Mont Blanc

I raced to the front of the queue in an, as usual, very packed LAX airport. I continued to hold the bag of ice to my cheek as it stung in pain. I had to go to my parent’s house after I went to Brian’s, and as you can tell, it didn’t go very well. As soon as walked into the living room my dad’s fist was round my cheek, punching me, then going on about ‘knocking some sense into my queer minded brain’. My mom on the other hand had come round the idea slightly and gave me the ice. I had to go back to that hell hole because on my way, I realized I was still only sixteen and I wasn’t allowed to leave the country without permission. I got her to sign one of the slips that I found in the bottom of my suitcase, obviously left over from our last trip, and within ten minutes I was back into the taxi.

I stood behind one of the oldest, slowest people on the planet who were talking to the hostess behind the counter about something to do with leg room. My passport and my permission slip were tightly in my hand with the money my mom had given me and the money I had before tightly and safely in the bottom of my pocket.

“Next please!” I heard a yell from in front of me.

I walked over to the desk where a woman dressed in bright uniform was sat behind it.

“What is the quickest flight you have to anywhere in Europe?” I asked.

“Where about were you thinking sir?”

“Anywhere, just somewhere nice,” I smiled.

“We have a flight that’s leaving to Milan Airport in twenty minutes,” She spoke kindly.

“Perfect,” I said as my head shot up.

I handed over my card as she told me the price, which I paid no attention to at all. I honestly didn’t care where I went as long as it was away from here. In the back of my mind, what I was doing was a bit drastic and stupid, but I may as well go away, I have nothing left for me here.

I took my passport, my card and my ticket from the smiley woman and made my way into the departure lounge. I sat in one of the uncomfortable metal seats, my small suitcase by my side. Italy. Where this whole God forsaken romance started. Deep down I knew I was actually in love with Brian, even at the age of sixteen when you say you love anybody when you don’t really know what love is. I know that I should have not started anything with Brian, knowing I would end up hurt. But what’s the point of living if you don’t make mistakes? And getting with Brian was defiantly a mistake.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, upon pulling it out I saw it was Brian. I flipped up the top and quickly snapped it shut again. I told him not to contact me. He knows that he has hurt me. Who can cheat on someone and deny it to their face and still think they can make everything better.

I turned in my seat, looking around the dimly lit room at the various people sleeping, the small children bounding around in excitement about a family holiday and people like me, on their own, looking miserably. I noticed how the few big name shops were shutting down for the night and the workers leaving while the bars remained open allowing people to still try and keep their sanity while sitting in the room like quarantined animals.

I grabbed my suitcase and walked up to the bar, ordering a double shot of Jack Daniels. The bartender looked at me closely before shrugging and walking off to get my order. Somehow, I knew the new look would make me look older. I paid the excessive amount for the drink and sat on one of the stools. I downed the drink in two gulps, closing my eyes and sighing to myself.

“Same again,” I asked as the bartender came to take away my empty glass.

I did the same with that small glass, downing it quickly. I paid and walked back over to the seats and sat in the row nearest gate B.

I looked around at the people sat there once more, the stares I gained off over protective mothers who were vowing in their heads never to let their child end up in my state, the business men who sat in their perfect suits and had their briefcases laying perfectly on their laps giving me them ‘I’m better than you’ looks, and then it was the other teenage boys my age. The ones who had been dragged along to their family holiday to keep their little sister under control while the parents went and did their own thing, they looked at me as if they wanted to be me. Be independent and not have to be told what to do.

I realized how much I had changed over these few months with Brian. I used to be all schoolwork and guitar, now my life revolved around love life and popularity, much like ninety eight percent of the teenage population in America. I had become a clone of them. The one thing I swore to myself I would never be and I had become one without realizing it.

As I sat and grieved over my life, the ancient intercom kicked in.

“Flight 1145MN now boarding at gate B,” then the same recording be repeated about four hundred times.

I looked at my watch and saw it read 11:15, half an hour before my flight was due to leave. I sighed and decided to beat the rush of families and groaning old people, and got up to walk to the empty gate. I showed my ticket and passport and quickly boarded the plane.

I sighed to myself as I sat in the uncomfortable, leather seat. I knew what I was doing was over the top, but I knew that my trust in people wasn’t working and that I needed to make my own way in life and stop relying on people to guide me along the way. Maybe doing something completely stupid is the push that I need to make myself stand on my own two feet. One day I will get my life on track, and that day is starting today. Somewhere deep down I know I will almost miss these past few months. Almost.