#squareheaded scribbles

It was different this time. Usually, they'd just remind you to do it yourself, but for reasons unknown (perhaps the rough weather), they were feeling extra generous. You nearly break a nail as you press on the blue and orange transit card, which was missing from its usual spot on the dining table. Yesterday, you found it on the end table near your balcony, covered in a small pile of rose petals.

Just as you're about to open the Chrono app to check your balance, three dots pop up from the corner of the screen. You turn white.

[Don't worry, I didn't forget about your new job in Laval. I got you the Zone AB monthly.❤️]

Holy SHIT. You launch the Chrono app and practically smash the cheap plastic into the back of your phone. Sure enough, it scans, and the brand new pass is reflected on your screen.

Against your better judgement, you text back.

[bro thats like nearly 200 bucks??? 😭]

They saw it immediately.

[You weren't planning on driving there, were you? It's been freezing rain all month. I won't allow it.]

You roll your eyes.

[la STM is still on strike when am i supposed to use this]

[st ciboire i got you the pass the least you could do is check when its running you ungrateful bitch]

Well, there goes whatever scraps of a gentlemanly fantasy you had.

They did have a point, though.

No sane person in your life would ever go to these lengths for themselves, much less for you. Blowing $160 on one month's unlimited use of transit that would not run for 70% of the day would be romantic... if it wasn't impressively stupid.

Caught between reporting the obvious break-in to being morbidly fascinated (and somewhat infuriated) by the inner machinations of your admirer, you end up trying to convey this to them. Killing two birds with one stone was the idea; expressing your annoyance to hopefully make them give up the chase.

[so what i have to leave my house at 9am for my shift at 2:30pm? be so fr]

[omfg its not rocket science TAKE THE REM ITS OPEN]

[and walk 1 HOUR from the station?? in -26C?]

You hold your breath and the sender on the other end actually stopped typing for a moment. Were they finally getting the message? Would they leave you alone on their own accord?

[bud i was just tryna be nice but u had to do me dirty like that. walk to work for all i care. if i ever see u ur fuckin dead]

Maybe you could've been a little more careful with what you wished for.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

You send a string of haphazard apologies, but in a surprising turn of events, you find your abhorrent admirer has blocked you instead. But you could wait to see if that was a blessing or a curse. You had spent so long on your petty back-and-forths that it was already 8am, one hour before the first window of shut-downs.

You could be murdered, for all you care, but as long as you reached Montmorency first. Then, you could confide in the safety of your car in the parking lot. Because as much as you loved downtown, you'd rather ditch your car on another island than suffer the gauntlet of parking-less potholes and the hordes of manchildren tailgating you on the 40.

Doing an awkward dance to put on three layers and your winter coat, you swing your work bag over your shoulder and peek cautiously through the window. The same cracked, slush-covered streets, dusted in asphalt while the flourescent glow of unseen signs cast warm hues on the iced-over roads. The signs you could see were an eyesore. Rue Barrée. Rue Barrée. A menagerie of triangles and orange cones, part of the natural fauna since you were born. The construction workers, too.

The same people, year after year.

Your blood runs cold. A sheet-pale youngster, hiding a head of shaggy blonde hair under a beaten red helmet.

How long has he been looking at you that way?

You don't bother with the lift. You bolt down the stairs. Sure enough, when the apartment complex doors open, he's gone too. But you see a shadow skid between the grid of brick buildings, high-vis flashing against the snow, and you know it's probably too late.

The burst of apocalyptic wind from the metro doors nearly throws you across the road, but you don't relent. You're a fighter, if the way you practically ice-skated from your front door to the train is indicative of anything. You're going to live.

"...Slow down there, would you?"

A breath of air down your neck. You don't turn; you already know who it is.

The platform slides into view, just in time. The roar of the trains pierces through the brutalist concrete bunker.

9am. 15 minutes still left on the clock. You finally breathe, hoping to leap to safety, lose yourself among the crowded cabin -

Attention. Interruption de service ligne 2 - ORANGE entre Côte-Vertu et Montmorency. Reprise prêvue vers 14h00.

"I said slow down, there's no use."

The high-vis clad teen held his knees with his hands, catching his breath. His lightless blue eyes held yours in a death grip.

"D-Don't hurt me - " You stammer.

"I should be saying that to you!" He gestures to himself, eyes wide with mild amusement and offense - then raises his arms in surrender. "Look. We're done. Just trying to catch my train home here."

"Where do you live?"

The teen sucked in a breath, like he'd just been stabbed.

"...Longueuil."

"That sucks bro."

Just you him, and the slight scent of ammonia on a barren platform. Like the stations on the now empty line, not a single train of affection had been exchanged between the both of you. The teen, with the name 'Matthew' hastily scrawled on his vest in permanent marker, stood bewildered as he dusted the melting snow off his boots. While you were just glad to be alive, the relief wasn't mutual. Matthew was already digging his nose into a variety of apps, anxiously planning his next route.

A wave of pity washed over you. Sure, he was your stalker. But was it necessary to beat every semblance of goodwill out of him, then sentence him to walk outside in a snowstorm?

"Listen. I'm sorry. You're not off the hook, but I was way too much. Uh, maybe I could get you a coffee -"

You put a hand on his shoulder. He slides away and walks off.