I sat on the train, headphones in my ears. I was supposed to be working on my philosophy essay. it sat in front of me, on a triple split screen. I had the source material that I was supposed to be working on in the other window, the final was a blank word document. Checking the time I muttered, stuff it. Half an hour had already passed and I was getting nothing done. It wasn't due for a couple weeks, I could wait.

Closing the windows, I glanced at the sleeping person next to me before clicking on the blank document. I could feel my heartbeat, the sound of the train rattling of the tracks filtered through my headphones. Tapping my fingers against the keyboard I tried to think of what to say. Was it too late to write a response?

Dear Yancy. No, too formal.

To Yancy. No. I wasn't writing a birthday card. Angrily I slapped my fingers against the backspace key, causing the person next to me to fiddle around in their sleep. Sucking in a breath, praying that they wouldn't wake up, I tried to be quiet. I would just say that I was writing a letter for creative writing... but then they'd ask questions. What would they even be looking at my computer for anyway? Shaking my head I tried again.

Hey Yancy. Nope. It wasn't an email or a text. He deserved more than that. I was giving an explanation, not asking him to have coffee. I tried to ignore the jolt in my rib cage.

Yancy. It would have to do.

I'm sorry. My sister forgot to tell me she had collected the mail early last week, so I just thought that there was nothing. No. Scratch that. It sounded like I didn't care. The truth was important, but I couldn't phrase it like that. I tried to push down the anxiety of writing it in public, to ignore the stations that flew by as we sped through. Another forty minutes to go. I missed the letter being delivered, that's why I haven't responded until now. I'm Sorry. I owe you an explanation. My friend, who told me about you. He, wasn't very kind about it. It was a shock for me. It would sound convincing enough to the guards that read it, that I was talking about finding out we were related.

He forced me to come visit, threatening that I couldn't return to my daily life. He is offering you a place to stay once you go on parole, and thinks you'd find family with him and his brothers. I think it would be a good place to go for you, so you can get used to the outside world a bit better. But anyway, he has been interrogating me on how our visits have gone. I spend most of the time at the manor that he lives in, with his brothers, his partner and his daughter. He is, to me, a little controlling and that's why I listened to him. But, he said that once you are free, I can go back to staying home like usual and not spending time in the manor. I am sorry if you feel like I was using you.

I do miss being at home and my regular routine. I think you would do well with everyone in the manor and find another sense of community. They keep to themselves and don't really have any neighbours, so there wouldn't be too many questions asked.

I'm sorry that I used you and that you hate me. I'll stop writing and visiting you.

I slipped off my new glasses, putting them back into the case. Hopefully, once he got the letter, he would understand that I was selfish and the guilt would leave. All I wanted was the guilt to leave.

Shaking my head, I slipped my laptop back into the case and stared at the screen showing the next stop. Home was the next stop. Skipping the next three songs on my phone, I settled on a song from a musical. It was hard to not sing along to the catchy balad from a horror musical, I couldn't remember the name. One day I'd see it, but for now, the pirated soundtrack and low quality clips on youtube would do.

Theatre always looked so enjoyable, but throughout school I was always too scared to try. Laura did theatre and dance, loved them both and was the confident understudy of the lead in almost every highschool production. I remember having to sit in on one of her rehearsals and feeling awfully jealous. I couldn't dance, sing or act. So I never tried and never got called gay. It was a win win.

The guy who was asleep next to me shifted in his sleep. I glanced up to see the next station. One more until my stop. I scooted over a little closer to the window. He used that free space to stretch out. Only one more stop. My heart was beating faster in my chest, I just wanted him to go away. What if I had to shove past him? What if I had to wake him up just to ask him to move?

We were getting closer to the station. I picked up my bags, and in a split second decision, decided to shove past and pray he didn't wake up. Not looking back, I waited at the carriage door, nearly falling as the train came to an abrupt stop. It felt like russian roulette as to whether they would actually stop at my station or not.

I clutched my backpack tightly, stepping onto the deserted platform. Looking around, I waited for my phone to buzz. Tapping my feet for what felt like eternity, I dialed Laura's number.

'Hey?' She said groggily.

'Why do you sound like that? It's Evan.'

'Ohhh, I had a late shift last night, I only just woke up because the phone was ringing.'

'Shit. Sorry. Go back to bed. I'll walk.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. Go back to bed! Don't you have class tomorrow?' I asked dryly.

'Yeah, yeah. As long as you're sure?' I could hear her drifting back off already.

'Yes!' I sighed.

Hanging up before she could protest further, I put on a different playlist and began walking home. The sky was cloudy and the brick buildings loomed over the shadowed footpath. Burying my hands in my jacket pockets I kept walking, keeping my head down and adjusting my backpack. I couldn't help but glance into the alley where I had first seen the host. It was eerily quiet, the boarded up house still had the door open and the crate was still positioned close to the door. There were damp book pages covering the ground.

Shaking my head, I continued straight ahead instead of turning down the alley. A group of boys in private school uniform gave me dirty looks as I stepped around them. A couple of them looked familiar, the boys in the meeting with Yan. I glanced behind me repeatedly, speed walking to the main street. The post office was opposite to the gas station on the other side of the road.

I slipped into the post office, glancing behind me to check that the boys weren't following me. Sidling up to the counter, I groaned as Natalie turned around behind the counter. Since when did she work at the post office. Seeing me, she gave me a large smile and smoothed her hair back behind her ear. Her coworker, a blue-haired girl said quietly, 'oooh is that him.'

Heading over to the photocopier, I selected to print one page, scanning my card and selecting the letter document. As soon as it started to print, it felt like the sound was deafening. It was so quiet in here, other than the tittering of the shop attendance and the growl of the photocopier.

I let out a sigh of relief, as it finished, snapping up the paper and heading over to the bench where you could purchase envelopes, the small corner a sea of white. Selecting a plain white envelope, I folded the page and slipped it in.

Taking out my phone, I double checked the mail address for the prison, cursing at it as it refused to load, or for not letting me zoom in once it did. With a sigh, I wrote down the address in the neatest writing I could do, before writing the return address on the back and closing the envelope. Why was my heart rattling in my chest again?

With a deep breath, I dragged my feet over the counter, placing my phone in my back pocket.

Natalie's head shot up with a blinding smile as soon as I walked over.

'Evan! Hi! How have you been?' She asked, her tone of voice utterly different from the last time I saw her. I couldn't help but glance around the yellow-tinged shop, at the mishmash of gifts and generic nicknacks and magazines. For a post office there weren't many items of actual post.

'Hi Natalie, I've uh, been good. You?' I asked, sliding the sealed letter over the counter, my voice as neutral as I could manage.

'Did Reyna give you my number like she said she would? Because you haven't messaged me at all... Oh! And where is this headed?' She asked. She was acting different, probably because she was at work and had a friend to impress.

'It's going just out of town, so it's a domestic letter, standard stamp and no insurance.' I was itching to get my phone out as a distraction.

'Oh okay.' She slapped a stamp in the corner, 'but where exactly is it headed? Like out of town, to a friend?'

I sighed, 'It's going to a friend.' My chest was tight. Please don't ask questions. Please don't ask about it. You don't need to know. Please don't. Why didn't I go over to her friend?

'So this friend lives on the edges of town huh?'

'Yeah, something like that.'

'So why are you sending it to the prison that's near here? Do they work there or something?' She asked rudley. Her friend looked over in surprise and I was sure she was going to say something.

'Yeah, something like that. How much is it? Four?'

'Oh, yeah. It's four dollars fifty.' She said, her voice losing the defensive edge. I tapped my card and once the letter was put into the sorting, I turned quickly on my heel and turned out into the rapidly darkening street. It was definitely going to rain on my walk home. With a sigh, I shoved my headphones in my ears and scrolled through my playlists. I found myself opening the Hosts podcast, and headed off home. Though it unsettled me, it was kind of intriguing to listen to the goings on of a guy called David, returning home from work. My footsteps synchronised to the calm sounds of him narrating the goings-on of someone else's life.