I’m starstruck. Absolutely flabbergasted beyond belief. Stunned. Why is he here? Out of the seven billion people existing in this world, why him? This is unreal, the worst of coincidences. Lyle. A name I wish could be erased from my memory forever. A face that makes my belly churn in repugnance. I hate him.
“What’s with the long face? Have you missed me that much, Pickle Nick?” he smirks, knowing all too well how much I despise that nickname. One day out of the blue, he decided to stop using my real name to piss me off, and man has it worked.
“Why the hell are you here?” I hiss. I just can’t with him. He knows my ticks.
“Sheesh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. In case you haven’t noticed, this is a public train and I’m going to Paris to visit my family.” Ugh. When I think I can’t be any unluckier, I get hit with this.
“Get out of my face before I make you,” I threaten, pointing my index finger right up to his nose for emphasis.
