She clutched her coat tighter against herself to keep out the cold and hunched under her umbrella, hoping not to be noticed. The bus was late, and as she checked her watch, she noticed her hands were shaking. Her boss, her awful, lecherous boss, was going to have an excuse to talk to her again.
It was early morning, but in the dead of winter, morning looked like night, and there wasn't even a shine of silver to the east to light the sidewalk. The streetlight cast a sickly pallor over the bus stop and the rain clattered on its metal top. That clatter was getting on her already frayed nerves, and she glanced up at it before hiding under the cover of her umbrella again.
There was no one around, but that did not soothe her. She knew they had to be here, the watchers. She knew this stop was watched by the creeps, peering from behind blinds and windows, through gaps in the fence. She felt their slimy gaze on her wherever she went. The curse of being a woman, she thought bitterly. Men seemed to believe they had a right to her body just because it was there.
The rain was coming down harder, and she huddled under the umbrella. The wind picked up slightly and she had to fight the tugging grasp it had on her umbrella. Why couldn't this be a sheltered stop?
As she wrestled her umbrella back above her head, she saw him.
One of THEM. It had to be. A man, hunched inside a grey hoodie, his eyes hidden, walking toward her. Her hands began to shake again and she looked up and down the street for the bus. Please, leave me alone, she silently urged him. Just pass me. Walk by and don't say anything, don't do anything. I can bear the eyes, but nothing else.
It was not to be. He walked straight at her and stood next to her at the stop.
She was trying not to cower under the umbrella. Shaking hands gave the wind more leeway to yank at the umbrella and she fought with it for another frantic moment before it was brought under control. Why? she asked silently. Why are you here? Why do you people torment me?
And then, the unthinkable happened. He turned and looked at her. Raised his eyes to hers.
She'd thought she could handle the eyes. She'd thought she could bear the watchers if that was all they did. But as his hood came up to reveal his gaze, fear shook her and felt a strong urge to run, to cover her own eyes, to plead, "Leave me alone! Stop doing this to me!"
"Excuse me," he asked in a low, quiet voice. "could you please share your umbrella?"
She blinked. They had talked to her before, but in lewd innuendos and lascivious observations that had her scampering for cover. Never had they said "please." Never had their voice contained such a pain.
She peeked out at him from between trembling fingers. His skin was pale white and she could practically see the veins in his face, except under the eyes, where the bruises of sleepless were apparent. Water trickled down his forehead and cheeks - that cotton hoodie must be completely soaked - but a closer observation showed some of those water trails leading back to his eyes.
Something welled up in her throat. It felt almost like guilt.
"S-sure," she stammered at last. She inched forward and raised her umbrella just enough to cover his head - and nearly lost control when another gust of wind ripped the umbrella from her hands.
She shrieked with surprise, but deftly, he reached up and caught the handle and brought it back to her grip. When she reached up hesitantly to grasp it, he shifted his grip so he could steady it.
"Thank you," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, not looking at her.
She lowered her own eyes, nonplussed.
She could still feel the gaze of the watchers, but they seemed somehow muted now. The morning seemed a little less bleak in the stark pallor of the streetlight.
Neither of them said anything more until the bus arrived.
