I walked down the hall, to room number eight, and slowly ran my fingers across the nameplate: Sarah Irene Weston.
I walked into the room and the woman in bed immediately sat up.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Are you here for Sarah? She pointed to the empty bed next to her.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m here for Sarah. Do you know where she is?”
“She’ll be back in an hour or so.” She patted the edge of her bed. “You’ll keep me company until she gets back?”
I nodded and walked over, sitting on her bed.
She was silent for a few minutes—looking as if she was waiting for Sarah, too, but then she began to speak.
“They don’t keep it warm enough here,” she said. “I always have to ask for blankets.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I noticed she was buried under four of them, that there was a stack of them in the corner.
“It’s okay. They joke with me every time I ask for a new one. Apparently, I’ve asked for so many, that some anonymous donor sends me brand new ones whenever I want. All I have to do is call some place called Blanket Manufacturing when I’m running low and they come like clockwork.”
“That’s very nice.” I looked toward the door to see if a nurse was nearby.
“Isn’t it?” She smiled. “I hate the food here as well, so another anonymous donor sends me catered food every day. What’s your name, son?”
“Jake.”
“Jake?” Her eyes lit up. “I have a son named Jake! Jake Weston is his name. He’s a pilot, you know.”
“Is he now?”
“Yes.” She looked proud. “He sends me trinkets from every city he flies to, every single one so I can feel like I’ve traveled the world, too.”
“That’s very nice of him.”
“He is nice.” She nodded. “He’s just stubborn. Things always have to be his way or no way.”
“Not always...”
“Oh, trust me.” She laughed. “I know my Jake. It’s always, especially since he’s in his twenties now.” She pointed toward the stack of blankets in the corner, so I grabbed one and lay it on top of her, tucking her tightly underneath.
“Do you have any children, Jake?” she asked.
“No.”
“No? Why not? You look like you’re in your prime, like you’re ready to settle down and have a few.”
“I don’t have the time.”
“The time?” She laughed. “Oh, now you sound exactly like my Jake! He always says that! I’ll have to tell him about you. I’ll have to let him know that there’s another Jake in the world who doesn’t want to have any kids.” She looked toward the door. “Since Sarah’s taking a long time, can we talk a little more? Can I tell you more about my Jake?”
I nodded, the ache in my chest becoming damn near unbearable.
“Well, you know how they say a mother never has a favorite child?” She waited until I nodded. “Between you and me, Jake is my favorite—always has been. When my father passed away, and left me this monstrosity of a condo in Manhattan, I gave it to Jake. Only Jake. I gave my other son something just as nice—it was nicer actually. But it was located in the suburbs because he once told me he wanted a family...” She paused. “But then he sold it, for half of what it was worth.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be! I did the same thing with my father’s watches,” she said. “I’m not sure why he left them to me, but Jake always appreciated them, so he deserved to have them.” She leaned over her bed and opened a drawer, pulling out my high school yearbook picture and showing it to me with a smile.
I nodded at the image, wishing I’d gotten here faster.
“I don’t get visitors too often, Jake,” she said. “Since we’re still waiting on Sarah, you have to stay for at least an hour, okay? I can tell you stories if you want...”
With no prompting, she told me endless stories from my childhood, stories I’d heard a million times before and lived through first hand. She embellished details here or there, making me sound slightly more mischievous like she always did.
In the middle of her telling me about the time she caught “Jake” sneaking out of the house at night, she grabbed the glass on her night stand and slowly sipped her water. Then she set it down and stared at me, her eyes widening with every second that passed by.
“Why are you...Why are you sitting on my bed?” she asked. “Who are you?”
“I’m sorry.” I stood up. “My apologies, Miss. I must be in the wrong room.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s okay. Are you here for Sarah?”
I sat down again, letting her tell me the same stories over and over—watching her remember and forget me within the same five-minute span. And the more she talked, the more I wondered if she knew she was technically dead. That her name and likeness were already transfixed to a plane, for a flight she’d never taken, a fake story she’d never hear.
Every now and then she’d come to and remember random, recent things, saying, “I’d always tell Jake about my husband, I’d say, He lied to you...He lied to all of us...He used that accident for his advantage...”
And although she could easily slip into another happy refrain and forget all about it, all I could see was my father—fucking lying, always lying. Using any opportunity possible to bolster his image, shunning me and anyone else who dared to stand in his way. Using the timing of my mother’s brain disease diagnosis and short life expectancy in conjunction with a plane crash to garner sympathy and funding.
All for the love of greed and worthless adulation. All for nothing.
I knew I wasn’t going to be able to fully function for the next few weeks, that I was going to fuck up more shit in my apartment like always. That seeing her like this, seeing her getting worse without having someone else trustworthy enough to talk about it with, was going to have a lasting effect on me.
Maybe it was good that Gillian left after all.
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~
Present Day
This is the last time I will say this to myself.
The very last time.
My heart can’t take another sequence of angry arguments, another round in this dangerous game of “Will we make it? Should we make it?” or another spin on this never-ending carousel of highs and lows.
Yes, the way this man fucks me is incomparable and leaves me craving more the second he pulls out of me. And yes, the way he pleasures my pussy with his mouth and makes me come for hours on end will forever be unparalleled. But the way we fit (rather, don’t fit) has finally reached its climax.
I will not go back.
I will not go back.
I. Will. Not. Go. Back.
If he calls me, I won’t answer.
If he texts me, I won’t respond.
If he emails me, I won’t open the message.
I’m done.
I. Am. Done.
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
1 comment posted:
KayTROLL: I’ve heard this before...Let’s see how long you last...O_o
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~
Present Day
Two weeks down.
No messages from him, no calls.
Although, we did share a short, repositioning flight from Charlotte to Houston, and he did sign off on a form to confirm that a male passenger was being overly rude and offensive to me during the deplaning process. But, that was it.
He barely looked at me after signing the form, and we each went our separate ways to separate flights in the terminal.
He barely even looked at me...
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
1 comment posted:
KayTROLL: I’ll reserve judgment until you make it to 8 weeks...
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~
Present Day
Four weeks.
Nothing.
Write later,
**
Taylor G.**
No comments posted.
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~
Present Day
Six weeks.
Still nothing...
Just a heavy heart and a sad realization that I really did love him, but I meant nothing to him.
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
No comments posted.
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~
Present Day
He finally texted me today, nearly eight weeks after I walked away, and it wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t even a hello.
It was a: I need to fuck your pussy. Call me when you get this.
I hope I never see him again. I’m moving on.
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
1 comment posted:
KayTROLL: You **are** moving on...
GATE B35
JAKE
New York (JFK)
I woke up to the sound of low voices outside my bedroom, heard them talking about me as if I wasn’t here.
“Why does this tenant keep getting this TV replaced?” One voice said. “I feel like he breaks it every week.”
“It’s one of his many hobbies,” Jeff’s distinctive voice floated through the halls. “He enjoys it.”
“Yeah, well. You should probably tell him that there are hobbies out there that cost less than a thousand dollars a week.”
“I’ll be sure he knows,” Jeff said. “Thank you once again for coming by.”
“Anytime. Literally.”
The sound of my front door closing and Jeff’s signature hard-bottom shoes walking across the floor were the next things I heard. His steps were getting closer and closer to my bedroom door, and without knocking, he stepped into my space.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Weston,” he said, placing a paper invoice onto my dresser. “You’re also welcome, in advance, for finding a new botanist to take care of your plants.”
“What happened to the one I had?”
“I believe you told her to, ‘Get the fuck out of my place,’ a few nights ago during one of your episodes. Do you not remember that?”
“No.”
“I figured.” He shrugged. “Well, if you need me, I’ll be downstairs awaiting your next round of problems.”
“Wait...”
“Yes?”
“I texted Gillian as few times last night and the night before. She hasn’t texted me back.”
He blinked.
“This is the part where you fill in the blanks for me, Jeff. Why the fuck hasn’t she texted me back since you seem to know everything else?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, his voice dripping with sympathy. “But it has been over two months since you last spoke so I’m assuming you’re over.” He took a pen from his jacket pocket and wrote something on the back of the invoice. Then he walked out of my room and left the apartment.
I stood up and walked over to see what he’d written on the paper.
She dropped off the watch. It’s on your counter.
I groaned and got dressed, taking my private elevator down to the parking garage. I pulled out my phone and started to send Gillian another text, but then I looked through our history.
She hadn’t responded to me in over two weeks, and the last time she texted me—months ago, I’d never sent a reply.
Shit...
I sped out of the garage and toward her Brooklyn apartment, risking the ire of her neighbors by temporarily parking my car in the middle of the street. I rushed up the outside steps, not bothering to knock on the cheap door, and stormed up four flights.
The “Two Broke Girls” sign was no longer hanging on her door, but I knocked anyway.
No answer.
I heard a female’s voice inside so I knocked even harder, refusing to let Gillian ignore me.
The door swung open and it wasn’t Gillian or her roommate. It was an older woman holding her cat.
“Well, yes?” She smiled at me. “What can I help you with today?”
“I’m looking for Gillian Taylor.”
“Who?”
“The woman who used to live here. Black hair, green eyes, beautiful. Where is she?”
“Oh! The girl with the crazy roommate. They moved out over a month ago.
A month ago? “Where did they move to?”
“I’m not sure.” She tapped her lip. “But wherever it was, it was probably someplace really nice. The crazy girl’s dad picked them up in a limo. A limo...”
“Thank you.” I walked away and headed down the steps, returning to my car. I couldn’t believe this shit, couldn’t believe I’d let this much happen within so much time without even noticing it.
I turned my key in the ignition and felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. It was a text message.
Gillian?
I clicked on her name and read the response.
Gillian: Um...I’m not sure who you’re trying to reach, but this phone number doesn’t belong to a ‘Gillian’. I’m Clara. That said... If you’re interested in “making up” by “eating my pussy all night until I come on your face” then, no need to text back. Give me a call :-)
GATE B36
JAKE
Atlanta (ATL) —-> Paris (CDG)
A week later, I stood at Gate B4 in Atlanta’s airport and printed out the weather reports for tonight’s flights, hoping like hell whoever I flew with would be somewhat competent. The first officer I was originally due to fly out with had contracted food poisoning overnight, so scheduling was supposed to be sending a reserve pilot so we could finally get onboard.
“Mr. Weston?” A familiar, male voice said from behind. “Mr. Weston, is that you?”
I turned around and found myself face to face with Ryan. Simulator Ryan.
Get the fuck out of here...
“Looks like we’ll be flying together in the real-world now, sir.” He smiled. “Maybe you can show me that magic carpet button, right?” He laughed and waited for me to join him.
I kept him waiting.
I tore off the remainder of the weather reports and signaled to the gate agent that we were ready. And as she led us over to the door, I noticed Gillian’s supervisor, a blonde, and Gillian heading in our direction.
“You ladies on Flight 1543 with service to Paris as well?” The gate agent asked. “Let me scan your badges after the pilots step onboard, please.”
I looked back at Gillian, waiting for her eyes to meet mine, but they never did. She kept them glued to the ground, and when she did board the aircraft minutes later, I overheard her say to her supervisor, “I’ll do my best on this flight, Miss Connors, but can you please keep Captain Weston the hell away from me if he chooses to leave the cockpit?”
Miss Connors gave her an assured, “Of course,” and then she threw a scowl in my direction.
I’d planned to remain in the cockpit for the first few hours of the flight anyway—mainly because I didn’t trust Ryan alone for five seconds, and I wasn’t sure he’d been joking about that magic carpet button.
“Ladies and gentlemen this is your captain, speaking,” I said over the speakers, once boarding was complete. “On behalf of the flight crew, we’d like to welcome you aboard Elite Airways Flight 1543 to Paris. Our flight duration is around eight hours and twenty minutes and we are expecting a fairly smooth flight today. Thank you for choosing to fly with us. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.” I ended the message and waited for our turn to take off on the runway.
“Um, sir?” Ryan tapped my shoulder.
“Yes, Ryan?”
“No disrespect or anything, but you forgot like four whole sentences of the mandatory greeting. That’s like a write-up worthy offense.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, the greeting: I really love flying for Elite! It’s the best job and the most exciting airline in the world! And then you’re supposed to say something witty, or tell a funny joke to make all the passengers feel comfortable.”
&nbs
p; I blinked. “Do you feel comfortable, Ryan?”
“You want an honest answer?”
“I would love an honest answer.”
“Well, I might feel more comfortable if you’d told a joke. Might have convinced me that you’re an actual human being and not a robot outside of the simulator sessions, and might’ve even made me more comfortable flying an Airbus321 for only the fourth time.”
Jesus Christ... “Elite one five four three ready for take-off.” I called to control. “Runway two-niner.”
“Copy. Cleared for takeoff. Elite one five four three, runway two niner.”
I pushed the throttle forward, propelling the plane down the runway at maximum speed. The lights on the ground glowed brightly through Atlanta’s dark blue nightfall, and the yellow signs that lined the side of the tarmac gleamed brightly as the plane’s lights shone over them.
We ascended into the air, and faint hints of adrenaline I used to live for rushed through my veins.
Ryan remained in contact with control, shocking me with his sudden professionalism, and as we cleared our cruising altitude of thirty-three thousand feet, I turned off the seatbelt sign.
“Ladies and gentlemen...” Gillian’s voice came over the speakers, rendering me still. “The captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. You are now free to move about the cabin. However, we always recommend to keep your seat belt fastened while you're seated.”
I’ll be damn if she doesn’t talk to me on this flight...
“So,” Ryan said, clearing his throat. “You’re not going to tell me that joke? It actually would help.”
“Sure.” I rolled my eyes and turned to face him. “Knock. Knock.”
He smiled. “Who’s there?”
“Mr. Shut the Fuck Up.” I motioned for him to hand me a clipboard. “Let me test you on some stuff while we’re here so I can feel safe whenever I need to leave and go the restroom.”
Whenever I need to leave and go find Gillian...
***
It took me four hours to convince myself that Ryan was actually a good pilot; he just needed to learn how to take things seriously. When he assured me that he would be okay for five minutes, I left the cockpit and spotted Gillian standing in the closest galley.