Sequel: Vengeful and Accused ›
Status: Writing
Taken and Misused.
Aviophobia.
Aviophobia: the fear of flying.
Boarding the plane to New York I realized I am very much so aviophobic. I mean, who wants to fly up in a metal cylinder with wings hundreds of feet off of the ground. The good, solid, ground. But when I voiced these fears to my mother, Jacqueline, she retorted that more people die in car crashes than in plane crashes. To which I simply said, "well when a plane crashes I'm quite sure you are dead, with a car at least you have a chance." Those words had only earned me a frown, intuitive thinking was wasted on my family. My mother, well actually my step-mom, worked for a fashion designer in Paris, she made lots of money and wore lots of expensive clothes. The only time we really spent mother-daughter time together was when Jacqueline wanted to play dress-up-Elisabeth. Since she had only had a son she’d never gotten to really be motherly and play dress up with her kid. When she married my dad she had decided I had to dress my best all of the time and say bye-bye to regular old jeans.
Before I had left to the airport this morning my half brother Daniel had made my morning horrible, he wanted to go to New York as well but our parents refused to let him go. As any parent would when they were dealing with a testosterone filled nineteen year old who, just recently, had gotten a tattoo. Then when he figured out he wasn't going he did his best to try and make me miss my flight. Hiding my ballet shoes, hiding the car keys from our driver, feigning a fever. He acted like an absolute spoiled brat. Which he was, exactly like his mother in fact.
My father, Jean-Paul, was a lot more supportive for once. He helped me get Daniel out of the way so I could re pack everything he had taken out of my bags. Ever since my father had married Jacqueline he had changed, he no longer took me to parks, or praised me when I danced around in my ballet shoes, he let Jacqueline morph my dancing into a chore and he still hasn't stopped her. Now he spends most of his time working at managing all of the fancy restaurants he owns.
Both my parents are rich, neither are very good at the whole loving and caring thing. They had trouble remembering mine and Daniel’s birthdays and if you had to talk about some trouble you were having, I would suggest not trying to get sympathy out of my parents. Maybe before my dad had gotten married I would have gone to him if someone had hurt my feelings or if I was nervous, now all he did was tell me I was an adult and had to act like one. At last I was leaving the confines of that mansion I had to call home.
Now I was standing by my terminal, bracing myself to board my flight to New York.
"Elisabeth, please hurry otherwise the plane will leave you, god forbid you are late when you arrive" my mother said in her clipped French. French was supposed to be the language of romance, with her it was the language of a head ache.
"I'll call when I land" I replied in French, my soft voice rolling the syllables out like a song.
"Bye, dear" she called before going back out to the driver so she could get back home.
I got onto the plane, the clicks of my heels reverberated off the walls of the small hall way leading to the door of the plane. I was greeted by a smiling sturdiest, I wonder how it feels to smile at every one who passes by you? Do her cheeks hurt? I thought to myself, letting the questions drift away. I continued to think these unasked questions as I passed by interesting people already seated. It helped me get my mind off of leaving the ground and flying in the sky.
I sat down with a heavy sigh, smoothing out my ruffled skirt, fixing my clothes had always been a nervous habit of mine. I closed my crystal blue eyes and leaned my head back, my light blonde hair falling over my shoulders, down to my chest, in small natural waves. I let my mind drift as the sturdiest explained the safety stuff.
When I opened my eyes again the plane was already in the air, I didn't dare look out the window though.
"Would you like something to drink miss?" a flight attendant asked, smiling at me.
"Just a sprite please" I replied, my stomach bubbling with nerves as we sped through the air, held up by nothing but two metal wings and jets.
I drank my sprite greedily when the lady gave it to me, then I decided I could go splash some cold water on my face to clear my thoughts. I unbuckled my seat belt and walked down the aisle towards the bathrooms. I glanced behind me when I heard a baby let out a shrill laugh and ran right into someone.
"Oh, I'm so sorry" I apologized quickly in French, seeing that the man had spilled his coffee onto the little fold down table. For a girl that did ballet, probably the most graceful dance ever, I seemed to do quite a few clumsy things. Such as spilling a man's coffee when he was just about to sit down and enjoy it.
My next apology died on my lips when he turned to face me with a crooked grin pulling on the corners of his lips. He was gorgeous. His hair was dark brown and slightly messy, as if he had just woken up. His eyes were a silvery blue too, but they had little specks of green in them. And he was looking at me with an expectant look. Oh, he had just asked a question.
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, once more in French.
"I don't speak French, do you know English?" he repeated, speaking slowly and making hand motions. So, I could pull off the sudden lapse in speaking as not having understood him at first. Very smooth.
"Oh, yes, I'm sorry, I just assumed since we're in France... I think" I said, not sure exactly what mass of land the air plane was hovering over. As long as it was flying and not falling I was fine.
"I could've used you when I was trying to get around France, no one knew what I was saying" he said with a slight chuckle as he took the paper towels the flight attendant handed him and wiped up the small mess. I didn't know what to say to that so I just apologized again, because I'm just so good at talking to guys. Note the use of sarcasm by the way.
"I'm really sorry" I repeated in English this time, my accent pulling at the words.
"It's fine, I'm sure they can manage to give me another coffee. I'm Vaughn by the way" he said, his grin still on his lips.
I blushed from embarrassment, I had just apologized about a million times after he'd already said it was fine, I hadn't even been paying attention to what he was saying. "Well, um, bye then" I said, stumbling across my words before maneuvering around him and hurrying to the bathrooms.
I splashed some cold water on my face and looked at my reflection. Twenty-one and I still had absolutely no guy-skills, this is what I got for devoting my life to ballet instead of experiencing friends and boyfriends.
Boarding the plane to New York I realized I am very much so aviophobic. I mean, who wants to fly up in a metal cylinder with wings hundreds of feet off of the ground. The good, solid, ground. But when I voiced these fears to my mother, Jacqueline, she retorted that more people die in car crashes than in plane crashes. To which I simply said, "well when a plane crashes I'm quite sure you are dead, with a car at least you have a chance." Those words had only earned me a frown, intuitive thinking was wasted on my family. My mother, well actually my step-mom, worked for a fashion designer in Paris, she made lots of money and wore lots of expensive clothes. The only time we really spent mother-daughter time together was when Jacqueline wanted to play dress-up-Elisabeth. Since she had only had a son she’d never gotten to really be motherly and play dress up with her kid. When she married my dad she had decided I had to dress my best all of the time and say bye-bye to regular old jeans.
Before I had left to the airport this morning my half brother Daniel had made my morning horrible, he wanted to go to New York as well but our parents refused to let him go. As any parent would when they were dealing with a testosterone filled nineteen year old who, just recently, had gotten a tattoo. Then when he figured out he wasn't going he did his best to try and make me miss my flight. Hiding my ballet shoes, hiding the car keys from our driver, feigning a fever. He acted like an absolute spoiled brat. Which he was, exactly like his mother in fact.
My father, Jean-Paul, was a lot more supportive for once. He helped me get Daniel out of the way so I could re pack everything he had taken out of my bags. Ever since my father had married Jacqueline he had changed, he no longer took me to parks, or praised me when I danced around in my ballet shoes, he let Jacqueline morph my dancing into a chore and he still hasn't stopped her. Now he spends most of his time working at managing all of the fancy restaurants he owns.
Both my parents are rich, neither are very good at the whole loving and caring thing. They had trouble remembering mine and Daniel’s birthdays and if you had to talk about some trouble you were having, I would suggest not trying to get sympathy out of my parents. Maybe before my dad had gotten married I would have gone to him if someone had hurt my feelings or if I was nervous, now all he did was tell me I was an adult and had to act like one. At last I was leaving the confines of that mansion I had to call home.
Now I was standing by my terminal, bracing myself to board my flight to New York.
"Elisabeth, please hurry otherwise the plane will leave you, god forbid you are late when you arrive" my mother said in her clipped French. French was supposed to be the language of romance, with her it was the language of a head ache.
"I'll call when I land" I replied in French, my soft voice rolling the syllables out like a song.
"Bye, dear" she called before going back out to the driver so she could get back home.
I got onto the plane, the clicks of my heels reverberated off the walls of the small hall way leading to the door of the plane. I was greeted by a smiling sturdiest, I wonder how it feels to smile at every one who passes by you? Do her cheeks hurt? I thought to myself, letting the questions drift away. I continued to think these unasked questions as I passed by interesting people already seated. It helped me get my mind off of leaving the ground and flying in the sky.
I sat down with a heavy sigh, smoothing out my ruffled skirt, fixing my clothes had always been a nervous habit of mine. I closed my crystal blue eyes and leaned my head back, my light blonde hair falling over my shoulders, down to my chest, in small natural waves. I let my mind drift as the sturdiest explained the safety stuff.
When I opened my eyes again the plane was already in the air, I didn't dare look out the window though.
"Would you like something to drink miss?" a flight attendant asked, smiling at me.
"Just a sprite please" I replied, my stomach bubbling with nerves as we sped through the air, held up by nothing but two metal wings and jets.
I drank my sprite greedily when the lady gave it to me, then I decided I could go splash some cold water on my face to clear my thoughts. I unbuckled my seat belt and walked down the aisle towards the bathrooms. I glanced behind me when I heard a baby let out a shrill laugh and ran right into someone.
"Oh, I'm so sorry" I apologized quickly in French, seeing that the man had spilled his coffee onto the little fold down table. For a girl that did ballet, probably the most graceful dance ever, I seemed to do quite a few clumsy things. Such as spilling a man's coffee when he was just about to sit down and enjoy it.
My next apology died on my lips when he turned to face me with a crooked grin pulling on the corners of his lips. He was gorgeous. His hair was dark brown and slightly messy, as if he had just woken up. His eyes were a silvery blue too, but they had little specks of green in them. And he was looking at me with an expectant look. Oh, he had just asked a question.
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, once more in French.
"I don't speak French, do you know English?" he repeated, speaking slowly and making hand motions. So, I could pull off the sudden lapse in speaking as not having understood him at first. Very smooth.
"Oh, yes, I'm sorry, I just assumed since we're in France... I think" I said, not sure exactly what mass of land the air plane was hovering over. As long as it was flying and not falling I was fine.
"I could've used you when I was trying to get around France, no one knew what I was saying" he said with a slight chuckle as he took the paper towels the flight attendant handed him and wiped up the small mess. I didn't know what to say to that so I just apologized again, because I'm just so good at talking to guys. Note the use of sarcasm by the way.
"I'm really sorry" I repeated in English this time, my accent pulling at the words.
"It's fine, I'm sure they can manage to give me another coffee. I'm Vaughn by the way" he said, his grin still on his lips.
I blushed from embarrassment, I had just apologized about a million times after he'd already said it was fine, I hadn't even been paying attention to what he was saying. "Well, um, bye then" I said, stumbling across my words before maneuvering around him and hurrying to the bathrooms.
I splashed some cold water on my face and looked at my reflection. Twenty-one and I still had absolutely no guy-skills, this is what I got for devoting my life to ballet instead of experiencing friends and boyfriends.