TW: rape
*What’s the worst that could happen?* I had thought when booking a bunk bed instead of a private room for the sleeper train. *A hundred dollars is a hundred dollars.*
I board my train in London and find my way to my bunk. It’s a cramped little bed, with a single privacy curtain. From the look and thickness of it, at least it’s a blackout curtain. Across the walking space, is another set of bunks, with some of their own occupants settling in. I might be a young woman travelling alone, but at least there was safety in numbers.
I quickly shelve that thought when my bunkmate approaches the top bunk above mine. A tall, broad-chested man, older than me and with salt-and-pepper hair, a sharp jawline, and coarse stubble. Dressed in a sharp blazer and dark jeans. As if that all weren’t enough, he has the gall to open his mouth and say, “Excuse me, miss, I believe I have the top bunk.”
In. A. Scottish. Accent.