Bus

The rain came down in relentless waves, a cruel, ceaseless downpour that drowned the city in a haze of silver and shadow. It wasn’t the kind of rain that merely soaked . . . it consumed, carving icy fingers through fabric, pressing deep into the skin, until even the bones felt sodden.

Ellen ran, head down, shoulders hunched against the cold, the weight of her bags dragging at her frame like anchors. The suitcase in her right hand swung wildly, its uneven bulk slamming into her thigh with every hurried stride. The holdall slung over her left shoulder pulled her sideways, its strap digging into the muscle, sending sharp jolts of pain down her arm. Her backpack, pressing against the damp fabric of her coat.

She clenched her jaw and kept moving.

The streets were a chaotic mess of distorted headlights and neon reflections, smeared by the rain into shapeless blurs of colour. Puddles glistened in the half-light, their depths impossible to judge until her foot plunged straight through, ice-cold water rushing into her already-drenched sneakers. A hiss of frustration slipped through her teeth, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The bus shelter was still too far away.

Her breath came in sharp bursts, each inhale tasting of wet asphalt, of city grime loosened by the storm. The air was thick with the scent of damp brick and distant gasoline, mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of the rain. Somewhere nearby, the scent of fried food wafted from a late-night takeout joint, momentarily cutting through the chill before being swallowed by the wind.

A passing car roared through a flooded pothole, sending a wave of murky water straight toward her. Ellen turned at the last second, but it was too late . . . freezing liquid splashed up her legs, soaking through her jeans.

She let out a sharp, breathless laugh . . . one of disbelief, of sheer exhaustion. 

Of course. 

Because why not? 

Why wouldn’t the universe take whatever little dignity she had left and stomp it into the pavement?

She glanced up, wiping a trembling hand across her face, pushing wet hair back from her eyes. A man stood under the awning of a closed shop, dry and comfortable, his phone screen casting a soft glow against his face. He looked at her . . . just for a second. A flicker of recognition, of pity, before his gaze slid back to the safety of his screen.

Ellen turned away, jaw tightening. She didn’t want his pity. Didn’t want anyone’s.

She adjusted her grip on the suitcase, her fingers numb against the wet handle, her knuckles aching from the strain. The holdall strap had carved a deep groove into her shoulder, a dull, throbbing pain that radiated down her arm. She tried shifting it, but the weight was unrelenting, dragging her posture into something hunched, defeated.

A thought crept in, unbidden.

I could drop it.

Just let go. Just let the suitcase hit the pavement, abandon it right here on the sidewalk, walk away like it had never belonged to her. Wouldn’t that be easier? Wouldn’t it feel good?

But no. She couldn’t. It was everything she had left.

She forced herself forward, muscles screaming, feet aching, the wet fabric of her jeans chafing against her skin with every movement. The world blurred around her . . . just rain and neon and the distant hum of the city, pressing in, swallowing her whole.

Then finally she saw it.

The bus shelter.

A rush of breath escaped her, unsteady and sharp.

It wasn’t much . . . just a dull metal bench beneath a plastic overhang, a flickering bus-sign buzzing beside it. But right now, it might as well have been a lighthouse cutting through the storm. A promise of shelter, even if only for a moment.

And beyond it, pulling up to the curb, the bus itself. Its doors slidding open, light spilling onto the rain-slick pavement, inviting her in.

She surged forward, half-running now, adrenaline overriding exhaustion. The suitcase dragged behind her, her grip slipping as the wet handle turned slick beneath her fingers. Just a few more steps. Just a few more feet.

Her sneakers hit the pavement of the bus shelter, splashing through another puddle, but she barely noticed. The only thing that mattered was getting inside. Getting out of the rain. Getting away.

Her hands fumbled as she yanked her phone from her back pocket, the screen glowing through a fine mist of water droplets. Her pulse hammered against her ribs as she tapped it against the ticket reader.

Please. Please, let there be enough.

The machine beeped.

A second passed.

Then . . . ding.

A soft, electronic chime. The screen flashed green.

Relief flooded her so fast it nearly sent her to her knees. She had made it.

Her fingers tightened around the suitcase handle as she staggered down the aisle, past tired faces and the occasional glance of curiosity. She didn’t care. She had a seat. A dry seat.

She collapsed into it, dropping the suitcase onto the one beside her, barely noticing the way it tipped slightly to the side. The holdall sat heavy on her lap, dripping rainwater onto the floor, the damp fabric clinging to her arms. She was shaking . . . from cold, from exhaustion, from everything all at once.

But it was over.

For now, at least.

She let her head rest against the cool glass of the window, watching the rain streak down the surface in uneven rivulets. The bus was warm. Not much, but enough. The distant murmur of the engine, the quiet rustling of coats and bags, the faint smell of old upholstery. Everything about it was steady . . . predictable.

Her breath began to slow.

For the first time since she’d stormed out of Tod’s apartment, she felt the tension in her chest begin to loosen, just a fraction.

Ellen’s breath slowed, her fingers unclenching from the damp strap of the holdall, the ache in her shoulder momentarily forgotten. The bus rocked gently, its engine humming beneath her feet, a low, rhythmic vibration that lulled her toward something close to peace. The windows fogged at the edges, blurring the outside world into shifting streaks of rain and neon.

And then . . . 

That flash of pink.

A small thing, barely noticeable, peeking from a tear in her holdall’s lining. But it may as well have been a blade pressed to her throat.

Her stomach lurched.

She stared, breath halting, the warm air inside the bus suddenly stifling. Slowly, cautiously, she reached down and pulled at the fabric.

A sock.

Bright. Sodden. Limp in her fingers.

No… no, no, no!

Dread curled through her like a fist tightening around her ribs. Her pulse throbbed in her ears as her gaze snapped to the aisle, where . . . 

There it was.

Another one. On the floor. A tangle of delicate cotton and fabric, right there in plain sight.

Panic slammed into her, sudden and dizzying.

She whipped her head toward the window, eyes scanning the park, and . . . 

Her breath caught in her throat.

A trail.

Scattered across the sodden grass, stretching back toward the trees, were her clothes. 

Shirts.

Underwear.

Socks . . . everything she’d packed, everything she owned, strewn like some humiliating breadcrumb path leading straight back to the moment she’d fled.

A whisper of laughter rippled through the bus, barely concealed. Someone had noticed.

Ellen’s throat tightened. 

“Oh, God.”

She lurched upright, heart hammering against her ribs.

“Stop,” she gasped, voice barely above a whisper. Then louder, desperate . . .  “Stop the bus! Please!”

Heads turned. The driver grunted, muttering something she couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in her ears.

“Please… I need to get off!”

The bus hissed, brakes whining as it groaned to a stop. The doors swung open, spilling the thick scent of rain-drenched pavement into the stale warmth of the cabin. Ellen shoved past rows of knees, hands gripping armrests for balance as she lunged toward the exit.

Laughter followed her, clawing at her emotions.

She barely made it onto the pavement before the doors hissed shut behind her, the bus rolling forward and vanishing into the night . . . leaving her alone.

The storm swallowed her whole.

Wind lashed at her, rain plastering her hair to her face as she sprinted back across the park, her sneakers squelching through the sodden grass. Every breath was a ragged, gasping struggle, her limbs burning from exhaustion. But she couldn’t stop. She had to get them. She had to fix this.

Another sock. A crumpled t-shirt. A pair of underwear half-submerged in a puddle.

She snatched them up with frantic hands, mud splattering against her knees as she crouched to grab more. She removed her coat and carefully placed it inside the holdall. An impromptu patch, now blocking the small tear in its bottom corner. 

The frigid gale of the storm blew cold against her sodden cardigan and the flesh of her back, causing her to involuntary tense her spine until her muscles felt like they would literally tear themselves free from their tendons.

It didn’t matter. 

None of it mattered. She just needed to gather them. She needed to undo this.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, the sound carrying through the night like a cruel reminder that she wasn’t invisible.

She could still be seen.

Shame burned through her.

By the time she made it back to the bus shelter, she was drenched beyond saving. Her jeans clung to her legs like a second skin, her fingers raw and trembling from the cold. Her hair dripped steadily onto the pavement.

She dropped onto the metal bench, chest heaving, her arms tightening around the bundle of wet clothes in her lap. The wind howled through the shelter’s open sides, rattling the plastic panel behind her. She barely felt it. She barely felt anything.

For a moment, she just stared at the sidewalk, blinking rain from her lashes, trying to process . . . to breathe.

Then, with a shuddering inhale, she pulled out her phone.

Her hands shook as she tapped at the screen, her vision swimming as her balance finally caught up with her exhaustion. She knew what she would see before the numbers even loaded.

And there it was.

Her bank balance.

$0.12.

A hollow ache caved in her chest.

The bus ticket had drained the last of her money.

There was nothing left.

No way home. No home to go back to.

A wet laugh . . . sharp and bitter, escaped her lips before she could stop it. Because of course. Of course.

She dropped her phone into the pile of damp fabric in her lap, dragging a shaky hand through her rain-soaked hair.

She needed to move. She needed to figure something out.

But her limbs felt heavy. Like they belonged to someone else.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the storm, tilting her head back against the cold metal frame of the shelter.

Her exhale was slow. Hollow.

And then . . . an idea.

The bar.

It wasn’t a solution. Not really. But it was something.

She could go there. Dry off. Use the staff bathroom to wring out her clothes, maybe even steal a moment under the hand dryer just to feel warm again. And if she was lucky . . . if fate decided to ease up, just this once . . . she could talk her way into another shift.

Not for a paycheck . . . she didn’t have time for that. She needed money today. And the bar meant tips.

Cash in hand. Enough for another bus ticket. Enough for food. Maybe even a cheap motel for the night if she got lucky, if the crowd was drunk enough and careless with their change.

It wouldn’t fix everything.

But it would get her through one more night.

And right now, that was all she could ask for.

Ellen pushed herself upright, muscles protesting, water streaming from her sleeves as she shoved the last of her scattered clothes into the holdall. The bar wasn’t far. A ten-minute walk, maybe less if she cut through the side streets.

Her legs felt like lead, but she forced them forward.

One step at a time.

The rain poured harder, the city swallowing her whole.

But she kept going.

Because what else was there?