Page 5 of Scarred Sins
Ironically enough, the first time I took the bus, it was packed with people, and the spot was the only one available. I’m a creature of habit, and each time I work the night shift, I sit in the same spot.
Until now.
There’s a man sitting there.
He’s dressed in all black. A black hoodie with the hood covering his face, a black pair of sweatpants that match the top of his outfit, and some black shoes. In fact, the only reason I’m convinced he’s not a fragment of my imagination or a devil in disguise is because his hair peeks through the hood.
White hair.
His head hangs low, as though he isn’t interested in his surroundings.
More importantly, the eerie feeling from the bus station returns, this time hitting me harder.
My stomach clenches in vigor, and I can’t quite understand if I like it or not.
As if sensing that someone is staring at him, he glances up, but my efforts to see his face are futile. I can’t see anything past the white hair and the dark hood.
Does he have a mask on?
If yes, why?
My heart pounds against my rib cage, echoing in my ears loudly. My breathing is shallow, and no matter how many times I cussed at the voices for overconsuming my mind, I wish they would appear right about now.
They don’t.
It’s as silent as ever as I coerce myself to draw eyes off him and force them onto the dirty floor of the bus.
I’ve seen my fair share of odd things, yet none of them stick out to me like the stranger on the bus at eleven in the night, sitting in the spot I’d been reserving for myself for the past three years. From drunk people vomiting on me to men old enough to be my father trying to sleep with me – I’ve seen it all.
Yet this man piques my interest.
The moment I sit down right in front of him, I can feel that stare on the back of my head. It causes me to sit straight and swallow a lump that forms in my throat. It’s not smart, but at the moment, I can’t force myself to move.
A scent hits my nose, and I’m paralyzed.
A deep, rich whiskey of the highest quality with a mix of leather.
That’s the only way I can even begin to describe the scent that radiates off him, though mysterious would fit, too.
An enigma that has me enthralled to even realize that twenty minutes have passed since I sat down, and I have reached my destination, which is the last stop.
However, as soon as I get off the bus, I notice that he remains in his seat, unmoving, unwavering.
Instead, his eyes lock with mine through the window as the bus speeds off into the night. The moment he's out of sight, I find myself struggling to breathe, as if I have to learn how to function all over again.
“What the fuck was that?”
TWO
Forty-seven cameras are in her house.
I personally planted every single one three years ago when she moved in. Unless she looks for them specifically, there’s not a single chance she’d be able to discover them. They’re small, hidden well, and put in places she’d never suspect.
A couple of them malfunctioned over the years, but I was always quick to change them when she was either asleep, at work, or out.
Though, the times of entering her home when she was asleep were rare or out of necessity. Making my pretty girl uncomfortable is something I never want to do; hence, I often opted for breaking in when she was at work.
Somehow, it’s less creepy.
