Chapter 19. Ophelia #3
She looks at the hesitation in my expression and casts her eyes up to the cloudy heavens, cursing in Italian.
There’s no kindness in her eyes, no patience remaining.
“So help me God, Ophelia. Your man is having the worst day of his life over there, and all we’re asking of you is that you’ll go to him.
For once in your shitty life, we’re asking you to put his issues ahead of your own.
One time. Just get on this fucking plane and go back to moping another day. ”
And then the strangest thing happens. I … get on a plane. The one thing I swore I’d never do, a lifetime of scaring myself and accepting my fate just seems to splinter in two as my boots carry me up the metal steps.
It’s like an out-of-body experience, watching someone who looks like me step through the doorway and into the jet. I’m on the sidelines, flipping violently between cheering and clapping, and begging her to come back.
I’m so stunned that I don’t fully register what’s happened until my boots come to a stop on a plush, pale carpet and Belladonna has asked the staff to close the door.
Vincenzo sinks down on one of the four cream leather seats around a small table while I stand in the center of the aisle, frozen still. “You were harsh, Bella.”
Belladonna sinks down beside him. “No one has ever smacked any sense into her, and it shows.”
My eyes dart around, frantic. The interior is furnished in soft creams and natural wood.
The carpet is soft. There’s a screen folded into the wall at the table that Bella, Vin, and Jack have seated themselves at.
There’s a sofa along the right-hand side, and two more empty seats farther down, each with a screen of their own.
Four security guys are sitting around a table at the far end.
Two flight attendants busy themselves by the door.
It’s quite comfortable, for an aluminum death machine.
I run to the window like a dog watching people play outside, nose against the glass. There are patches of silver on the wings that have the contents of my stomach roiling. “Oh my god,” I choke out. “It’s being held together with fucking sticky tape.”
They glance out the window and laugh, bucking their seat belts.
“No one is worried about this?”
“It’s speed tape,” says Jack, watching me self-combust.
“I don’t want extra speed. I just want a safe, regular speed.”
A pair of navy heels stop behind my feet. “You’ll need to sit down for taxiing and take off, miss.”
I turn to face the flight attendant. Her name tag reads Caroline, and her tone is polite and patient. “There’s tape on the wings.”
“It’s just for securing any minor repairs.”
I drag my palms down my cheeks, voice a quiet squeak. “Minor repairs?”
“Nervous flyer? We’ll get you a drink as soon as we’re airborne.”
A pint of vodka might do it.
I lower into the seat beside Jack and opposite Belladonna, the four of us around the table. It feels like we sit there forever, the plane moving forward at a snail’s pace.
Strange noises sound below us, beside us, behind us. Vincenzo just repeats the word normal over and over after every noise.
And then I’m thrust back in my seat, a deafening roar in my ears. I scramble to cover them, turn the music up to full volume, but I can still hear it. My eyes fly open in alarm, landing on the glacier blue of Belladonna’s.
We’re hurtling down the runway. Too fast, too loud, too out of control.
She’s calm. Composed. Bored, even.
The plane speeds up even more, my head tipping back against the seat. I screw my eyes shut, squeezing two hot tears out. They scorch a path down my cheeks, fists curled tight.
I’m silent and still, breath trapped in my lungs, every muscle bunched tight.
This is awful. Worse than I ever imagined. I cannot believe Alex did this almost weekly at the end of last year. Alex. I’m doing this for Alex. I hope he’s okay. I hope his mother is okay.
A cold hand encircles my own. Belladonna’s fingers thread through mine.
A warm hand settles on my other, and I dare to crack an eyelid.
Jack holds my left hand, Belladonna leans forward, clutching my right.
Her other hand sits in Vincenzo’s on top of the table.
We’re connected in some unlikely circle, the three of them calm and composed, me fighting for air.
It almost makes me break down, but I’m distracted by a sickening sinking feeling, like we’re plummeting.
This is it.
Thirteen, twelve, ten.
I grip Belladonna and Jack’s hands so hard I worry I might break their fingers.
Nine, eight, seven.
Tears trickle over my jawline, clammy and uncomfortable on my neck. My stomach sinks. Everything feels like it sinks.
Six, five, four.
My name, cried out in my father’s voice, reverberates in my ears.
Three, two, one.
The crash doesn’t come. I open my eyes, finding Belladonna’s again. This time, they are kind. Proud, even. “That was brave,” she mouths, picking up her coffee.
I don’t reply, can’t reply, grinding my teeth to dust when the plane banks left.
And then a single, ominous ding fills the cabin.
The flight attendant appears with four glasses and a bottle of sparkling wine, giving me a reassuring smile and a little squeeze on the shoulder.
This so twisted. We’re going to fall out of the sky any second now, and she’s popping the cork out of a bottle of wine.
But I guess I’d rather die drunk than sober, so I gratefully accept the glass when she offers me it.