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We used to be … Something special. Something other assholes dream about and pray for. And now? I couldn’t even kiss her before leaving. The very thought of doing it felt too much like goodbye. Like the kind of goodbye that would kill me.
She’s kidding herself if she thinks I’m not coming home to her. I don’t care that we’re going through this, I don’t care how bad our fighting is or that I fucked up beyond repair. She doesn’t know what happened and I hope she never will, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s mine. Above all else, that I love her and she loves me. She can’t deny that.
My seat groans as I readjust in first class. I clear my throat and clench my teeth as the plane rumbles again, reminding me that she’s miles and miles away. Reminding me that I left her again.
I can’t bring myself to feel like I deserve her forgiveness. Or that I deserve her at all. That’s always been the case between us. She’s always been too good for me. The guilt is all-consuming and now I’m trapped in a corner, desperately looking for a way out of the mess I’ve gotten myself into.
My computer pings as the plane continues to fly across the ocean taking me farther away from her, and I lean forward to check it. I’m far too quick to do it too, praying it’s Kat.
Praying’s never helped me before and sure enough, it didn’t this time either. It’s only a message from James, my boss and Samantha’s now ex.
My teeth grind against one another, making my jaw even more tense as I read the message. It’s the schedule for the rest of the day and my room number for the hotel.
It feels like a slap in the face. I can’t keep up this façade and live each day as if nothing’s happened. Pretending like nothing’s changed.
The back of my head pushes into the seat as I take a calming breath.
Stuck between a rock and a hard place is an inadequate saying.
I’m fucked.Just waiting for them to pick, pick, pick away at me while I have my hands tied behind my back.
Only years ago, I loved my life. It was a high most would be envious of. This is what I wanted more than anything. On the outside, it’s glamorous. I stay at five-star resorts, party with celebrities and have every sinful pleasure at my fingertips. That’s what a life of helping the rich and famous avoid prison has afforded me.
I protect the clients from any bad press, keep charges from sticking, and avoid any altercations that could lead to something … unwanted. In return, I’m paid generously and live the high life.
I didn’t sign up forthis, but I sure as fuck cashed every check along the way. My email beeps and it’s another message from James, as if confirming that exact thought: this is exactly what I signed up for. It’s what I asked for.
Let me know when you land.That’s all the email says.
I clear my throat as my hand clenches into a fist and I run the rough pad of my thumb over my knuckles slowly. My reflection in the screen stares back at me and I note the scowl, the dark circles under my eyes.The anger.
When I was younger, this was all I wanted. I get paid to party and live in a perpetual state of drunkenness. I lived for the thrill.
Kat used to love it too. Years ago, when we first met and things were different. I glance at the empty seat to my left and picture her sitting beside me. She used to play with the buckle on every flight. Unbuckle, buckle, unbuckle, buckle. At first I thought it was a nervous habit that had to do with a fear of flying, but it was just due to the excitement.
She loved coming with me to events. It was what we did together. Back when everything was the way it was supposed to be.
Back when life was less complicated.
Back when we were kids and I didn’t realize that life was going to catch up to me and her career was going to take off, placing us on two very different paths in life.
A huff of a sigh leaves me as I shift in my seat and look back to my computer.
I click over to the flight tab and see there are four hours remaining until we land in London. Four hours to sit in silence and dwell on each and every moment where I fucked up. Every step I took that led me to this very hour.
I turned thirty-two just four months ago, but I’m living the same life I had when we were in our twenties.
She’s the one who changed.
She grew up and I’m the one who screwed up.
I run a hand down my face, trying to get the images out of my head.
She can never know, but I was a fool to think I’d hidden it from her.
There’s no way out of this.
How can she love me when she knows I’m lying to her?