Rising

Making my way down the elevator illuminated by strip-lighting, my heart pounds as though it is about to break out of its cage and fall clumsily onto the metal step on which I stand. I breathe slowly, trying to regain composure after my speedy walk from home to the main road. Screw it. I skip down the remainder of the escalator, practically sprint past the blonde busker swinging her hips and singing her lungs out. I make it to the platform after bumping into several other passengers and realise that my train is still four minutes away - I am no further ahead than the people I sped past self-importantly. The music which I had been walking rhythmically to has stopped playing, so I stand stationary, deflated at the edge of the platform. And without consent, my throat becomes dry, stomach feels as though it is rising through my torso to escape from my mouth, and knees feel too weak to carry my dumpy body. I can feel the heat rising in my face, and know that my nose and cheeks are turning an embarrassing shade of red; I pull the headphones down irritatedly, to rest on my neck. The hefty metal train sends a cooling breeze along the platform, but as I breathe in what I presume to be sweet, cold air, my taste buds are filled with mechanical smells and an unidentifiable combination of bodily odors. I cough and splutter as we all pile onto the train, to the disgust of my germ-wary passengers, one of whom immediately dives into her bag for her trusty hand sanitiser. My body feels strangely free within the confines of the silent carriage, muscles loosen and tears form in my eyes. The woman standing opposite catches my attention with a sympathetic smile, unconsciously prompting the immediate onslaught of tears which flow down my flushed cheeks.
"I slept with my best friend's boyfriend!" I announce to the carriage, before telling the poor woman my God-awful tale.