Free Belonging Part III by J. S. Wilder Page B

door I notice Carly, one of the new girls.
    “Henry’s not outside.”
    I reply, “I’m taking the bus.  I don’t need Henry. It’s a beautiful day. Bye.”
    I shut the door and she smiles, whilst wishing me a good day.  It’s a nice summer’s day as I walk down to Victoria bus garage and take the number 2 bus to Tulse Hill. I’m not imprisoned in the house and for the first time in the last six weeks that I’ve been living with Roy I actually feel free.
    I send him a quick text message to tell him I am taking the bus.
    Roy: It’s a limo, not a bus.
    He thinks I’m being sarcastic. Yep, I’m dating a billionaire and getting on the bus.
    Me: The Number 2 bus.
    Roy: A real bus?
    Me: Sure. Next time you’re getting on one with me.
    Roy: Double decker?
    Me: Yep, why?
    Roy: I’ll love to fuck you on top of a double decker bus ;)
    I wait, wondering if he’s getting into the car to fulfil his fantasy. I start to get wet at the idea of us on the bus. I’m tempted to go home, but I don’t. I sit on the bus watching the men, women, families, couples all enjoying the hot summer day.
    The bus drives down the familiar Brixton High Street. I’m tempted to get a Jamaican patty, those pies really fill me up. Or even explore the new Ghanaian restaurant that Grandma told me about. I’ve been brought up by the English side of my family. I’d never met my dad’s side of the family.
    I thought about saving up and maybe visiting them one day. Seeing as dad had a new family with brothers and sisters that I’ve never met. I don’t even know if they know I exist. Wonder what he has told them about me? If anything. Maybe, that’s a part of his life he closed after he treated Mum so badly. Either way my siblings have nothing to do with the fact our dad is a piece of shit. They’re still my flesh and blood. I suppose this is the joy of being on the bus because your mind thinks about things, all sorts of different things. Then, the one reason I hate riding on the bus hits home. The dreaded pervert who thinks I’m on the bus to be his woman. As I try to get rid of him by completing ignoring him, I decide to send a few messages to Roy.
    Me: You’ve got competition.
    Roy: How old?
    Me: Old, fifty like you.
    That’ll get him going.
    Roy: You’re going to get a spanking for that.
    Me: Promise?
    Roy: Promise ;)
    After a while, I start listening to the delusional old man telling me about his interest in being my boyfriend or more to the point, my lover. Note to myself, no exposing my breasts on London transport. I look down at my chest the neckline of my top is low.  I try and lift it up, to try and hide or create some sort of dignity.  I wish I bought a cardigan or anything to cover it up.
    “Me car’s in the garage see, that’s why me on the bus,” the overweight, aging Jamaican man says to me.  His accent is so strong and I can just about understand what he is saying to me.
    Good for you!
    “So, when me tek you out. It’ll be in me car and we can—” He winks at me. 
    Hell no! Why would I even want to go anywhere with him? Seriously, why am I not moving to sit anywhere else?
    I stop and look around to see not only is the bus full, but the oversized, middle-aged Jamaican man is practically squeezing me in my seat. Moving closer and closer.
    “You see a fly woman lek you can’t be on the bus. You don’t have to worry about the age gap. Me only forty.”
    I must need new contacts because there’s no way the man sitting next to me, constantly mistaking my leg for his own whenever he touches mine, is in his forties. His oversized stomach and his receding hairline give his age away. He’s slurring his words, which is probably the result of the alcohol that I can smell on his breath. He’s no match for Roy, not only in his physique but his bad breath and body odour too. I’m just about to get up because I can’t take it anymore. At first, it was a bit funny, now I just feel sick.
    I realise the bus is at my stop.