Chapter Text
I'm walking really fast. I would run if I could, but I am wearing high heels. Currently, I'm at the airport and I just heard the last call for boarding when I came through security. The damn thing always takes so long and since I stupidly forgot I was wearing a tiny metal hairclip; it took even longer because I couldn't find it. I start running despite my shoes. I can't miss my flight. If I do, everything goes to shit. No, stop. I'll be on time. Relax. I'm fine.
I feel the heat in my cheeks and there is a drop of sweat sliding down my forehead. I'm not sure if I'm sweating because I'm nervous or because I'm so out of shape. Or because I decided it was a good idea to wear a turtleneck to the airport.
I try to slow down my breathing as I approach the flight attendant at the gate.
"Hi, is this the gate for the flight to Rome? Flight number...," I look quickly at my ticket to read the number, "Here, flight number... BA2490."
"Yes, miss. You're not late, don't worry," she smiles as she moves for me to pass, "Just straight ahead!"
I thank her quickly and continue walking. I'm no longer running, but I still feel my heart pounding. I'm taking deep, slow breaths I had to master when I started doing yoga. Of course, I found it easy then! I wasn't on my way to have my whole life turned upside down.
The plane is small. Not an airbus I'm used to. It's that little plane with just two seats on each side of the aisle. What's this kind of plane called? I can't remember... It's at the tip of my tongue. Ugh... this is now pissing me off.
I look at my plane ticket to see the number of my seat. It's G4. As I raise my eyes, I see how short the aisle is. My seat is at the back of the plane. I hate that. I hate small planes and I hate being at the back. When I was in middle school there was this girl, Jane. She used to travel a lot and would always tell us about it. And I still remember she told us that the end of the plane is always the most dangerous place to be in case of a crash. She said something about the engines exploding, but also that you are then the last to exit the plane. Now I know that's bullshit, but still... the memory always returns when I enter a plane.
Well, at least I'm by the window. I always preferred it that way. I like looking outside. I find it very beautiful, especially the clouds when we're above them. And most importantly, I get to have something nice to look at before I die.
As I approach my seat, I notice there's someone sitting in it. I tell myself not to panic, but I can already feel the new wave of sweat coming. The seat next to mine is empty, so the man probably just moved to mine.
Our eyes meet and I tremble a little. That's the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. His hair is dark brown, short, but disheveled in a way. His face is sharp, but what's sharpest are his eyes. And he's staring at me.
"Miss, are you okay?" he asks and when I don't respond, he lets out a sigh, "Miss?"
"What?" I snap out of my thoughts feeling a bit ashamed that I spent so long just plain staring at him, "Oh sorry, I'm just lost in thought."
He's looking at me but is saying nothing. I'm starting to get uncomfortable when he finally breaks the silence.
"Aren't you going to sit down?"
"I think you're in my seat, actually," as I say it, I see he's annoyed with me.
"Does it matter? I thought you weren't coming," – he isn't looking at me anymore.
It's so rude when people don't look at you when they talk to you. I notice I am again taking too long to say something, but when I open my mouth to ask him to move, the flight attendant tells me to sit.
I sit down. I'm getting angry now.
"Can we switch seats, please? I like sitting by the window," I say, turning to him.
"No."
"Please, that's literally my seat."
"No."
"I hate sitting by the aisle."
"No."
I let out a sigh and close my eyes for a moment to compose myself. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I don't know what to say to make him move. I must sit there, or I might have a panic attack while the plane is taking off. And I don't want anyone to see that. Especially not this jerk.
I turn to him and find him looking at me curiously.
"Are you okay?" he asks. Wow, what do you care? Such a nice guy! I know I shouldn't antagonize him; he literally did nothing wrong. However, I have this rage inside me at the moment and he is just the perfect candidate to unleash it onto.
"No. No, I'm not," I pause and try to make my voice less wheezy. I fail, "I almost missed my flight. I fucking hate flying. You're sitting in my seat. And worse of all I have to go the most beautiful city in the world for all the wrong reasons," I stop myself and sigh again. Why am I telling him all this? I need to chill the fuck out.
After a long moment of silence, he looks out of the window and says monotonously, "I'm not moving." He then turns his head, looking at me again, and continues, "So deal with it."
And then silence. I don't know what to say. I just want to punch his pretty, stupid face. The heat is once again in my cheeks, and I clench my fists. My nails are plunged into my palms, and I welcome that sharp pain. I can't lose my shit now. I will have to deal with the situation somehow.
The flight attendants announce that we'll be taking off in a moment and they quickly show us the safety measures. I stare blankly forward, not listening. I'm filled with anxiety, and I just wish I took some Xanax with me.
As I feel the plane moving all I can hear is Jane's voice explaining all the ways you can die in an airplane. I am again trying to breathe slowly, which is getting harder with every breath. My eyes are closed. Maybe if I don't see, I won't feel so scared.
"You okay?" the annoying voice next to me asks. Can't he just leave me alone?
"That's like the twenty-seventh time you asked me if I'm okay. Just leave me alone," my voice is quiet but sharp. I don't open my eyes, so his reaction is foreign to me. He doesn't say anything at first. He is a master in creating awkward silences, isn't he?
But then he finally speaks, "You could've said you were this afraid of flying," his voice is flat, so matter of fact. It makes me angry, the nonchalance.
"Why? You were in my seat. I asked you to move. I don't know you. I don't need to explain myself." My eyes are still closed, but I try to squeeze them even more.
"We didn't really have time to switch seats since you came in the last minute."
"However, you did have time to be a shithead" and silence again. Ugh... But maybe it's better this way. He just makes me angrier with every word. I hope he remains silent for the rest of the flight. I need to deal with myself.
I don't know how much time has passed since we last spoke. In my mind, it's been hours. Days. Then he speaks again, "why are you going to Rome?"
And I don't answer. I don't want to talk to him, and I certainly don't want to tell him why I'm going to Rome. So, I just sit there with my eyes closed and try not to lose my shit.
There's a bit of turbulence and it's making me sick. So, I open my eyes and reach for my bag. I have these ginger candies that soothe my stomach when I get motion sickness. Maybe they'll help me now as well.
"What's that?" he asks pointing at the candies. "Can I have one?"
I don't want to give him my candy, so I don't say anything. Well... the truth is I'm afraid that if I open my mouth even slightly, I might vomit. So, I just ignore him and look at my hands in my lap.
"You're ignoring me? How mature..."
I, again, give no reaction. I just must focus on one thing, and it'll be fine. This flight shouldn't be long. Just an hour or two. I don't know how long we've been flying, so I don't know how much longer it'll last. I can see a flight attendant now, so I wave her over. She's quick and I can't not be impressed with how unaffected she is with this whole situation.
"Yes, miss?" her voice calming. I really like her.
"Could I please get a bag? I feel a bit sick. And a glass of water?" I push these words out and I can feel the wrinkles on my forehead getting bigger.
"Yes, of course. I'll be right back!" she turns and leaves as quickly as she approached.
"Do you need help?" his voice is now softer and I can't stop myself from turning my head to him. When I look at him I am reminded of how beautiful he is. He is higher than me, but I can't say how much since we're sitting. And he's wearing a dark grey suit. A three-piece. I'm not joking. He is wearing a three-piece suit on a plane. I chuckle before I can stop myself.
"What's funny? Or are you trying to stop yourself from vomiting?" there's a grin on his face and I can see now that his face is not as symmetric as I thought. His smile is tilted a bit to the right. And it makes him even more charming.
"I can't believe you're wearing a three-piece on a plane," I lower my eyes and check him out as if I want to make sure I'm seeing correctly.
"What's weird about that?" when I meet his eyes again, I see sincere confusion in them.
"Well, rich boy, it isn't very common to see that on a plane such as this one."
"Oh, come on, that's a bit rich coming from you!" he mimics the way I checked him out.
"Why?"
Before he manages to answer, the flight attendant is back with my bag and a bottle of water.
"Here you go, miss. How are you feeling now? Can I do anything else for you?"
"No, thank you. I'll call if something happens."
"Well, I hope you feel better," she turns to leave, but quickly turns towards us again, "You call me if your wife gets worse," and before I understand what she just said she's gone.
"What?" I say quietly, not realizing I said it aloud.
"She clearly thought we're a couple," his voice is flat, but not cold like before.
"Why would she think that?" I am truly bewildered. I can't understand why anyone would pair me up with him.
"As I tried to say before she interrupted us, it's rich of you to laugh at me because of my suit. You are, after all, wearing a black turtleneck, a pencil skirt and insanely high heels on the plane," he pauses, smiling, "not to mention the pearls."
I instinctively touch my pearl earrings. "That's not the same!"
"Isn't it? And can you blame her for thinking the two of us would be together since we look like this?" he says leaning in closer. Before I manage to move away, he flicks my earing with his finger, "we are kind of matching."
"What do you mean, matching?"
"I'm wearing grey and white. And you are wearing grey and black," he says as his finger moves away from my ear to point up and down my clothes. I'm still startled by how close he is. And then I notice I'm no longer feeling sick. I also notice that I'm enjoying his witty remarks very much. No, no, no. I mustn't like him.
"You often do that?" he says and when I question him with my eyes, he continues, "you often just zone out and ignore people? Or is it just me?" and then he sits back in his seat as if he wasn't close to whispering in my ear just moments ago.
"Don't flatter yourself. You're not special," I decide to play his game. Turning in my seat towards him I do the same thing he did before, and draw near to his ear, "I was just thinking how close to vomiting I was."
Quickly I straighten back in my seat thinking this will surely shut him up. But as soon as I start gloating, he laughs. It's quiet and obvious he was trying to keep it in. Then, completely unexpectedly, I also start laughing. When we stop, we are again in silence, but this silence is somehow enjoyable. And then he ruins it by asking, "So, why are you going to Rome?"
I can feel myself going cold. The grin is gone from my face, and I look away. When I speak my voice is toneless.
"That's none of your business."