Made
The Girl Who Never Wants to be Alone
Laila didn't sleep on the plane to London.
It was an overnight flight, and he'd intentionally purchased first class for the both of them, only to have her trade her seat with a young mother in Coach. He wanted to watch over her, which is probably why she'd switched. She really was quite clever.
Laila hadn't realized he didn't live in L.A., and her shock had quickly grown to panic when he told her that he lived in London. She'd been spending the last few hours before the plane ride explaining the benefits of Newcastle, but he refused to move. He couldn't help but wonder if that had an impact on her change in seats as well.
He could see on her face that she hadn't slept. Her eyes were baggy and red, and she had troubles staying on her feet. He couldn't actually remember the last time she had slept. But he had gotten her to eat a whole muffin before take off, so he felt victorious in one aspect, and too exhausted to look at any others.
She breezed through security in a way that was really alarming. She merely flashed her passport and was on her way. He had to stay for a whole questionnaire, culminating in subtly asking him if he was part of the IRA. Knowing that Laila was waiting on the other side of the wall was the only thing preventing him from throwing a fit. He barely had an Irish accent. And he couldn't help the color of his hair.
Laila was tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for him.
"I want a cigarette," she said. He gave her a little pat on the head, bracing himself for her fit.
"You'll have to wait. We've got to take the tube to Euston."
"Why? What's at Euston?"
He grimaced. "We've got to go to Manchester."
Laila laughed. "You're fucking lying."
He sighed. "I didn't want to leave you alone. It'll just be a few days. I've already got a flat rented, it'll be fine."
"I'm not fucking going to Manchester," she spit.
"Well I'm not leaving you in London."
"If it's just a few days, why've you got a flat?" she asked.
"What if you like it?"
"I fucking hate Manchester," she said.
Laila threw him one last glare, and walked towards a bar. He probably going to have to drag her out of there. He chuckled at the thought of him making her do anything before the sight of Nick holding her by the hair came up. He lost his humour after that.
Michael watched from a safe distance as she flashed her passport and was immediately given a drink. He frowned, thinking of how easily she had gotten past security.
He waited for her to finish her drink (which she did in about two gulps) before dragging her towards the tube station. She went with him, but glared at him the whole time.
"You need-" he began, but she pulled out an Oyster card from a pocket of her duffle bag, and was already through. He hurried to catch up as she descended the escalator.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
She refused to look at him, but answered anyway. "I live here."
"You live in London?"
She rolled her eyes.
"What, like, all the time? Where?"
"Rotherhithe."
He paused, thinking about the location. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't know where that is."
"Near the Thames."
"Shit," he said. "I live in Hackney."
She sighed. "It doesn't matter. I can give it up. I just like waterfront properties."
"Why?"
"Easiest to get away."
She smirked, boarding the train that had come while he realized just how many pages she had taken out of her file.
He sat down next to her on the surprisingly empty train.
"What do you have to get away from?" he asked, his brow furrowed.
"Not everyone likes me as much as you."
He smirked. "I don't like you at all."
"No, you just make sure I eat, and take me everywhere with you, and pay for my way, and look at my tits when you think I'm not looking."
He frowned. That was once.
She looked at his expression and laughed. "You're not too bad, Fass," she said.
He grinned and turned towards her just as the tube began to move, preparing to ask her about her name. But he felt a pressure on his arm, and looked down to see her leaning against him, instantly asleep. He sighed, wrapping his arm around her, and adjusting her legs so that she was spread out on the mostly still empty seats. Though there was nothing to look at, he stared aimlessly out the giant windows. If she could stay asleep, their four hour trip to Manchester would be perfect.
It was an overnight flight, and he'd intentionally purchased first class for the both of them, only to have her trade her seat with a young mother in Coach. He wanted to watch over her, which is probably why she'd switched. She really was quite clever.
Laila hadn't realized he didn't live in L.A., and her shock had quickly grown to panic when he told her that he lived in London. She'd been spending the last few hours before the plane ride explaining the benefits of Newcastle, but he refused to move. He couldn't help but wonder if that had an impact on her change in seats as well.
He could see on her face that she hadn't slept. Her eyes were baggy and red, and she had troubles staying on her feet. He couldn't actually remember the last time she had slept. But he had gotten her to eat a whole muffin before take off, so he felt victorious in one aspect, and too exhausted to look at any others.
She breezed through security in a way that was really alarming. She merely flashed her passport and was on her way. He had to stay for a whole questionnaire, culminating in subtly asking him if he was part of the IRA. Knowing that Laila was waiting on the other side of the wall was the only thing preventing him from throwing a fit. He barely had an Irish accent. And he couldn't help the color of his hair.
Laila was tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for him.
"I want a cigarette," she said. He gave her a little pat on the head, bracing himself for her fit.
"You'll have to wait. We've got to take the tube to Euston."
"Why? What's at Euston?"
He grimaced. "We've got to go to Manchester."
Laila laughed. "You're fucking lying."
He sighed. "I didn't want to leave you alone. It'll just be a few days. I've already got a flat rented, it'll be fine."
"I'm not fucking going to Manchester," she spit.
"Well I'm not leaving you in London."
"If it's just a few days, why've you got a flat?" she asked.
"What if you like it?"
"I fucking hate Manchester," she said.
Laila threw him one last glare, and walked towards a bar. He probably going to have to drag her out of there. He chuckled at the thought of him making her do anything before the sight of Nick holding her by the hair came up. He lost his humour after that.
Michael watched from a safe distance as she flashed her passport and was immediately given a drink. He frowned, thinking of how easily she had gotten past security.
He waited for her to finish her drink (which she did in about two gulps) before dragging her towards the tube station. She went with him, but glared at him the whole time.
"You need-" he began, but she pulled out an Oyster card from a pocket of her duffle bag, and was already through. He hurried to catch up as she descended the escalator.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
She refused to look at him, but answered anyway. "I live here."
"You live in London?"
She rolled her eyes.
"What, like, all the time? Where?"
"Rotherhithe."
He paused, thinking about the location. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't know where that is."
"Near the Thames."
"Shit," he said. "I live in Hackney."
She sighed. "It doesn't matter. I can give it up. I just like waterfront properties."
"Why?"
"Easiest to get away."
She smirked, boarding the train that had come while he realized just how many pages she had taken out of her file.
He sat down next to her on the surprisingly empty train.
"What do you have to get away from?" he asked, his brow furrowed.
"Not everyone likes me as much as you."
He smirked. "I don't like you at all."
"No, you just make sure I eat, and take me everywhere with you, and pay for my way, and look at my tits when you think I'm not looking."
He frowned. That was once.
She looked at his expression and laughed. "You're not too bad, Fass," she said.
He grinned and turned towards her just as the tube began to move, preparing to ask her about her name. But he felt a pressure on his arm, and looked down to see her leaning against him, instantly asleep. He sighed, wrapping his arm around her, and adjusting her legs so that she was spread out on the mostly still empty seats. Though there was nothing to look at, he stared aimlessly out the giant windows. If she could stay asleep, their four hour trip to Manchester would be perfect.