The Curvy Curse

Chapter 23: Introducing Our Tiny Jungle Queen

                I was 30,000 feet above sea level, the offending box had been tossed into the city garbage dump, and I was still terrified.

"There's no way he could know where we are, Ari," Rogue assured me.

     "What if he followed us to the park and heard?" I murmured.

"Then he still wouldn't know where we're staying."

"Unless he was on the plane so he could follow us once we got off," I grumble.

"This is a private jet, which I don't think he could easily sneak into. What, do you think he's hiding among the luggage?" Rogue said wryly, grabbing my hand.

I stiffened.

Sighing, Rogue grabbed my shoulders. "Ari, I know you're scared," he murmured, trailing his hands down my arms. "I'm a little scared, too, sometimes. But you can't let it take over your life. Yes, Jack is scary but he isn't superman. He's only a man, just like me or anyone else. He's only human." Biting my lip, I realized he was completely right. I was being so paranoid it was unbelievable. After all, Jack may be crazy but he wasn't... superhuman. He might be a stalker, but in the end he could only do so much.

    "You're right, I guess," I said grudgingly, sticking my tongue out when he smirked.

"Knock that smirk off your face, loser," I said, scowling. His smirk grew, and my frown deepened. Leaning forward, he kissed my face until I was giggling and swatting him away.

     "Would you guys quit flirting, you look perfect enough without the lovey dovey shit, too," I heard Netis pipe. Snorting derisively, I turned so my body was facing the aisle and leaned back into Rogue. Chase was going crazy over the new Flappy Bird trend, curled up in the corner of the jet, hissing at anyone who came near, and blaming virtually anyone who had dared to so much as breathe in his direction whenever he lost. Blake was attempting to sway Netis with his charms, showing her the wonders of the jet's massage chair. She was slumped in it like the bones in her back had dissolved, and it seemed like her only worry in the world was how high the setting on her back could go.

       Snorting, I continued my canoodling before jumping about a foot into the air. It was the ringtone.

The ringtone.

       I had set Darth Vader's themesong for this contact and this contact only, so I would know the impending doom headed my way. You don't know the... complete horror... of having 4 different cultures calling you at the same time.

       It all starts with Ludwig, my Papa. Born in Germany, he'd wanted to see the world. Born sometime in the 40s, he'd grown up witnessing the horrors of the Holocaust and ran away when his family completely agreed with their newest leader Adolf. He'd ran away days before his 18th birthday, snuck onto an exporting ship, and let it take him where it may. And that's how he ended up in Hawaii, meeting my grandma Lanii. She'd fallen for his serious blue eyes, platinum blonde hair, and easy smile. He in turn had had fallen for her deep brown eyes, russet skin, and thick raven black hair. They met as she danced onstage with her twin sister for a festival, but for some reason he'd only noticed her. He got up the nerve to speak to her, and the rest is history. They fell in love, and when he joined the Navy after earning citizenship he was placed in Egypt. Nana's racist parents hadn't ever approved of Papa, and when she found out she was pregnant with my adoptive mother she called Papa. He replied with a plane ticket and a letter saying he'd always be there for her. And she flew.

    And that's where Mom was born. Half German, half Hawaiian, she wasn't legitimately black. But lord, try telling her that. Growing up in Africa until the angst filled age of 16, she proudly stood by the fact that even if she wasn't black, she had a rich African heritage. She was African, period. Papa must've loved military life, because he stayed for a good 20 or so years. They were moved to India, and then Mom meets Dad. Understandably, she's starstruck. Raven black hair, light brown eyes, tan skin, and bone structure I'd commit genocide for, he looked like the love child of Zayn Malik and my immaculate boyfriend. Mom wasn't so bad herself. She'd gotten long dark brown hair, one eye that was brown and one that was blue, high cheekbones, and a curvy figure perfect for hula dancing that knocked guys off their feet. Nana and Papa love Dad, and were really looking forward to grandkids.