A Beautiful Forever (2 page)

Gratefully, I close my eyes. Exhaustion washes through my
body, and I drift off.

In my dream, there’s a bear growling outside. I’m aware it’s
a dream because Australia doesn’t have bears in the wild, so it confuses me to
hear one. My consciousness moves forward as the rumbling sounds vibrate through
me. It’s the sounds of the plane and…. snoring? My eyes flutter open and I
remove the buds from my ears, the album I was listening to long since over, and
turn my head toward the exasperating noise.

The woman who was talking to me earlier has her head tilted
back, her mouth is wide open and the noise is emanating from her throat. I
squint at her, willing her with my mind to stir enough so the noise will stop.
When she starts making a small choking sound, I flinch, surprised and slightly
impressed with my new mind control ability as she quiets and her breathing
evens out.

I breathe out slowly - glad the noise is over; and move to
replace the buds in my ears. But I’m paused, my reprieve all too brief, as my
skull starts vibrating when she starts up again – so much for my awesome mind
control skills…

I cross my eyes in agitation and reach my hand toward her,
clamping my fingers on either side of her nose. She makes a guttural sound, and
I withdraw my hand quickly, looking out the window and pretending nothing
happened.  I start counting seconds as I wait to see if it worked, feeling safe
when I reach a full minute in silence.

“Thank god,” I say to myself as I lean my head back against
the window. The second I begin to relax however, she starts up again.

The guy on the other side of her starts laughing, and I find
myself smiling as I lean forward to look at him.

He's quite frankly, the most beautiful man I have ever seen
but looks almost too large to be in such a small seat. His long legs are angled
so that one is in the aisle, and the other is wedged in the minute gap between
the seats in front of him. He has broad firm shoulders that span further than
the width of the seat. His hair is light golden brown and a little longer than
I like on guy, but it kind of suits him. He’s wearing a good day or two worth
of stubble - which I’ll admit is a bit on the sexy side. But it’s his eyes that
are most striking. They look like someone took the clearest, bluest part of the
ocean and dropped it into his irises.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m not laughing at you. I've been
trying to make her stop snoring for ages. I’m laughing at the situation.”

He’s smiling at me; his smile is textbook perfect and
creases the corners of his eyes that are watering a little from his laughter.
It’s a killer smile - if I hadn’t sworn myself off men years ago, I think I’d
go all fluttery over him.

I can’t stop laughing. Tears are streaming out of my eyes,
and I wipe at them as this girl keeps looking at me. She’s a stunner, with
masses of curly dark-brown  hair, olive skin, a full pouty mouth and amazing
eyes – they kind of look like a piece of amber. They're hazel in the middle,
flecked brown with a thick dark edge before her whites come into play. They’re
pretty awesome, and I don’t mind that she’s studying me, because it gives me a
good look at them.

I just wish I could stop laughing because I feel like a
fool, but I’m so tired I can’t seem to control myself.

I take a deep breath to try and still my shaking body. “I’m
sorry,” I say again once I calm myself a little, “I think I’m becoming
delirious from lack of sleep.”

“So you’ve been trying to stop her as well?” she asks me,
ignoring my fits of laughter.

Wiping the last of my tears away, I nod and tell her, “She
took a tablet a while back and no matter what I do she still snores.”

“Great,” is all she says as she sits back forcefully in the
seat, she’s quiet for a beat before saying, “Listen, I need to get away from
her before I go mental. Can you get up, so I can climb out?”

“Sure,” I say, moving my legs to the side and standing in
the aisle. As she stands up, I notice that she’s a decent height – probably
hitting just above my shoulder. She’s wearing almost the same as me, light blue
jeans and a fitted t-shirt, although where mine is plain black, hers is white
and has a picture of two chickens dressed up in Mexican styled clothes leaning
up against each other and the words ‘LOS POLLOS HERMANOS’ written in a circle
around them.

I recognise the logo from Breaking Bad, “I love that show,”
I say, indicating her shirt with a nod of my head.

Without responding, she puts her foot on her seat and
hunches over as she climbs over our snoring companion and on to my chair. I put
my hand out to steady her, but she doesn’t take it. She just steps down from my
seat and says ‘thanks’ before walking towards the back of the plane. I catch a
glimpse of a tattoo when she adjusts her shirt, before my eyes drift below it
to her arse as she walks down the aisle. It’s one of those firm round arses
that sways as she walks, whether she’s meaning to do it or not – it’s hot, and
kind of mesmerising. I feel a slight shift in my pants as I’m suddenly
wondering if I could get her to join the ‘mile high club’.

I laugh a little through my nose as I scratch at the back of
my head and retake my seat, she wouldn’t be into that I’m sure. She showed no
sign of attraction what so ever, most girls would have gladly grabbed a hold of
me if offered my arm. Besides, I need to stop that shit, I’ve lost count of the
amount of girls I’ve screwed in that last couple of years, and I’ve become sick
of it. It’s fucking hollow.

It was so easy for me. I'd go to club and ask a girl to
dance and the next thing I knew I was taking her home and screwing her brains
out all night long. Some girls expected more from me the next morning, others
just got up afterwards and left without a word. I didn’t give a shit about any
of them, and I know I hurt the feelings of more than one, but I wasn’t thinking
about them. I only cared about myself.

Eventually, I took a girl home and realised I had been with
her before, I’d been with her quite a few times actually, but I still didn’t
know her name. I told her that I couldn’t go through with it and paid for a cab
to take her home. That was when I decided I was done, I’d had enough of night
clubs, and I’d had enough of treating women like my own personal harem, picking
and choosing them as I saw fit. It was crappy of me, and I hate myself for it.

So, that’s why I’m heading to London. I’ve secured a three
month working visa, and I’m going over there for a change of pace. Maybe I’ll
find myself again while I’m there, this guy who screws around and sees women as
sex toys isn’t me. At least, I don’t think it is - I don’t even know who the
fuck I am anymore.

I walk until I reach the back of the plane where there's a
little alcove with a window. I'm so tired that I rest my forehead against the
glass and just look out at the nothingness that is the night sky.

“Hey there,” a deep rumble of a voice says from behind me, I
tilt my head to the side, still pressed up against the glass - it’s the guy
from my row.

Sighing, I turn and face him, not saying anything. I just
look at him and wait for him to speak – he obviously wants to have a
conversation, and I'm doing my best to seem uninterested, so we get this done
as quickly as possible.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, putting his hands in his
jean's pockets, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “I needed to get away from
the noise too.” The corner of his lip turns up as he studies me. I notice his
eyes scan the length of my body and automatically fold my arms across my middle
protectively, feeling betrayed by my body as it flashes hot under his gaze.

“Why would I mind?” I ask him flatly. “It’s not like I own
the plane.”

He gives me what I think might be his most dashing smile,
but he still looks unsure of me. “I’m Elliot by the way,” he tells me,
extending his hand to shake mine.

My eyes travel down to his outstretched arm. I don’t want to
take it. When I look up at his expectant face, his eyes narrow slightly, but he
keeps his hand stretched out towards me stubbornly.

“I won’t bite,” I tell her, still holding out my hand,
watching her brow furrow as she wars with something in her mind.

Hesitantly, she says, “Paige,” as she slips her hand into
mine and gives me a light squeeze before quickly taking her hand back and
looking past me, like she really wishes I’d piss off.

I smile at her, enjoying the lingering feel of her touch on
my hand. This is the first girl I have spoken to in a long time that isn’t
giggling and flicking her hair the moment I make eye contact. I like it.

I try to make small talk with her for a while, but she’s not
buying it. “Well, Paige,” I venture, “as much as I enjoy holding a one-sided
conversation with you. We can’t really do this for the entire rest of the
flight. So my question is - what are we going to do about Connie McSnores-a-lot
back there?”

A tiny smile pulls at the corner of her mouth but it doesn’t
turn into anything more than that, surprisingly I feel disappointed. I want her
to smile at me again like she did when we were seated before.

“Is her name really Connie?” she asks, completely serious.

I chuckle and shake my head slightly. “I have no idea. I
just made it up – same as the McSnores-a-lot part. As appropriate as it is –
that’s not her name either,” I tell her as seriously as I can.

Suddenly, she’s laughing. Her hand flies up and covers her
mouth. She’s trying to keep quiet, but her shoulders are shaking and small
sounds are escaping as she gasps for breath.

She holds out her hand and tries to speak. “Man, I am
obviously heading to delirium from a lack of sleep as well. I just can’t stop
thinking how funny it would be if that really was her name.” She shakes her
head from side to side, laughing all over again as she leans back up against
the side of the plane. I’m just standing here with this huge grin on my face
watching her eyes sparkle from tears of laughter.

“Oh God,” she says, clutching her stomach. “It’s not even
that funny.”

“You got a hold of yourself now?” I ask her as she endeavors
to stay calm.

Nodding, she wipes her eyes and stands up straight again, taking
a deep breath and attempting to look serious. “Maybe we could ask to move
seats. I noticed a couple of empty rows in the middle aisle.”

“Alright, leave it to me. I’ll go and find a flight
attendant,” I tell her.

Immediately her eyebrows shoot up as she eyes me off, not
looking so amused now. I wonder what I’ve done wrong as I walk towards the
front of the plane to find someone who can help us.

I feel like rolling my eyes so hard that they do a full 360
loop. This Elliot guy is so aware of how good looking he is, that he thinks he
can snap his fingers and get whatever he wants. What makes him so sure that a
girl who looks like a slightly deranged witch couldn’t get us new seats? I’m
not entirely without charm.

I pull a hair elastic out of my pocket and quickly twist my
mess of hair into a bun before I hurry to catch up to him, feeling like I have
something to prove now.

However, I’m too late. I can see him already talking to a
flight attendant as I get closer. She’s all smiles and coy gestures as she
talks to him agreeably.

He turns as I approach and winks at me, and I swear my
stomach starts doing cartwheels in response. “Paige,” he smiles. “Erin here, is
going to see if she can get us some new seats.”

Nodding my head, I watch Erin, the perky flight attendant,
as she flicks her gaze at me but continues to smile only at him. I actually do
roll my eyes this time as I cross my arms and walk back towards my original seat,
cursing my body for having any sort of response towards him. I decide to just
plonk down in Elliot’s seat instead of climbing over Connie McSnores-a-lot, while
I wait to find out where we’re going to be sitting.

As I wait, I quietly fume, I don’t know why I’m so mad, this
guy is no one to me, but I don’t like the way my body is trying to respond to
him, and I don’t like this whole – ‘let the man sort it out’ thing that just
happened. I’ve taken care of myself without a single bit of help from a man for
eight years now. I could have sorted my own seat out.

The flight attendant leaves me to go and work out where she
can move Paige and I to. When turn around, I’m expecting Paige to still be
behind me but see that she has walked away and is sitting on my seat, staring
at the shuttered window of the plane with her arms crossed and her face stern.

I don’t know if she’s always like this, or if I’ve done
something. One moment I have her laughing and the next she seems annoyed with
me. I don’t even know why I care, but as I approach her, I can’t help but wish
she would look at me and smile again.

She has pulled her hair up in a tight bun, and her profile
looks sophisticated with her hair like that. Kind of like a ballerina
performing, the elegance and face that show little more than calm control.

Connie is still rumbling away in the next seat, her mouth
wide open as she lays back. Due to some sort of miracle, the people in front
and behind her are managing to sleep, perhaps they thought to bring sleeping
pills too.

As I make my way down the aisle towards Paige, her head
turns, and she tilts it slightly in question as she watches me approach.

“The flight attendant is going to find out where she can
move us to,” I say, standing in the aisle since there’s no easy place for me to
sit.

Her only answer is a nod as she looks me over, watching me
as I move to open the overhead locker and take my carry-on luggage out. I continue
to feel her eyes on me as I wrestle my back pack out of the confined space.
Slinging it over my shoulder, before I look down at her, trying to return a gaze
with the same intensity she’s giving me.