In the living room she found her husband with his laptop, writing down on a notebook. Sizing his expression, she tried to appear as indifferent as possible.

"Good morning," she said, busying with minutia.

"Oh! Hi, sweetheart."

"Ahem. I'll be taking the car today. I won't be back in some days, as you know. Are you sure you'll be okay with the baby?"

"...You're not driving there. I thought we'd come to something," he warned.

"Malcom, it's not even raining anymore."

"That's not--"

"Look at the sky," she said.

"Huh... What about it, Victoria? It's 4 am. It's dark as fuck and full of clouds. No, we are driving. To the train station."

"What?" she frowned.

"Yeah! Look, I found it. There's a route that leaves you very close, from there you can take a cab or whatever. It's perfect."

"A route? No. You want me to go on a train?"

"I'm telling you! It's comfortable, and...definitely faster than a car. I don't think a lot of people use them so you'd have a lot of room. You could even read your papers on the way."

"That's ridiculous. Why can't I just call someone to drive me there?"

"Becaaause I don't want you to be stranded in the middle of the highway when your driver can't see past the car's front. Besides, they might even close the highway."

"Highway clo--" she squinted her eyes, "Malcom. Trains are not what you think. By the time I get there that bastard will be on his way back laughing at me."

He laughed at her wit.

"Victoria, listen. Last night? Last night was like, the first day of this, like the beginning of it; it's only gonna get worse. Maybe that guy won't even be able to fly there. This shit's serious. You're taking the train. I've already bought you a ticket, did you pack everything?"

"Um..." It was a long trip and, since the client rescheduled, there wasn't too much time to debate. It was overly complicated at best, but she realized that the man last night had not been another dream. She wasn't keen on walking down that path. "Yes."

She reached for his arm.

"Babe?" he asked.

"A-Are you sure it's... Are you sure it's safe? I don't know about this, Malcom. Everything depends on it. I have to get there today, I have to."

Her long eyelashes fluttered over her gray eyes, asking and vulnerable. It was a look reserved for the rare times his cock was embedded inside her. Along with his heartbeat he also felt the need to embrace her.

"Of course! It will be fine, sweetheart. It's way faster, you'll see. It's all you'll ever use for your future business trips when you're boss," he smiled. It felt odd for him to be this intimate over her own exposure.

She returned her own version of a smile and began to make peace with the idea.

-------------------

It wasn't near like her husband had implied, but the station was exactly what she had expected, up to the last detail, except for the train, which didn't look like more than a bee line of old greyhounds chained together. She hoped the inside was better. It was.

The conductor checked her ticket, eyeing her up and down, and pointed to a seat with a worn off number tag.

Oh no. She thought.

Her husband was entirely wrong. All the seats were taken. More were sure to board at any of the stations marked on the map she saw. The scene reminded her of a school cafeteria. She sat on her appointed spot, right next to a huge bearded man. This was going to be a fun ride. And the seats... Since privacy was not going to be an element, she'd planned to sleep for the day and pull a reading marathon at the hotel tonight, but not on these seats, and certainly not with the repetitively obnoxious announcements over the loud speaker.

Great. God knows how many hours to go.

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A blaring static right next to her ear from the radio of one the passing crew members woke her up.