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I crouch down beside the bed, unable to resist reaching out to gently brush a lock of hair away from her face. The softness of her skin beneath my touch, sends a shiver down my spine, and I’m filled with a sense of longing that I can no longer ignore.
My mind races with conflicting thoughts as I struggle to come to terms with the situation I’ve found myself in once more. On one hand, I know that what I’ve done is unforgivable – a gross violation of Angelica’s privacy that should never have occurred even once. But on the other hand, there’s a part of me that can’t help but feel a deep connection to her, a connection that seems to transcend reason.
As I continue to watch her sleep, a sense of peace settles over me for the first time in what feels like ages. But as dawn breaks outside the window, reality comes crashing back in with brutal force.
I know that I can’t stay here, hovering over Angelica like some kind of guardian angel. I have to leave before she wakes up and discovers me here, before she realises the depths of my transgression. My obsession.
With a heavy heart, I rise to my feet and take one last look at Angelica’s sleeping form, committing the image to memory before I turn to leave the room. The guilt and shame I feel weigh me down like a lead cloak as I slip out of her apartment, the events of the day swirling through my mind in a dizzying blur.
I know that what I’ve done is inexcusable, that there’s no way to justify my actions. But as I unlock the door to my apartment and step inside, a sense of resolve settles over me. I can’t undo what has been done, but I can strive to be better, to make amends for the harm I’ve caused. And so, as the sun rises on a new day, I make a silent vow to do better, to be better. For Angelica, and for myself.
ChapterTen
Angelica
Today has not gotten off to the best start, but I will not let it deter me. Who cares if I woke up late, left the house without my passport and had to go back for it, then got stuck in a traffic jam on my way to the airport and almost missed check in, for a flight I literally feel sick at the thought of having to board?
I will not be beaten.
I grit my teeth and smile politely at the woman behind the desk who isstillmoaning about me being late, even though I explained that traffic was bad and the check-in desk is still technically open and actually it’s her monologue that’s now holding us up.
“Once again, I’m really sorry. Is there any chance of a window seat? I’m a little afraid of flying.” I force myself to laugh even though it’s no laughing matter and my stomach is full of lead weights.
Planes are fucking terrifying. Transatlantic jumbo jets even more so. Have you seen how disproportionate they are? How those flimsy wings are meant to haul something so enormous? And they bend. The wings. They were actually specially designed to move in order to get the plane off the ground. Sounds like bullshit to me.
The airline assistant sniffs. “All seats have been allocated on a first to arrive basis. As you’re the last, the only seat remaining is a middle aisle seat, next to the toilets.”
“Great. Thanks.” I say this with zero sarcasm, but also very little enthusiasm.
Fuck, flying would be so much easier if they let you take drugs on the plane. My GP’s office could not see me face to face yesterday, wouldn’t offer a telephone consultation either, and did not deem it enough of an emergency to write me a prescription to ease my flying anxiety. Fuckers. I bet it wasn’t even the GP saying that. Those receptionists guard appointment slots like Rottweilers. They have a special circle of hell reserved for when they die.
Right alongside snooty airline assistants I’ve decided.
“Gate Nine. Here’s your boarding pass. You’ll need to hurry.”
I make my way to the gate, clutching the boarding pass, sweating from pure nerves. All I can think about are those bastard bendy wings, and how essentially they’re using ginormous engines to catapult a giant metal toilet roll tube full of victims into the sky and hope for the best.
My longing to just be home, where I can cling on to the floor and not be so far from my lovely apartment-sized zone of comfort, is overwhelmingly strong.
I stop at the toilets to try and collect myself, but suddenly I have to pee really badly. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold it for the flight if I don’t empty my bladder, so I rush in and push my way into a cubicle. I wriggle out of my trousers, and relieve some of my stress, but it doesn’t really help. I finish up, flush and exit the cubicle to wash my hands. I’m a mess.
As I try to splash some water on my face, I notice the woman next to me in the reflection of the mirror. She’s staring at me intensely, her eyes boring into mine.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice laced with concern.
I nod, but I can feel the panic rising in my chest. I can’t do this. I can’t get on that plane. I can’t go through all the turbulence and the anxiety and the fear. It’s just too much. Ten and a half hours too much.
The woman seems to sense my hesitation. “Flying can be tough,” she says, reaching out to touch my hand. “But you’re not alone.”
I look up at her, and suddenly I feel like I can breathe again, even though it should be freaky that a stranger is touching me.
She’s right. I’m not alone. And maybe, just maybe, I can do this.
I thank her and start to make my way towards the gate, when suddenly I hear my name being called over the loudspeaker.
“This is the last call for thefinalpassenger on Flight BA1526, at Gate Nine. The flight is now ready to depart.”
Panic washes over me as I sprint towards the gate, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. I can hear the sound of my boarding pass flapping in my hand like a bird, and the faces of the people around me blur together as I run past them.
