P.S I'm Dying,

The visit to America was loud, but luckily my mom ‘decided’ that we should go to England. I know right? We come all the way from Europe to America and she decides the real place she wants to visit is back in Europe! But I don’t say anything, even though I secretly think there’s something going on and once we get to the airport and my mom only buys one plane ticket; I know there’s something going on.

“Are you leaving me?” I accuse as she takes a seat in the waiting area. She looks tired and old which is insane; my mom’s only twenty-nine. “Actually I’m staying”.

I make a weird face at her. What is she going on about?

“Can you do me a favor?” She asks reaching behind her neck with both her hands.

“Sure” I reply bemused.

“Take care of this for me; it’s a symbol for eternal love. My father gave this to my mother, and although she could’ve given it to my brother to give to his soul mate; she passed it on to me after... after Alex passed away, to remind me that love is never ending” my mom says unhooking her necklace and handing it to me. It’s a pendant with overlapping ovals. She’s never taken it off as far as I know. I put it on and like how the cold metal feels on my throat.

“So what is all this about?”

She smiles weakly and pats the seat next to her, “We need to talk...” I sit down and look around at all the Americans passing by with their loud over-zealous voices. “I know it’s not the best place to have a conversation, and I would’ve told you sooner, but I wanted to spend this past two weeks happily.”

I squint at her, ‘happily’? This was almost nearly hell.

My mom takes a deep breath, “Kat, I’m sending you away...”

“To boarding school...?” I fill in the blank. Ugh, I don’t want to learn.

“No, to live with your fiancé”

I laugh, “Mom, drop the sarcasm please”

“Kat, I wasn’t being sarcastic”

I stare at her with a frozen smile on my face, then I start spluttering, “You- I- your- psh- I mean- WHAT?!”

“You’re engaged to a man from England”

“And you’re a three-eyed platypus”

“What?”

“What are you talking about, mom? Are you off your meds again?” I accuse. She isn’t serious, right?

“His name is Elijah Worthington IV. His family is one of the richest in England, nearly royalty, really.”

I don’t want to know his name! I picture a forty year old pedophile with expensive clothes and a nasty smile. I nearly cry.

She sighs, “Kat, I just think that this will be good for you. I-I don’t want to admit it, but I can’t care for you anymore”

My eyes burn; this is what I’ve always been afraid of. That she’d realize I wasn’t worth the trouble. I mean, she’d already lost the love of her life to this stupid disease, maybe I was too much to handle.

I clear my throat, “I understand, m—“I can’t bear to say ‘mom’ so I skip over it, “But why can’t you send me to live at another orphanage? I’m too young to be married! Isn’t this illegal?”

“With my written permission, once you turn sixteen you can be legally wed...” She doesn’t look into my eyes. She’s secretly saying that in half a year’s time I won’t be her problem anymore, and she isn’t even going to stick around for the ‘wedding’ or, possibly, the funeral.

Suddenly I’m angry. I’m so mad at her that, even though it will spoil our last moments together, I want to hurt her as much as she’s hurt me.

“Why did you even bother?” I spit out at her. “Why did you even adopt me if you were going to give up on me in the end?”

My—Dr. Night opens her mouth to answer automatically, “Alex asked me to”

Oh, okay, so her deceased boyfriend asks her to take care of a kid in Switzerland before he dies. Yeah, any rational person drops their life and does what their deceased boyfriend asked them to.

I shake my head with sorrow and confusion.

“Flight 923 is now boarding” The intercom says. My mom jumps, but hands me the plane ticket, which I take rudely, “Goodbye, Katherine”

She stands up as I do and hands me my bags. I look at my adoptive mother and she stares back at me with closed eyes. I try, for the last time, to convey a message that says ‘I love you. I’ll miss you. You’ve been a great mother and although you don’t want me anymore, it’s okay, I can’t possibly ask for more’ through my eyes, but I just say, “Goodbye, Dr. Night”

She flinches but nods and I watch as she turns around and leaves without a look back. Shouldn’t it be the opposite way?

“Last call for flight 923”

I sigh but raise my head and make the journey aboard the scary-looking plane. The flight attendants are too cheerful and I immediately hate them, even when they instruct me to my seat, haul my suitcase in the top compartment, and offer me a Dr. Pepper.

I decline, lay my head back, close my eyes, and slightly curse at the world for giving me a window-seat. I may or may not be extremely afraid of heights.

“Stupid sadists, they only smile to make money. I mean honestly, that’s nearly prostitution!” I mutter to myself. I have a habit of doing that when I’m frustrated. “I could sue”

“Indeed, you can,” says a voice so close to me that I let out my best Hollywood-about-to-be-eaten-by-Godzilla scream. When I open my eyes, I realize that everyone’s staring at me, including the perpetrator. I cough awkwardly, “Um, I thought I saw a snake...” The passengers roll their eyes at me and go back to whatever they were doing.

I look back at the boy. He’s older than me by at least two years, but not old enough to be eighteen, I’m sure. He’s British, that much is obvious, but he’s also gorgeous; shaggy black hair, sparkling violet eyes, a crooked smirk, and a lean and flexible looking body underneath very stylish black clothes. I have the urge to say ‘yum’.

“My name’s—“he begins to say, but I cut him off.

“No offence, dude, but I don’t care. If you’re the person I have to sit next to in this thing, well word of advice; be prepared for a lot of hyperventilating and screaming” I shudder.

“But the worst part is over, we’re in the air now” he says smiling.

My eyes widen and I turn to look at the window. Indeed we are. I gulp and turn back to the guy, he’s smirking. “Well, um, thanks for distracting me”

I eye him wearily, he seems too eager. Guys aren’t exactly crazy for me. I’m sarcastic and refuse to wear clothes that aren’t two sizes bigger than what I should wear. I pull at my dark grey hoodie nervously and turn back to the window, meaning to ignore him the whole ride, (I mean c’mon, my mom just sold me off to some rich old dude; I need time to mourn and strategize an escape plan.) but the guy says “How’s the weather?”

I roll my eyes at him and his small talk attempt, “I dunno, why don’t you stick your head out the window and see?” I suggest without enthusiasm.

He smirks at my quip, “Well, aren’t you feisty”

I refuse the urge to flip him off; I am a lady after all.

Somewhat.

“So you’re going to Brighton?” he asks earnestly.

“Boy, you British people sure are weird. It’s pronounced Britain in my native land”

He rolls his eyes at me and thumps his head, “Oh dear, you Americans sure are daft. Brighton is the city we’re flying into” he explains slowly as if I would have trouble comprehending.

I narrow my eyes at him, “First of; I’m Swiss, not American”

He blinks bemused, “But you don’t have an accent”

“Yeah, well I was raised by Americans... So yeah” I don’t really feel like delving into the whole I’ve been an orphan since I was like three and surrounded 24/7 by American doctors.

He laughs, “Figures. So, if I may ask, what canton are you from?”

Cantons are a type of division in a country; sort of like states in America.

“Geneva” I say in the French way; an accent in the second ‘e’ and not pronouncing the ‘a’.
He raises an eyebrow at me, “Parlez-vous français?”

“Um, I understand it” I reply in plain old English. The way the Swiss people said ‘Geneva’ had always stuck with me, so I said it that way, too. Actually, I love French in general. I do wish I could speak it; I mean, it sounds so exotic... So passionate. But sadly, I can’t speak it without spitting or developing an annoying lisp, that’s why I didn’t really gain any friends at school this past year. They thought I was an American exchange student, even though I’ve known some of them since elementary school.

He smirks, “Well, isn’t that quite interesting; you’re a Swiss English-speaking American-like girl who is not from America, even though we just dispatched from L.A, headed to Great Britain and you did not know the exact city until five minutes ago... You should write a book”
I roll my eyes; feeling a need to blush; is he criticizing or complimenting me?

His smirk tells me that it’s both.
_____________________

It’s been nearly 12 hours and currently dark outside my window. We’re almost to Brighton and it’s around four a.m. here. Most of the passengers are asleep, including the guy next to me. It took him forever to leave me alone. He kept asking questions and making comments; I thought seventeen year olds were supposed to be distant and moody?? Admittedly I enjoyed his company and he really is drop dead gorgeous, but... I don’t know. Maybe I’ve just been accustomed to the dead end-feel of my life that I can’t appreciate anything-or anyone friendly and nice.

It doesn’t matter; in less than half an hour I’m going to meet my fiancé.

I sigh; it should be around eight p.m. back in California. I briefly wonder what my mother is doing. (I gave up on the whole Dr. Night thing, she did the best she could, I can’t blame her for that.) I’m pretty sure she’s with her sister, where we were staying at. Where she left her bags this morning and I was too stupid to notice.

I don’t really know what made me do it, but I’ve decided to do what she wants me to. I know, I know; I was planning on escaping to Russia or something once this plane landed, but really, it’s hopeless. I have no one else to care for me and I’m only fifteen. Maybe she really did try her best to put me in good hands, and it’s not like she put me in an orphanage. She’s giving me to someone who will most likely be able to give me what I need for the time being.

I wonder if she told him about my disease. Maybe the poor old man doesn’t even know? For some reason that makes me feel guilty; he’s probably going to try to spoil me with all his money while waiting for me to turn sixteen and be his wife, while I know there probably isn’t a chance of that happening; I mean if my mom gave up, then it’s pretty much hopeless.

Maybe I’ll tell the poor man, just to spear him grief.

I sigh and turn to look at the window. I can’t see the stars; it’s all black-blue, like my hair.

My thoughts turn to Alex Winters; the namesake of the disease. He was my mom’s true love, as lame as that sounds. She told me all about him and how they fell in love. Fortunately, the story wasn’t sappy at all. He hated her, she thought he was a loser; not your average love story, and I wish I could say ‘but it all worked out in the end’, but alas, I cannot. He died, she moved on; the end.

Wow; I am such a cynical person. I roll my eyes at myself, I’m not sure if I believe in love yet. I mean I love my mom and my birth mom, but it’s not the same as the romantic type.

I guess it all goes back to the disease; while other six year old girls were dressing up and reading fairytales, I was being tested and taught about the different toxins my body produced each day. It doesn’t make for a very bright childhood.

The one thing colorful I was allowed was music. No, I’m not a talented guitarist waiting to be discovered, nor do I sing like an angel; but I love music. The doctors say that research has shown music to be healing in beneficial ways; I honestly don’t care about its medical quality, but I nodded in agreement with the doctors when they brought it up.

Secretly, I thought they might prohibit me from listening to it; before my mom showed up, they were absolute nutcases. One even made me eat broccoli five times a day for two weeks until I built up an allergic reaction to it.

I shake my head and smile at the bizarre memory.

“Good morning, passengers, it’s your captain of the skies here. Please start collecting your personal belongings; we shall be landing in five minutes”

I groan and lean back; I had planned to get some sleep before we landed. The next time I sleep it’s probably going to be in some pedophile’s house.

“Good morning, sunshine” I laugh as Mr. Brighton-is-a-city lets out a huge yawn and shakes his hair sleepily. It’s pretty long so it covers his eyes as he says, “’Morning”

I smile, “Well, dude, I guess I should say that I’ve really enjoyed your company, even if you’re a bit of a —ahhhh!”

He jumps and turns to stare at me bemused as I scream at the top of my lungs, “What is the matter?”

“We’re going to die!!” I yell, looking past him to the opposite window. The people don’t bother staring at me anymore as I keep screaming.

“We’re just landing” he says bewildered by my reaction. I turn away from the window and stop mid-scream, “DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT WE ARE GOING TO DIE?!?! I SAW FINAL DESTINATION! I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN DEATH IS OUT TO GET YOU!!” I hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but I wasn’t really competent at the moment.

“What are you going on about, you daft girl??” he blinks at me as his hands flutter around looking for a way to comfort me, but I keep jumping around.

“VIRGEN MARIA! HIJO DE SU—“ I curse out.

He shakes his head in amazement, “Is that Spanish??”

But I’m screaming again before he finishes. I can already imagine us crashing into the ground. Tomorrow’s headline: SWISS GIRL DIES IN TRAGIC PLANE ACCIDENT!

Accident my ass! Death is out to get me! As my scream finishes, I take a deep breath, “If I don’t make it—tell my great-grandchildren I love them”

As I start to hyperventilate, he begins to laugh, “If you don’t make it, what makes you think I will?”

Before I can respond—or scream—the sky lady comes on the intercom thing again “Hold on folks, we’re having a bit of a problem with the wind. Buckle your seatbelts and avoid looking out the windows, please”

My eyes nearly pop out and I look incredulously at the Mr. We’re-just-landing; “SEE!!”

And just as I’m turning to look out the window and assess the situation, and possibly scream some more, he does something so absurd it shocks me into silence. With a look of bewilderment, as if he did not know what he was doing, he grabs both my shoulders and forces my body to face him. Then he mashes his mouth to mine.

And it’s like fireworks... only not so cheesy. More like Pop Rocks, but the blue kind, I don’t like strawberry. And it’s purely chemical; nothing magic about it; just that it feels amazing.

And all too soon he’s pulled away. It takes me a moment to realize that the plane has landed. It takes me another moment to hear the passengers clapping for the guy that silenced the screaming girl. And yet another moment to realize that he’s gone.

I look around dazed. I lick my lips and it takes me yet another moment to realize why it feels weird.

He made my lips go numb.