Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
SIMONA
T he airport is bustling, people are everywhere, despite it being New Year’s Day. Miraculously, given the crowd, I found a seat near the gate where my flight is due to depart.
Getting any rest after I got back from my strange night was dashed by the room parties going on. But the truth is, even if the night was dead silent and I had the most comfortable bed in the world, I don’t think I would have been able to get a wink of sleep. A hundred emotions and circling thoughts made it hard for me to stay still for even a minute, making rest that much more difficult. The news reports and subsequent posts on Koded’s socials made it impossible for me to do anything but pace.
Minutes before Koded was due to go on stage he cancelled his sellout show because Ryder was suddenly sick with the flu.
A sceptic could write off the coincidence of me meeting a man named Rye, who was sick, at the same venue, as being a continuation of the chaos of the evening. And no one could ever say Rye and Ryder were the same person, unless of course you saw Ryder out of costume and mask free which I hadn’t but at the same time, a lot of my energy was stemming from the fact I’m pretty sure I met Ryder. And he is my scent match. Of course, that’s the biggest shock out of the two scenarios.
Since Koded blasted onto the music scene, he has never appeared without his signature costume. If anything, he is as recognised by his trademark look—slender black pants, white button downs, black ties, and a ‘Guy Fawkes’ inspired mask—white with a small moustache and a knowing smile—as he is for his music. A stark contrast to the usual rockstar aesthetic, but then again, Koded is all about shattering convention.
Speculation about who he is offstage fills his socials as much as his latest hits. As an artist, he fuels the theories—almost turning it into a game—only to shoot down each one, keeping his anonymity a guarded secret.
I know I’m not special, but I can’t ignore the fact that I have something the rest of the world would probably kill for—a piece of the mystery behind Koded’s identity. Two damning pieces, actually. Because this morning, Ryder posted an apology to his fans—along with a plea for help finding his ‘Cinderella’, even showcasing my ripped dress like the prince does the shoe in the actual story.
And I am now down with a brutal flu. So bad, I don’t think I’ll be able to fly. Not that it matters—I have no money, no way to call Brody or my parents, and nowhere to go. So I sit in the airport, pretending not to be sick.
My phone rings loudly, making everyone around me give me a side eye as if I’d intentionally interrupted their conversation or book. I miss the call, fumbling with the side of my bag, but it starts rings as soon as it stops.
Brody’s contact flashes on the screen, and I seriously think about not answering it because of my headache, but the pounding in my head is the reason I do.
“Where the hell are you, Simona? Are you playing games right now?”
His yelling draws more inquisitive looks from those around me, making me stand up and search for a spot with fewer prying eyes.
“Hello.” My greeting is nearly lost when my voice cracks and a cough makes it impossible to talk.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the coughing, but it’s like flipping a switch—the flu that was lurking is now in full control. I look around and find a space to sit on the floor. It’s that or risk fainting.
“Brody, I’m sick,” I whisper, fighting to keep the whine out of my throat.
“And that is my problem?”
“Not at all,” I mumble, trying not to incite him, but he did ask where I was. “I’m waiting for a flight because the one from yesterday was diverted. I must have come in contact with someone sick.”
I don’t lie, I also don’t tell the complete truth, hoping he doesn’t pick it up in my voice.
“Get some medication then,” he snaps. Behind him I can hear people splashing in a pool, women squealing, and music playing.
“Okay,” I answer, resting my head on my bags.
I don’t say anything, what else is there to say. A coughing fit fills the awkward gap in our conversation. As soon as I stop again I go back to the call. “I might try to find a drug store here.”
“Have you told your parents?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, the irrational flash of anger has me clenching my jaw. He knows I can’t, or maybe he’s forgotten he put a block on my phone. Admittedly, I could have tried a payphone, but with my limited funds and energy, I didn’t.
“I expect an answer.”
Clearing my throat first, I settle my anger before responding. “No, I haven’t. I was waiting for you to call as I figured you’d relay to them how I was. My flight won’t leave for another few hours. I’ll see if I can get some flu tablets in the meantime. I’m not sure I’ll get to Unity today though, Brody, the airport keeps delaying flights because of the number of people here.”
“Jesus, Simona, I really can’t trust you to be responsible, can I?” he snaps, silencing me.
I’m happy to be quiet, but it doesn’t mean I’m conceding or giving in either. And I also don’t bite back to provoke him. Despite what he thinks, it’s not about avoiding a fight—it’s about knowing nothing I say or do will ever be right. So I protect myself first, rather than waste energy trying to appease him when I know it won’t work.
“What airport are you at?”
Again, I’m not surprised at all that he hasn’t been paying attention to my welfare.
“Denver,” I say quickly, covering my mouth to stifle a cough. He scoffs loudly in response.
“Denver,” he repeats. His tone is disbelieving. “You shouldn’t be there. What happened?”
“The captain said it was a technical issue. They landed at the closest airport, and we were put up overnight at the Meriton. The airline will be able to confirm, Brody.”
“Are you giving me attitude?”
“Not intentionally. I’m sick, I haven’t eaten all day and the airport is overwhelming. I just need to lie down. I apologize if it sounds like I’m giving you attitude.” I use his own words when I answer—not because I owe him an apology, but because I don’t need the added headache of him thinking I’m making a stressful situation worse.
“Go buy something to eat!”
I take a long inhale, trying to curtail my irritation—not that it will help. “I only have the money you gave me, and you said that had to last a week. I did check for food, but since it’s New Year’s Day, there’s a surcharge on everything for some reason. I’ll be okay. I just hope none of the airline staff notice I’m sick or start doing temperature checks—because if that happens, I have no idea what my options will be.”
“Sit there and don’t move,” he snaps, hanging up almost instantly.
I must be sicker than I thought because before I know it, I’m slumped against my bags, fast asleep in the middle of the crowded airport. I jolt awake when my phone rings, the sudden movement sending me back into another coughing fit. I fumble to answer, but I can’t even get out a hello.
“Go out the main entrance. Near the multi-level carpark, there’s a car service. I wired you the money. Don’t jump at the most expensive option—they’ll try to upsell you because it’s New Year’s Day and flights are diverting. They’ll say they only have towncars left, but I’m trusting you to be mindful of how much this is costing to get you to Unity. I’ll call you in a few hours.”
I move like a zombie, but the incentive outweighs how awful I feel. How I make it to the car service door is a blur, but somehow, I do. They’ve clearly been in contact with Brody because they don’t ask me to pay—they redirect me from the office to one of the cars. I wave off their apologies, understanding all too well how infectious I am. I follow the direction of their pointed fingers to a car, with its trunk already open. Lifting my luggage drains what little energy I have left, and by the time I climb inside, I’m delirious. I collapse onto the back seat, too exhausted to care about anything else.