Evangeline Pierce
I rummage through the closet of my two-room apartment. I need to pack and fast. I am the bride of honour and I should be there, in Ibiza on time and before others for the rehearsals and every other wedding plan my best friend and her husband wants.
Unfortunately money is becoming hard to come by these days. The firm was losing clients and profit margin was dropping seriously so these days I'm always busy with phone calls, meetings and research. The Insight Clinic is a reputable firm that I was able to start with like-minded people and a lot of courage and I'm not giving it up just yet. But I need a break like Clara suggested. I have this hope that I might find sponsors or clients during this trip. So I need to pack my best clothes and have my business cards stacked in my purse.
Checking the items I need from my list, I relaxed a bit. Maybe the trip won't turn out a flop if things go according to plan. If things went out of control, angry best friend equals chaos equals no sponsors which equals bankrupt. I created a list of things I am going to do and avoid on my way to Ibiza, during the event and after. With all I've written, I feel some semblance of control.
My life has always been planned out, written down and if things don't work out, I can always make another. I always had a plan Bbut in this case I hope plan A works for me. I put my phone on the nightstand, brushed my teeth, flossed and hydrate before sleeping, things I always do every night before going to bed.
I toss around in my bed unable to sleep. I picked up my sketch book and my pencil; drawing, painting and sketching calms me in a way that is addicting. It is like a hit, giving almost the same high people get from sex and drugs. My recent sketch is just the scenery I found myself fixated on earlier today. I did a bit of shading here and there earning the perfect image as in my head. I felt calmer than I did few hours ago. I say a prayer and lay down on my right side, never the left side.
So far the trip to the airport was going as planned. Light traffic, sunny weather and no tea stains on my clothes. I even made sure to wear the cloth with same colour as my tea. I packed my car perfectly well careful to not rouse unwanted attention.
I checked in and did other requirements successfully and without hassle and finally I found my seat. I had my water bottle but instead of water it was coffee. I usually go for tea but with this event on my plate, I needed a stronger stimulant and since I don't smoke or do drug, I have to go for coffee.
As I moved passed the people seating on the aisle to get to the seat in the middle, clutching the bottle half opened in my hand, a sudden jolt threw me off balance. Before I could steady myself, a splash of coffee escaped the bottle along with the lid, landing on the tailored pants of the man seated beside me. My heart stopped and I'm sure I look dead.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" I gasped, instinctively reaching for the tissues in my bag. "I swear I didn't mean to. It was an accident." I bent down, wiping the stain off his crotch, my mind in chaos. I didn't even see his face, I just hoped he was some teenager or someone younger or far older than me.
He didn't speak until I was done wiping the stain. I then realised the area I just wiped and the look of horror and disgust on the passengers' face. My face instantly turned beet red. I glanced at the man seated beside me. Oh my god, I was truly fucked. It was billionaire artist, Dmitri Saint Claire.
I tried to stay calm not with the stares from him. I could feel his gaze burning a hole through my skull. What was a billionaire like him doing in business class airplane anyway? Doesn't he have a private jet or better still fly first class? I took out my headphones to block out my thoughts. I check my playlists heading straight for the track titled 'Pink Noise', the one that always steadied my thoughts when silence felt too loud. It always drowns the static in my head.
The pink noise in my headphones did nothing. It only deepened the chaos running through my thoughts. Nothing was going as planned and it felt as if he was the one who caused the accident but just apologised because he is a billionaire and could ruin my business with a snap of his fingers. I could still feel his burning gaze, like he was dissecting my every breath.
I exhaled, tugged the headphones down her neck, and turned to him. "Look," I began, my voice low and firm, edged with fatigue and apology. "I know I messed up. I said I was sorry and I meant it. But if you are going to keep staring at me like that for the rest of the flight, could you at least blink once in a while?"
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips, not quite a smile or forgiveness just acknowledgement, I recognise the twisted meaning in him almost immediately before he became closed off. "I will remember this." He only said.
The words landed softly, but something about the way he said them made my pulse skip. I might need to check with my cardiologist soon. It was calm, almost certain. I can't tell if it was a threat or a promise or what billionaires say to cause fear in ordinary people or maybe it is just a note for whatever journal prompt he has to catalogue his annoyance. Either way, I can't relax.
I tried going back to my playlist but still yet, the back of my neck prickled with awareness. He wasn't even looking at me anymore and somehow it only made things worse. By the time the seatbelt dimmed, she unlocked quietly and stepped out going to the woman heading for the bathroom. "Excuse me," I whispered, forcing a polite smile. "Would you mind swapping seats with me?"
"With him?" she asked, after I pointed my seat, her eyes lit up. "Gladly."
I sighed in relief heading towards hers. I slid into the new spot and I froze. Her new seatmate was a large man whose shirt clung damply to his chest, a faint odour of sweat and stale cologne clouding the air between them. He gave her a weak apologetic grin, the kind that revealed the raw sore at the corner of his mouth.
I swallowed hard, the bile leaving a bitter taste at the back of my tongue. I traded danger for discomfort. Barcelona is just an hour away from Ibiza anyway. In time, I could hear the wheels kissing the runway, the cabin filled with the low growl of the engines reversing. A few passengers exhaled in relief including myself. The aircraft rolled lazily along the taxiway, sunlight flashing over its wings. I began packing the things I took out of my tote bag and waited for the seatbelt light to go out.
The chime sounded a few seconds later and the cabin came alive. The zippers chatter and the anxious shuffle of people desperate to stand after an hour of sitting filled the cabin. Warm air hit me as the cabin door opened, carrying the scent of jet fuel and the buzz of the new city. I slung my bag over my shoulders, stepping outside. I pick up my baggage and went to catch a taxi.
I barely had time to set down my suitcase before Clara pulled her into a tight hug, laughing. "You made it! I was starting to think you'd get lost somewhere between the plane and here." I shrugged, too overwhelmed to speak. My heart racing with relief and excitement for the wedding and everything that came with it.