Love&Drugs

As I wait for my flight to board, I stare at the woman sitting across from me. She stares at her phone, the little wrinkles at the corners of her eyes becoming more prominent as she makes a disapproving expression. She reminds me of my mother with that look and I find myself hating her. Its the same look I get when I take a bite into my second piece of cake or say something I shouldn't. It's a look I'm really damn familiar with.

Or at least I used to be.

I look down at my wrist, realizing I've been scratching it raw for the past couple minutes. It feels weird, not having the laminated white bracelet on it and I realize that for the first time in a year someone won't be able to look at my wrist to find out my name or birthday. I smirk at my legs, allowing my hair to fall in front of my face so nobody sees me smiling to myself like a weirdo. Not that I really care.

I can't stop bouncing my legs though. I take deep breaths, sucking in air like a fish out of water. With my sole suitcase sitting next to me, the trip home to Arizona is so daunting that I can't help but contemplate purchasing a random ticket, to anywhere, and hiding in some far away city where my past has no chance of coming back to haunt me. I know I won't do it though. I'm too much of a coward.

Suddenly, my flight is announced overhead and I sigh as I stand up, stretching out stiff legs. I'm almost thankful to finally walk down the ramp, knowing that I'm almost to the point of no return. I have to go back to Arizona. I have to.

As I approach the entrance to the plane, my anxiety of returning home turns to anxiety of riding on a plane. For as long as I can remember, I've been terrified of heights and claustrophobic. Two things which literally define a plane ride. Chewing my lip until it hurts, I breathe in and out through my nose. If only I wasn't such a little bitch.

As I step onto the plane, I freeze. My body is in fight or flight and at this point I feel like making a break for it. Because I can't do this. I, Alice Bennet, cannot. ride. an airplane. Period. Done. This can't happen, I have to get off. Spinning around, I'm met with a line of other passengers, all staring at me blankly. I can't see any space to squeeze back up the ramp and my panic amplifies. The space is so narrow, so closed in. I can sense when the flight attendant slides up next to me and I tense even more, if at all possible.

"Miss, please take your seat, you're holding up the line."

I turn back to the way I was facing and find a blonde flight attendant smiling at me stiffly, her red uniform recently pressed and her face caked in concealer. When I don't move, her expression turns harder, her teeth clench more decidedly. I find a piece of my mother in her too and immediately, I don't like her either.

"Miss, this plane is on a schedule and I apologize but we do not have time to stall boarding."

I take a deep breath and clench my fists, my knuckles turning a creamy white under the pressure.

"I can't." I whisper it lowly but I am sure she hears, she just doesn't care.

"Miss, if there is a problem here I can contact security." The flight attendant adopts a new, pleading expression. As though she actually cares about having to do something like that and I scoff. A new, flaming anger races through my bloodstream, momentarily masking my fear and I take a step towards her.

"That won't be necessary." A voice from behind me speaks up, his tone husky and soft. I'm surprised but I don't look back. I continue to stare at the attendant silently.

Just as I'm about to open my mouth to tell her off, I feel a cold hand grab my arm just above the elbow. I feel the stranger's chest come in contact with my back. His body is solid, his fingers long and gentle on my arm, where they burn my raging hot skin with his relaxed coolness.

"She's with me."

I look up and over at him in shock, completely sure I'm not "with" anyone here. He's much taller than myself, my head landing only slightly higher up than his armpit. He looks young and confident, his worn in leather jacket and messy hair giving his appearance an element of roughness. I feel myself dying to say something but I just look at him in confusion, panic, and mild irritation and after a second his eyes slide down to meet mine. Their shade of green is scorching and he gives me a sidelong look, nodding subtly as if to reassure me.

"It's her first time flying," he explains, simultaneously shooting the woman a charming crooked smile which exposes straight white teeth. Like the airhead she is, the woman nods and sends him a flirty smirk, holding eye contact for a tad too long to be polite. I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to stop fidgeting and shaking. I'm anxious and confused and just as I'm about to ask the attendant to get me the hell off the plane, the man begins to push me forward. He's gentle, but forceful and when I try to stop moving he doesn't let me. When I try to spin around his hands remain clamped on my sides

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I snap, trying to wrench out of his grip.

"Helping you. Where are you sitting?" he asks calmly, completely ignoring the fact that I clearly don't want help. When I refuse to respond, he rips the ticket out of my clenched hand and looks at it.

"Your seat is straight ahead," he says but I don't answer.

I continue to stare at him and when a passenger behind him clears her throat expectantly, he raises his eyebrows. As if to say "Well? Are you really going to cause more trouble now that I saved you?".

Shaking my head, I walk down the aisle and collapse in my seat. I have the window seat and I try to swallow my further surprise when the guy sits down two seats over from me. Sometimes the coincidences are too unbelievable to be real.

After the plane is completely boarded and we're preparing for take off, I realize that the seat between myself and the mystery guy is still empty. To be honest though, it doesn't matter. I am completely consumed by anxiety.

I chew my nails and bounce my legs. I pick a spot on the seat in front of me and stare at it, trying to focus on the patterns in the material rather then anything else. It doesn't work. After a moment's hesitation, I make up my mind and grab my purse. The pill bottle is all the way at the bottom but as soon as I find it, I pop it open and throw two in my mouth, swallowing them dry so I feel as they pass through my throat.

"So is it actually your first time flying or are you just always like this?"

I nearly jump when he speaks up again, not expecting him to. For the first time, I'm able to completely look at him. He's dressed in a casual, edgy, yet still very boyish fashion and I'm slightly surprised at how stylish he is. His jaw is defined with slight stubble shadowing his features and I can make out the hint of some tattoos on his chest and collar bones underneath his thin t-shirt. He's attractive, undeniably so.

I only shrug in response to his question but he doesn't seem fazed and moves into the seat closest to me.

" I used to hate flying. I do a lot of traveling though so I had to get over it," he comments with a smirk. I meet his eyes, not sure why he's continuing to talk to me when I'm being so rude.

"I don't like being in situations I can't control," I admit after a pause, feeling like I need to say something.

I only make eye contact for a moment further before I turn back to look out my window. It's quiet for a while and I think the guy is finally going to leave me alone but then he speaks up again.

"So are you heading home or away?" he asks, surprising me by his lack of reservation. Most people would consider his persistence as impolite.

The word home brings a tightness to my throat but I nod slightly and glance at him, mouthing "home". He watches me intently. It's unnerving. He waits, implying I should continue and I sigh slightly. Might as well give him something, if only to scare him into leaving me alone.

"I've been in a treatment center in Philly for the past year."

I watch him for any change in expression but none comes, and I can't decide if he honestly isn't affected or just very good at hiding it.

"Were you sick?"

I feel my eyebrows raise at his boldness.

"No. Just fucking crazy." He's silent for a moment and I avoid looking at him. This is it. Now he'll gravitate away like his life depends on it.

"Well, I could be wrong, but you sure don't seem like one of the crazies to me," he says casually, as if we're discussing the weather. I bite my lip, quickly turning to look at him again. This boy is full of surprises.

I sigh, calculating how I want this situation to go.

"We're all crazy, I'm just not the acceptable kind," I tell him, watching as the intrigue on his features grows.

"And what kind are you then, exactly?" he asks, leaning towards me enough to make me uncomfortable.

When I don't respond he repeats himself and that pisses me off. Suddenly, I'm fuming, unable to believe this guy, and I try to contain myself.

"Am I bothering you?" he asks after I ignore him again, his face twisted in an amused expression from where I can see it in my peripheral vision. I look at him blankly.

"Yes."

At that, he laughs, shaking his head simultaneously and I have to look away again. Once he stops, he remains silent and after ten minutes of nothing I begin to feel a little bad.

"My doctor... claims I'm bipolar and my parents say I'm depressed but I don't really give shit," I say quietly, continuing the conversation as though no time has passed between. The guy's lack of reaction to both the sudden comment and the explanation, once again, surprises me.

"And they make you take medicine because of that?" he asks, without judgment in his voice, referring to the pills I took only a few minutes before. I shake my head and pick at the hole in my jean shorts, simultaneously rubbing my boot against the floor in discomfort.

"Nobody can make me do anything, I choose to act however I do. They tell me I should but I don't, the only reason I did now is because of the exact reason I usually choose not to. When I take it, I don't feel right. All of the clarity is gone. But I hate flying and if it makes this whole experience less difficult that's fine with me."

He listens intently as I speak, so intently I'm nearly blushing and I never do that.

"Why do you care?" I ask after a pause, suddenly confused and angry once more, before he can say anything else. I look up at him just in time to catch his shrug.

"You seem different. Not like anybody else I've ever met."

I raise my eyebrows at him.

"I don't mean that how it probably sounded. What I meant was, sometimes the most worthwhile things are the most misunderstood."

His words stun me and I'm left wondering how to respond. After a moment of silence, he changes the subject for me.

"So don't you think you're a little too pale to live in Arizona?" he asks dryly, smirking when I look at him. People aren't usually as blunt as I tend to be.

"I guess. Don't you think you're a little too skinny to call yourself a guy?" I shoot back, watching as he throws his head back and laughs.

"Touché." He stares at me a moment longer, a soft grin molding his thin lips, before sticking out a hand.

"I'm John."

I look at him and his smile grows. I take it.

"Alice."