The acrid smell of burnt coffee and cold sweat hung in the train car as Marlene dropped onto the seat next to him. The worn-out upholstery groaned under her weight, and the vibration of the rails crept through the bench into her thighs. A jolt as the train started pressed her against the backrest. Beside her sat Felix, her husband’s best friend—the best man who had smilingly handed over the rings three years ago while she trembled inside.
“I thought you were flying,” she said without looking at him. Her gaze stuck to the window, to the gray concrete walls of the station that slowly began to move.
“Re-booked at the last minute. The train is more relaxing.” His voice sounded deeper than in her memory, rougher, as if he hadn’t slept for the last few nights. “You too?”
“I hate flying.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but enough. The truth was she wanted to delay the departure, every minute she could still stay in this city, far from the house she would leave in two weeks. Far from Henrik, who already lay in her bed like a stranger, his breath a steady rustle without warmth.
Felix was silent. She felt his gaze on her temple, on the line of her jaw. An old knowledge she couldn’t name pulled through her neck. They had barely seen each other since the wedding, only fleetingly at family gatherings where they avoided each other like magnets of the same pole. But today, in this compartment that smelled of dust and rain, the distance was abolished. Every movement of his sent a wave that hit her under the skin.
The Touch
The train picked up speed, the clatter of the wheels became a steady roar that vibrated in her bones. Marlene leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She heard Felix move, the creak of the leather, then a soft click—he had loosened his belt. She opened her eyes and saw him spread his legs wider, his hands on his thighs. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the dark fabric, a staccato that blurred her thoughts.
“How long are you traveling?” His question hung between them, harmless and yet charged like a power cable.
“To the end of the line. You?”
“To the end of the line.”
The smile he gave her was crooked and sad. She knew that Henrik didn’t know they were both sitting in the same train. And she knew that Felix knew she hadn’t told him. A game they both played, with open cards, but without words. The train raced through the suburbs, past garish lights and shadows that flickered across their faces.
The announcement announced the next stop. A woman with two children got on, sat down in the back row. The train wasn’t empty, but the compartment felt like a bubble in which only she and Felix existed. The air grew thinner, heavier with unspoken things.
“Do you remember the evening before the wedding?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper meant only for her.
Marlene’s stomach tightened. Of course she remembered. She had stood in the kitchen, the dress still on the hanger, silk shimmering in the light, and he had come in to get a glass of water. She had turned around, and suddenly his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding, before he pulled back, his hands raised as if he had burned himself. “Sorry,” he had said. “That was—I’m sorry.” And she had said nothing, only nodded, and the next day given Henrik her vows, with the taste of Felix on her lips.
“Yes,” she said now. “I remember.”
Felix leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His face was close, closer than was usual for friends. She smelled his aftershave, spicy and warm, and beneath it the salty scent of his skin, mixed with the metallic smell of the train. Her pulse quickened.
“I never stopped thinking about it.”
Her heart beat up to her throat, a wild bird in a cage. She wanted to say something, a defense, a platitude, but her throat felt constricted. Instead, she let her hand slide from the armrest, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until her little finger touched his. A spark that shot through her. He didn’t flinch. Quite the opposite—he turned his hand so their fingers could interlace.
His hand was large and warm, the skin rough on the fingertips. He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, a gentle, hypnotic movement. Marlene closed her eyes and let herself be carried away by it, by the rhythm of the train and the pressure of his fingers that drew a trail of fire on her skin.
The train plunged into a tunnel, the lights flickered, and for a moment they were enveloped in darkness. In that darkness, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was no tender kiss, no tentative approach. His mouth was demanding, his tongue pressed between her lips, and she opened for him, let him in, while the train raced through the night. She tasted coffee and something sweet, maybe honey, and she buried a hand in his hair, pulled him closer until no air was left between them. Their breath mingled, hot and fast.
When the train emerged into the light again, they pulled apart. The woman with the children read a book, no one had seen anything. But Marlene’s lips burned, and between her legs a warmth had spread that she couldn’t ignore, a pulsing that merged with the clatter of the wheels.
The Decision
“We have to stop,” she whispered, but her hand sought his again, as if magnetically drawn.
“Do we?” He looked at her, and in his eyes lay a mixture of desire and resignation that she knew—because she had seen it herself in the mirror when she thought of Henrik. A deep, aching hunger.
“This is the last time,” she said. “After this ride, we’ll never see each other again.” The words felt like a knife she plunged into her own chest.
He nodded slowly, as if he had already accepted the condition before it was spoken. “Then let’s make the last time count.” His voice sounded hoarse, full of unfulfilled longing.
She stood up, her legs trembling beneath her. He followed her, and together they walked along the corridor, past the closed curtains of the sleeping compartments, to the toilet at the end of the car. The sign showed “occupied”—but they didn’t care. The world had ceased to exist.
The cabin was narrow, the walls made of cold plastic, the light harsh and merciless. Felix turned on the faucet, the rushing of the water drowning out every sound, a whi
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