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By *am1e31 OP Man
3 days ago
Westgate |
The weekend was a blur of static. No matter what I did—scrolling aimlessly through my phone, trying to drown out the silence with music, or staring at the ceiling—the film of Friday night played on a loop behind my eyelids. I could still feel the phantom weight of him, the heat of the bus’s interior, and that final, staggering look of vulnerability on Marcus’s face as he stood drenched in the aftermath of us.
By the time Monday morning rolled around, I was a wire pulled too tight. Work was a special kind of hell. I’ve always been a clock-watcher, but today, time didn’t just crawl; it stopped. The digital numbers on the corner of my monitor felt like they were mocking me.
10:15 AM: I’m staring at a spreadsheet, but all I see is the way his hands gripped the steering wheel.
2:30 PM: A colleague asks me a question. I blink at them, my brain struggling to translate English back from the language of Marcus's low, ragged groans.
4:59 PM: I am already out of my seat, bag slung over my shoulder, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I didn't walk to the bus stop; I practically sprinted. My lungs burned with the cold evening air, but I didn't care. I just needed to see him. I needed to know that Friday wasn't a fever dream born of boredom and late-night commutes.
The familiar hiss of the air brakes signalled the arrival of the bus. I stepped forward, a smile already tugging at my lips, ready to meet his eyes. The doors folded open. I climbed the steps, my "Hello" dying in my throat.
Behind the wheel sat a stranger. He couldn't have been more than twenty-one, with a fresh-faced, "just-finished-school" look and a vacant expression as he checked his watch. He wasn't Marcus. The air seemed to leave the bus entirely, leaving me standing there, hollowed out and heartbroken.
"You getting on, mate?" the kid asked.
I nodded dumbly, tapped my pass, and moved toward the back. I sat in the exact same spot—the sanctuary where we’d shared that blissful, lust-filled hour. I pressed her forehead against the cold glass, trying to catch a scent of him, but the bus just smelled of industrial cleaner and diesel. The fading warmth of Friday felt like it was slipping through my fingers, and the fear that I’d pushed him too far—or that he’d regretted it—began to settle in my gut like lead.
Two stops in, the agony of the journey was becoming unbearable. Every time the bus pulled away from a curb, it felt like I was being carried further away from him. I glanced out the back window, distracted by a pair of headlights that were far too close. A dark car was tailing the bus, hugging the bumper with an aggression that bordered on dangerous. As we passed under the harsh glow of a flickering street lamp, the interior of the car flashed into view.
My heart stopped, then doubled its pace. It was him.
Marcus was behind the wheel of his own car, leaning forward, his eyes fixed intensely on the back of the bus—fixed on me. He hadn't abandoned me; he was hunting me down. The panic in my chest vanished, replaced by a surge of pure, electric adrenaline. I didn't think. I lunged for the pole and slammed my palm against the 'Stop' button. The bell rang out—a sharp, triumphant chime—and I was at the doors before the bus had even slowed to a crawl.
As I stepped off the bus, the cool night air hit me, but I refused to let my excitement show. I tried my best to play it cool, checking my watch and adjusting my bag, deliberately taking longer than expected to emerge from the side of the bus. I could feel his gaze on me the entire time.
As the bus pulled away with a roar of diesel, I strolled up to the passenger window. Marcus rolled it down, his expression unreadable, though his knuckles were white where he gripped the steering wheel.
"Fancy seeing you here," I said, leaning down slightly, once again trying to play it cool.
"Get in," he ordered. His voice was lower than usual, thick with an authority that made my knees weak.
Without hesitation, I did as I was told. I tentatively opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. It was such a strange sensation to see him somewhere other than his usual driver's perch, no plexiglass, no uniform, just him in a dark jumper that made his shoulders look even broader. The air inside the car was charged, heavy with the scent of his cologne and the lingering electricity of Friday night.
Marcus flashed a quick, sharp smile that he tried to hide, then pulled off without saying a word. He drove with a quiet intensity, eventually turning down a winding country lane. He navigated the shadows until he found a spot tucked away from the reach of the street lamps, a pocket of total darkness.
As he turned the engine off, the silence was absolute. He let out a long, contented sigh, his posture finally relaxing. He turned in his seat, pausing to take all of me in with his eyes, lingering on my lips before meeting my stare.
"And why didn't YOU suggest giving me your number?!" he asked, his voice a mix of frustration and amusement.
"Me?!" I exclaimed, a laugh bubbling up. "Why didn't YOU suggest giving me YOUR number?!"
We both broke into a genuine laugh, the tension breaking as we realised what absolute idiots we'd both been. It was obvious that the events of Friday night had completely hijacked our brains; we’d been so caught up in the heat of the moment that neither of us had thought of the most basic way to stay in touch.
I do my best to avoid rolling my eyes, though my heart is still racing. "Yeah, as if I wouldn't be desperate to see you again. So you thought, and correct me if I'm wrong, that we spent Friday night lost in each other, and I wouldn't want to see you again?"
Marcus rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically flustered. "Well, now you put it like that, it sounds ludicrous. It wasn't until Sunday evening that I realised I wouldn't be working today and had no way to see or speak to you... hence the somewhat erratic driving."
I knew after Friday that the connection we made wasn't just physical. There was something there. I’d spent the whole weekend hoping, longing for there to be something more than just a fleeting encounter on the back row of a bus. Now, hearing him admit to stalking a bus route just to find me, the penny was dropping. There most certainly was something more.
I took a moment to process what he said, letting the weight of it settle. A slow smile crept across my face, and it was impossible to hide just how amazing it made me feel to be wanted like this. |
