Chapter 2: Bare Feet and Broken Boundaries

And then, just as I was about to doze off, I got hit with a wave of something nasty.

It was sharp and sour, the kind of smell that made your nose wrinkle before your brain could even process it. My stomach turned, and I sat up, instantly alert. Oh, come on.

Are you kidding me? I turned to look. The bald guy had taken off his boots and was now sticking his bare feet right onto the back of my seat.

His toes wiggled, yellowed nails on display, and the sight alone was enough to make me gag. I could see flecks of dirt on the seat fabric. I gripped the edge of my tray, fighting the urge to say something worse. This was too much.

Holding back my anger, I said again, “Can you put your shoes back on? I let you put your feet up, but this is too much.”

I tried to keep my tone measured, but my voice trembled. The words felt small compared to the stench. I could feel my patience slipping, thread by thread. I was about to lose it.

Hearing that, the bald guy shot up from his seat, his eyes bulged, wild and angry.

He loomed over the seatback, his face inches from mine. For a split second, I thought he might actually swing at me right there in the train car. I braced myself.

Don’t do it. I froze, not sure what he was about to do.

My hands went cold, and I instinctively shrank back. The other passengers glanced over, some frowning, but no one said a word. Figures.

He jabbed a finger at my face, angrily demanding, “Who the hell are you calling ‘too much’?” I didn’t back down.

His breath was hot and smelled like stale coffee. I tried not to flinch, meeting his gaze, but my heart was pounding in my chest.

I didn’t want to argue. I just wanted to get home safe and see my family, so I tried to keep it together. “You’re putting your stinky feet above my head. Don’t you think that’s too much?”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I kept my tone flat, hoping he’d realize how ridiculous he was being. He didn’t.

He hesitated for a second, then suddenly laughed and said, “I’ll put my feet wherever I damn well please! It’s not like I’m sticking them down your pants—what’s it to you?” Unbelievable.

His laugh was harsh, echoing through the train car. He looked around, as if daring anyone else to challenge him. I could feel my face burning with humiliation. Nobody did.

Of course she did. As he said this, the girl sitting on his lap laughed along with him, clearly enjoying the show.

She nudged him, whispering something in his ear. I caught the glint in her eyes, like she was egging him on. Their laughter grated on me, sharp and mean. Just my luck.

I glared at him, fists clenched.

I could feel the tension in my jaw, every muscle in my body wound tight. I wanted to scream, but all I could do was glare, hoping he’d see how close I was to losing it. He didn’t care.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help myself. I asked him if he treated his mom like this at home, if he talked to her the same way.

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I knew it would set him off, but I couldn’t help myself. My voice was cold, sharper than I intended. Too late now.

He stood up so fast the seat rattled. His fists were clenched, knuckles white, and for a second I thought he might actually throw a punch. The whole car held its breath.