SFserial | an online novel

The men laughed loudly and roughly at one another’s jokes. The older one, the instigator, was a large man with dirty gray hair and a yellow-gray beard. He had a twinkle of fun about him, a clownish air, but also, Cherise feared, no restraint. The younger one had uncut, mousy brown hair and something disconcerting about his eyes – eyes that were swimming pool blue, and startlingly blank. “Lookit all those tats,” the older guy said.

It was then Brody noticed the girl’s arms and part of her chest were covered in tattoos. All he could make out was part of a bluebird on her chest. Then he realized he was staring and, annoyed at himself for following their lead as they scrutinized various aspects of her, forced his eyes back towards the front of the train. He respected her for not moving seats, not responding to the men, except for the outburst that had caused him to pay attention. He hoped she’d get off at the next stop, and that he could go home and make something to eat. He tried to keep his eyes directed ahead of him, pretending to focus on an advertisement for DSL.

“Dunno who her daddy is, to let her get all of those.”

“Looks like a lil’ whore, don’t she?” sneered the younger man with blank blue eyes. He leered at her, his hands on his knees, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

Cherise’s head cocked slightly to the left at the mention of her dad, but she clamped her mouth shut. The bird she’d flipped them had died in her lap, and only her tightly clenched fists remained. As she later discussed with Brody, she’d already warned them not to fuck with her – what else was she supposed to do? They were fucking with her! Through sheer willpower, Cherise made her face a cement wall–but it was quickly cracking. She wanted to kick that younger fucker in the head, was what she wanted to do. No one else gives a shit, she thought, that these fuckers just called me a whore. As always, it was up to her. One more comment, she dared them. Just one more.

“Hey! Hey girlie!” the younger one was leaning across the aisle. His eyes were squinting, concentrated, as he leaned forward across the aisle as if to shake her, to make her look at them. “Hey, SLUT!” Cherise was up in half a second, standing over the seated men. Brody saw she was tall, almost as tall as him.

“I SAID. Don’t! Fuck! With ME!” she commanded them. Her voice was rough, though loud and clear. She stood directly in front of them, the older guy on her left, younger one on the right. Her fists were at her hips and she expertly balanced as the train punched through the tunnel after Duboce Park. She looked strong, Brody thought. She looked back only once, to check that her bass hadn’t moved.

Now that she’d crossed the invisible line running down the center of the train, coming to them, the older guy was chuckling and rubbing his yellowing beard. The younger man hadn’t moved when Cherise got up. He was still leaning towards her, a terrible combination of drunken lust and anger on his face, evidently excited by the prospect of something happening. And then Cherise’s knee (in that plaid miniskirt no less) jerked upward and hit the young guy on the chin.