You Escape

You hear the words blare over the speaker. “Liverpool Street Station.” The doors slide open and the crowd begins to move. In one motion you bite down on a chunk of the man’s hand, he curses loudly pulling back. You lung underneath his arm while simultaneously pulling up your leggings. You join the departing throng, shouldering your backpack and trying to put as much distance as you can between you and that man. You still feel that tingling sensation in your groin, the subtle indication that despite the fear and the anger you were aroused. It’s shameful and you get a confusing rush of emotions. You feel tears welling at the corner of your eyes but quickly blot them away with a tissue from your bag. You just got this makeup passable, you’re not going to fuck it up crying right before you need it. Just press it down, bury it and shrug it off. You aren’t going to go to the cops and report a random tall man. That wasn’t your fight to chase. No today you just had to get through one day of work. One, long, day.