Men often attempted to engage her in conversation and she would usually respond, confidently and pleasantly chatting with them until the conversation sagged or one of them disembarked. Increasingly, I would find myself jealous of these men and oddly territorial towards her even though we had never uttered a word to each other. I found it torturous if the conversations lasted and she appeared to be enjoying another man’s company. It was always with some relief when they asked for her name or number, as they so often did, that she would politely smile and ignoring their request respond with, “It was a great pleasure speaking with you”, before turning to exit the train. Once, early on, she suddenly turned toward me and caught my gaze before I could divert away. I held it for a second without registration and then nonchalantly resumed peering at the newspaper I pretended to read. I never let her catch my eye again. I was biding my time, counting on chance to someday place her next to. Not with ‘him’. ‘He’ was a huge wall of muscle. ‘He’ had the stamina of a race horse. ‘He’ was hung like a donkey.‘He’ was her brutal, cruel rapist.‘He’ had raped his wife several times now. Slapped her around. Slapped her until she didn’t know which way was up. Then he’d dragged her into the bedroom, ripped off her clothes and threw her onto the bed. Their marital bed. Where husband and wife slept together. And when his knees found their way between her naked legs and forced them apart, she was wet. Sexually aroused. Her body had made itself ready for him. Ready to be rough ridden as he fucked full senseless.Even if her mind didn’t want him, her body did. And he would take full advantage. He would just do her. Do her for hours.“He’s evil, Clive,” she tells her husband. “Pure evil. A demented mad-man who does what he wants. When he knocks on the door, shivers go up and down my spine. I want to go and hide, Clive, pretend I’m not home. I don’t want him to come near me. I don’t want to.
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