Another Chance

Arrivals

The tightness in Olivia's ears made her quiver, hoping silently that her gum chewing would ease the pain of the high altitude. She hated flying. The annoying ding floated through the pressurized cabin as the shrewd, yet porcelain-looking flight attendant voiced the standard procedure for landing.

She stopped her Spotify playlist and reluctantly shoved it into the pocket of her carry-on resting beneath the seat in front of her. She slowly returned her tray table to it's stowed position, like instructed, and moved her seat back into its normal position. She sighed as she looked to her right at the old lady who was slightly asleep against her shoulder, silently thanking God this flight was over.

Her stomach audibly groaned from hunger, at least that's what she thought it was. She was ruling out the possibility that the lining of her stomach was eating itself out of nervousness. Once she felt the bumpy landing, she breathed in a long sigh of relief before panic sunk in again.

With the sight of the palm trees out of the adjacent window, the reality of her presence in the dreaded wasteland of California was suddenly fully realized.
She was here now, and there was no turning back.

After the plane was secured at the gate, she got up to compete in the rat race for her carry-on luggage, even though she already had it in her hands. Her small frame, dressed in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt that said, "I poke badgers with spoons," in white lettering, slowly made their way off the plane and through the airport to the baggage claim area she was instructed to meet him at.

Her trademark converse scuffed slightly against the dirty floor of the airport, her fists gripping the bottom of the shoulder straps of her pale blue backpack as she followed the massive exodus to the baggage claim. She proceeded with caution, unsure of her surroundings and the new people in it.

She didn't trust a damn one of these fake 'n bake, botox, cockmongers with their fake breasts and taught, perfect skin. Nor did she trust the perfectly shaped boys, with their hair all perfectly spiked and their muscle shirts so tight that she thought they would rip if they moved too much. Did she mention she hated Los Angeles? Why did she agree to this?

She finally made it to the baggage claim and pushed through the rungs of obnoxious people talking with their fake Valley accents to pull her bag from the belt. She silently rolled her eyes as she had to push back a young blonde with a teacup poodle in her purse to even get the bag in the first place. Thankfully, she got it off okay and pulled the handle to wheel it off.

"Where am I supposed to meet him," she mumbled, looking at the back of her right hand for the black ink she had scribbled the baggage claim number on where he was to meet her. She cursed silently to herself when she realized that it had worn off, probably while she was sleeping on the plane.

Her aggravated groan escaped her taught, light pink lips before she sighed, closing her eyes as she mentally tried to picture what she had written on her hand that morning.

Panicking, she opened her eyes again, relieved to see a sign with her name on it being held by a big burly looking security guy. She walked over with a smile.

"Olivia Baker, that's me. I thought Louis was coming to pick me up?" she asked politely, letting him take her bag.

"I'm sorry, Miss Baker. He couldn't make it. Hospital emergency. The car's waiting," he smiled kindly before walking her out to the pickup area. There was a dark black Tesla waiting with its blinkers on. He opened the door for her, and she happily slid into the backseat without realizing she had company.

"Shit," a hiss sounded.

She looked up to see another body, all dressed in black, curled languidly in the front drivers seat. It would be almost impossible to recognize him with the hat he was wearing so low on his head, but the curls peaking out from the back were a dead giveaway.