Airplanes

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Rule Number Two: Never fall in love with your fathers, best friends wife.

One would say that I was cultured and sophisticated. The pages of my passport were covered in stamps of different places. When I really thought about it I was running from something although I would never admit it.

I wasn't poor or abused, I hadn't had a moment in my life that changed me for the worst. In fact, things had been so painfully perfect that it drove me nuts. That is what I ran from, the idea that things were falsely stable that at some point the floor had to fall through.

My parents hated me, not in the way that most parents hated their children, no, in a way that they had tried so hard to make me into a replica of my brother but failed. It wasn't their fault I had been born with an eccentric mind, someone who went against the grain, someone who wanted to be different. That I; myself would change the word normal by a landslide.

I guess in a way I did.

At sixteen after a situation that made my brain numb, I left to travel the world. It was harmless at first: meeting new people, being out of my element. But then I met her, my type exactly; tall, blonde, slim, hair just brushing her shoulders in a haircut that most couldn't pull off.

Rose was reckless, she never thought about tomorrow or what lied ahead. She made decisions that ended badly, that added to her long track record of mistakes that made her seem untamed.

Countless calls were received by my father informing him of what I had done. Without a second thought, he would post my bail to ensure that no one found out about my endeavor. Rose was in the business of smuggling gold over numerous borders. It was something that I didn't understand- something that I hadn't been exposed to in my sheltered life in New York City. But Rose intoxicated me with her wild eyes and loose ambitions and soon I found myself risking it all to help her.

I soon forgot about the incident in New York. I forgot about how much of a fuck up I became. How I ended up leading a lonely housewife to kill herself. The whole thing was bleak, it sealed my fate in being a permanent outsider in the world of Botox and champagne.

I guess that is what made me run away, the damage of fucking someone twice your age whose husband was your dad's best friend made a sixteen-year old's mind blur with confusion. A different light on older authority figures that didn't quite match up to what you were taught to believe.

My dad always paid me off, it didn't matter to me either way, it didn't cause a rift in our stale relationship. He allowed me to travel on his dime and I allowed him to clean up the mess that I left on the upper west side.

But it all ended. Without much of a choice I ended up back alone, Rose was hauled away in a cop car outside of Paris six months ago as I hid out in a small shack a few meters away. She sacrificed herself for me so that I could finally make things right with my dad.

I avoided the thought of him for months, not allowing his annoying, mocking face to enter my mind. But then the fatal call came: Tom was getting married, once again doing better than I ever would. He would be getting married to sweet little Ana that I once pushed in the sandbox and made her cry junior year of private school when we were fourteen. My thorn in my ass that I hardly thought about until now.

The union was strange, although Tom was successful and incredibly smart he was dry and socially awkward. If there was ever to be a connection in between him and a woman it would be because of money and nothing else.

Ana was the same way, she was pretty, the type of pretty that made you look twice and wonder if you had actually witnessed such beauty. But what she gained in beauty she lost in grace and confidence. She couldn't talk to someone with a penis if her life depended on it.

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