I don’t look like her. Her hair goes swish. Mine still has lime green highlights. I know her teeth are white. Bright. Her lips lined. Eyelashes clad. Nails polished red. The clothes just tight enough, just short enough. Shoes strapped just right around her ankles.

My nails are blue and yellow and green. Rainbow nails. My clothes are. Unusual.  Trainers.

He is classic. Chiselled. Chino’ed. They are perfect together.

She looks over her shoulder at me. Eyes moving up and down me. Disdain. Turns her head back. Where are my pert parts? Nothing is pert. At least not pert enough. My piercings not to her taste. She leans in to him. Says something. He looks at me. Says something back. They giggle. Together. I look at them both. A shared disdain.  For me.

They whisper. He leans into her. Eyes close. Mouths open. Heads at angles. On the tube.

Seriously. I look away. Look back. Drawn.  He is. They are. Eyes flick open. Still kissing. His tongue down her throat. Eyes. Hers closed.  His open. Looking at me. I look at him. My eyes. His eyes. Lock. That look. Mine.  I see. She does not. Not disdain. That other word. I see that other word in his look. I look away.

The doors open. I get off the tube.

Lust. Betrayal is always unnerving.

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