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my March story: as yet, undone

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John slammed his parents’ door, tilted his already chilled face to the moon and heaved a sigh. It wasn’t his house; they made this abundantly clear. Some days it didn’t even feel like his home. At the top of the street he turned right, shaking his head at the bus already itching to pull away from the vacant stop, mocking him, panting in the frosty light. Although certain it would pull away just as he reached it, he hustled across the ice. For once, it waited, and he thanked the driver then bounced down the aisle to an irregular seat.

Mary watched the man stumble down the aisle like always, bumping into the back of almost all the seats like some crazy human pinball toy. She waited until he was passing, heading to the back seat, and then she smiled. To herself, she knew. It was safer that way. She could try smiling so he saw, but what good could come from that? His eyes would devolve into some kind of freaked out discomfort and she’d hide in her hood. Only, he didn’t pass by, he stopped. No, she thought, trying not to look as he dropped down beside her.

John almost didn’t stop, but the silly high from having not missed his bus pushed him over the edge and he eased into the seat beside the girl he’d half-caught staring at him a few times. Now what? He really didn’t know, having not thought it through. Heck, if he had thought it through he would have out-thought himself and carried on through to his usual seat. He shook his head and took a deep breath, trying to make his head turning toward her look nonchalant, as if all he was doing was looking out the window. Although he wasn’t.

Mary couldn’t believe he’d sat beside her, and was still trying to get her head around that when she saw from the corner of her eye that he was turning toward her, twisting her way. She glanced down, clutched her bag a little tighter, wrapping the strap around her fingers one more time as she took a deep breath, closed and re-opened her eyes, and then slowly lifted her chin, opening her eyes, certain that they were about to meet his for the first time. She felt her breath hitch, and swallowed. Only she couldn’t swallow. But she could panic.

John wondered if she might have some kind of OCD, given how she was wrapping and unwrapping her bag’s strap around the fingers of one hand then the other. Then he thought she might be having a fit when she started to twitch, her head pecking like a chicken as she looked out the window. Maybe she wasn’t interested? Maybe he’d made a huge mistake and should just go to his usual seat? Maybe she was simply too kind to abuse the weirdo who sat beside her? Then she turned to him, and he realised she looked like a beetroot.

Mary couldn’t breathe. Well, she could inhale, but not exhale. She twisted the bag strap, staring down at it, wondering if there might be some kind of answer there, all the time trying to force out the air she kept sucking in. She could feel her face bloating, warming, and glared at the window, hoping to see how she looked, but her reflection carried little colour. However, it did show her head twitching, which was worrying. She didn’t want the man to see her like this, but needed help, so turned to him, surprised to find him a little blurry.

John noticed her colour first, then her tears, and knew he had to help, but how? What was wrong? Chances were it had something to do with her breathing, so he studied her for a moment and realised she wasn’t exhaling. He said, “Easy now,” placed his right hand on her stomach, and slowly started to exert some pressure there. Not that it helped. What she needed was to breathe properly, to release some of that air she kept inhaling, so he did the only thing that entered his brain... he latched his lips on to hers and started sucking.

Mary snapped her head back, hearing it bounce off the window before feeling it, her eyes rolling, almost popping out until she blinked, forcing them back to safety. He kissed her? What was he thinking? How could he take advantage of her when she was obviously choking? And what was with all that weird sucking? Really? Did he think that erotic? A turn on? What kind of freak was he? She felt mislead, duped by his simple step and simpler smile. She shook her head at him and closed her eyes, then realised she was breathing normally again, and smiled.

John was a little surprised his lips were on hers, but kept telling himself he was only trying to help, even when he sensed his tongue starting to make a move. Thankfully this was when she wrenched her head back and away, her eyes all crazy, like he’d been trying to molest her or something. Feeling a little guilty, he looked away, then realised she was spluttering, which meant she could no longer be choking. Gingerly, he glanced up as she turned back from the window. She was still leaking tears, but beneath it a soft smile was slowly forming.

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