Small Bumps

Aeroplane Passengers and Harry's Babies

Foreword: Why am I writing at 11:11? I thought it'd be lucky - not .. Stupid school, making me pick my classes at midnight. So unimpressed. Sleep is amazing, and they're ruining it.
Disclaimer: Nada stil. One Direction isn't mine, Niall will never know I want to give him a huge hug; everyday ... for the rest of my life.
Awkward.
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Why me.

I've never done anything worthy to piss off a higher power. At least I don't think I did. I've always brushed my teeth three times a day, made sure I ate my green vegetables and I've never done drugs. I didn't even underage drink. So why the hell was I stuck beside a man who's gut was filling into my seat and a teenager who looked like he should be on the before shot of an acne commercial. He should really re-think taking off his shoes on a public plane too. This was a certain kind of torture that was unnecessary and I'd gladly take the pregnant woman with the tiny bladder any time now.

The little screen above the heads of the couple in front of me flashed, saying we were finishing passing over the North Atlantic and I'd never felt so happy. I'd already been sitting next to these two gross men for seven hours more than I wanted. An hour more shouldn't sound like forever, but it did.

Sitting there biting my lip, I wondered if maybe Harry thought it was funny to sit me in coach. We both knew his paycheck could afford his own private jet, let alone first class. The only thing holding me back from imagining him evil enough to willingly put me beside these two was the thought of his stupid beam over webcam. I snorted and shook my head, of course he wouldn't do it willingly. It's not like he payed them to be here.

I stiffened, feeling the teenager shuffle closer to my side. I was already close enough to him, trying to avoid the mammoth on my other side, but that really didn't mean he should purposely invade my personal space.

Oh, I'd definitely be having some choice words with Styles. My idea of him being an innocent bystander in this whole situation vanished within a second. Like hell he wouldn't put me through this slow torture; he knew exactly what he was doing. He was being a little bugger like always.

Sending the shoeless boy beside me what hopefully looked like a 'back off' stare, I cranked up my music more as the mammoth started to snore. I couldn't even finish my thought of anything getting worse before the plane shook and my heart stooped. Harry better well be worth this, waiting for forgiveness with chocolates, by the bucket full, because this plane ride was from hell.

I nearly lept out of my skin too when the captains voice came over the loud speaker, telling us we were approaching the airport and all seat belts were to be on. Being elbowed by some skinny teenager was not fantastic, but at least after his belt was done he made sure his shoes went on too.

In general, I was an odd acrophobic. I hated confined heights but I loved coasters. Naturally, landing was never my favourite. Landing meant all electronics had to be put away, tables returned to their proper away positions and televisions turned off. Any thing that could distract terrified fliers were taken away, and left people like me to only nervously clutch at your knees (if the arm rests were occupied, which mine were) and stare at the tacky pattern on the back of seats. At least when you had someone on the flight with you, they could talk, but there was no amount of money you could ever pay me to face, let alone speak, to the men beside me. My ears even popped, making me more miserable when I remembered I forgotten gum.

A crackly voice broke me from my thoughts, 'Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying with British Airlines. Enjoy your stay in New York City.' Once the mammoth stood up (very, very slowly might I add) I was already clutching my backpack and pushing past people to get out. Normally I hated when people did that right after landing, but today, I give myself my own justifiable reasons.