The Night Skies

I always hated flying. The mere thought of being up so high in a metal contraption, which has little to no chance of survival if it were to crash, made me very nervous, not to mention anxious. Nothing freaked me out more than not being in control of my environment, or knowing exactly what was going on in the pilot’s cabin.

Usually, anytime I needed to go somewhere, I would just hop into my little beat up truck and drive. I would drive from my hometown in Venice Beach, California all the way to Cape Elizabeth, Maine in my truck before I even considered going anywhere near an airplane. As long as I was in control, I was okay. Control, to me, was like a boost of bravery.

Maybe that’s why I felt so out of my element around guys, especially Oliver Sykes. Around him, I wasn’t in control at all. My sensibility flew out the window when he was around, along with my wit, lung capacity, normal heartbeat, and self-control. That worried me, big time.

What worried me more was the fact I was willing to fly for him. Anyone who could convince me that getting into what I consider a death trap was really something special.

And Oliver was special to me. He meant more than any guy had ever before. I don’t even like admitting it without knocking on wood or denying it immediately after.

The light was just now beginning to fade outside, turning from blue to orange and pink. It would become black while my flight was in air. Sitting around in one of those uncomfortable plastic airport chairs was making me more nervous than the actual flight would. I guess air ports had a better sense of humor than me, telling people to arrive two or more hours early just to play the uneasy waiting game.

But I guess you could say I was used to the waiting game.

Oli and I were extremely unconventional. We were together, but not together. In a way, when we were with each other, we were like every other couple, but when we were apart, there was no hope for us. And that said a lot, considering the longest consecutive stretch of time we had been together was two months, and I hadn’t seen him in three. So there I was, waiting for him, standard as always.

I guess that was what I deserved for falling in love with someone who only took me on as a dare. Yes, you heard correctly, a dare. The only reason Oliver Sykes approached me outside of a show in L.A. was because Lee Malia and Matt Nicholls dared him to, and that's all there is to it.

“That one, Olleh. Yeh see the slightly plump one ovah there? Her.”

That’s what they told him, and he obliged, coming toward me in his stupid swagger with that infamous smirk on his lips. That night Oliver tried his best to come off as cunning and flirtatious, but I could tell he really was not interested at all. How could he be? I wasn’t thin, or blonde, or remotely his type. So I made him a deal.

“Okay, listen, you and I both know you’re not interested. So do whatever it is your friends told you to and just leave it at that.” I told him, being braver and blunter than I think I ever have.

He peered down at me through his dark lashes, smirking. “They want me to kiss yeh.”

I struggled to keep my racing heart under control. I needed to play off the fact that I found him attractive and would not mind the kiss. There is nothing like smooching a boy who obviously wants nothing to do with you. I raised my eyebrows and egged him on.

Oliver’s hands were stuffed deep into his pockets even as he leaned down and ghosted his lips over mine. There was still enough space between our mouths to slip a sheet of paper through. Was this the best the Oliver Sykes could do? I guess he was wondering the same thing about himself, because he forced himself a little closer to me and cut off any miniscule space between our lips.

My eyes were still open, locked straight onto his. I would not close my eyes unless he did first, which I didn't believe he would. With eyes open and lips pressed motionlessly together, this was no doubt the most awkward kiss I had ever experienced.

And then something changed. Oliver was suddenly tilting his head to the side and molded his lips against mine. He pulled his hand from his pocket and replaced it on the side of my face. His fingers even went so far as to caress the skin of my cheekbone. It was suddenly starting to feel like fireworks were going off in my stomach.

I tilted my head back just enough to release my lips from his. “What are you doing?”

Oliver shook his head, as if he didn’t really know himself, and moved his other hand from his pocket and replaced it on my hip. He pulled me fully against him and connected our lips once more. I was soon completely absorbed into his touch and I couldn’t stop my eyes from closing, especially not after his shut first.

That was how the Oliver-Corinne relationship began. It started in the most awkward, yet amazing, way only to spiral into a complicated and difficult relationship. Which lead to me being in love, and crazy, enough to fly across the ocean to England.

“Flight 403, LAX to JFK, now boarding.”

I took a deep breath and stood up from my chair, pulling my carry-on bag over my shoulder. I had to force myself to walk towards the loading tunnel, knowing that it was too late for me to chicken out now.

I walked through the long, stuffy tunnel, entered the plain by the hatch door, and then made my way through the claustrophobic cabin until I reached my seat. I sat, buckled, and gripped the armrest for dear life. There was a word for this, right? Fear of flying was aerophobia, or something of that manner. Well, I had it, and I had it bad.

A middle-aged couple dressed in business attire occupied the two seats next to me, between the window and I. They looked poised and relaxed, like pros at the whole flying thing. I wonder if they would laugh at me closing my eyes during the take off and landing.

Like a robot, I followed all of the instructions the steward recited. I kept my bag under my seat, locked the pull down tray in place, secured my seatbelt even tighter than it was when I first buckled it, and kept my head against the seat while taking off.

I spent a total of five hours in panic attack mode with my eyes tightly shut. The flight was full of turbulence, which did nothing to calm me down. And then the plane landed in JFK International Airport and I began the unruly waiting game once again, considering the thirty-minute layover.

Again, I found myself positioned in an uncomfortable chair with strangers scattered around me. I took my phone from my pocket and texted the one person who would understand.

I hate you.

Oliver wouldn’t get the text for another couple of hours, seeing as it was 9 p.m. New York time and 2 a.m. in Sheffield. Though it was possible I'd get the chance to tell him in person before he even had a chance to look at the text, because the current schedule Oli was on required him to be up by 5 a.m. – perfect for my arrival time.

I started to turn off my phone after the text, knowing I would have to on the plane anyways. The little message icon popped up, reading “From Oliver,” but it was too late for me to read it. I had already held down the button long enough to make the screen go black.

Once more, I found myself boarding a plane and taking off on what could be a suicide mission. Only this time, I was stuck in a window seat, unable to avoid the now dark sky beyond the window. I had a view of the stars and moon. In contrast to the darkened cabin and ocean sky, they were bright, lending their light to the skies.

But they were also tricking me as Oliver always did. They seemed so close, nearly tangible, but were really light years away. Unlike the stars though, this plane wasn’t taking me closer to heaven. Instead, it was taking me closer to Oliver.

I stared out the window, watching my breath fog up the glass and cloud my view of the stars, before closing my eyes and praying I could sleep the rest of the seven-hour flight.

I woke up when the plane landed. The harsh movement of tires hitting the landing strip was enough to startle me awake. I quickly regained my composure and realized the view outside was a mild contrast to the one I'd fallen asleep to. The stars were starting to fade away, replaced with the beginnings of dawn.

I was so relieved that I made it to England alive that I hardly followed the organized order of exiting the plane. Instead, I slipped through everyone and made it out with the first group.

I didn’t want to run out and hug him or do the teary, airport reunion. So once I exited the tunnel, I wiped the excited expression off my face, replaced it with a mellow happiness, and walked carefully towards the baggage claim. No doubt, he would see through every cover-up.

My rush wasn’t worth it though. By the baggage and pick up zone, there was no overly tattooed boy waiting for me with my heart in hand. There was no sign of any of his rowdy friends or nice parents, not even his similar younger brother.

Remembering my phone, and my unread text, I turned it on and checked my messages, hoping it would include a warning of being late. Instead, it contained the three lovely words that sounded so much better when spoken aloud; I love you.

Despite the amazing contents of the text, I couldn’t stop my stomach from creating the nervous feeling. It was as if I was quickly dropping in an elevator.

“Looking for someone?” The voice came from behind me, but was so close I would feel his breath on my skin. I immediately broke out into goose bumps.

I turned, bumping into the tattoo-covered chest of Oliver Sykes. I instantly flung my arms around his slim body.

“I thought you’d forgotten.” I admitted, my voice muffled by the soft fabric of his v-neck.

Just as eager, Oliver snaked his painted arms around me and held me close. I felt his chest move with a small laugh as I listened to his soft heartbeat.

“How could I forget to pick yeh up, ‘specially after yeh hate me?” he whispered into my hair.

I pulled back, not answering, and kissed him. As his lips parted to meet mine, a part of my brain was screaming for me to drag him off towards the nearest bathroom and make up for lost time, but just because my anti-reunion airport cover was blown, didn’t mean my composure had to go with it.

I heard a cough to the left of us and turned to face Oliver’s brother, Tom. He was smiling cheekily at me. “Right, well enough of that. Let’s get out of ‘ere before the sun comes up, yeah?”