If I Could

{51} - Good Company

Belle opened her mouth, words ready to roll out of her tongue, but she was unable to speak. Her sight became blurry, her mind was filled with questions without answers, trying to connect dots with empty lines. She gasped a few times, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish, and in the back of her mind she knew she must have looked stupid like that, but she couldn't do anything else.

Roger Taylor was there, right in front of her, sitting beside her seat.

The blond man was sweating, shock evident in his eyes, an expression that screamed 'what are you doing here', and Belle saw some fear. Roger was like her, gasping, looking around the plane to make sure that he wasn't in a dream. They both couldn't believe it, it seemed so impossible.

Belle sat on the big wide seat. She reached her for her seatbelt as her hands trembled, trying to ignore the flutters of anxiety in her stomach. Roger pretended not to notice but he was actually observing it all from the corner of his eye.

"Would you like some champagne?", the air hostess asked Belle, beaming down at her.

"No, thank you", Belle politely answered.

"And for you, sir? Some champagne?", the young woman asked Roger, who had not even looked up yet. He was clutching onto his black jacket and was staring out of the window. As he turned to answer the air hostess he caught a glimpse of Belle, who was fixing her bangs with her left hand. He saw her wedding ring and God, seeing her wearing a wedding ring was in his Top 5 list of most distressing things he had ever witnessed.

"No, thank you".

While they were taking off, Belle read an article posted on a magazine on "Thirty Things Every 30-Year-Old Should Know." Why was she reading such article, she wondered. She was only twenty-three. But then she remembered: She was trying very hard to look relaxed, but God, every movement Roger made left her startled.

"Excuse me". An air hostess with red hair appeared by her side, handing Roger and Belle a bussines executive pamphlet. They quickly took the item and thanked her.

"Would you guys like anything else?", the hostess asked helpfully.

"No, thank you", Roger replied.

"Are you sure? You guys look anxious. Are you nervious flyers?".

"No", Belle quickly responded, laughing a little. "Everything's fine, thank you."

"All right", the hostess said and moved on. Belle continued reading her magazine and attempted to ignore everything going on around her, including Roger.

"So you're not going to talk to me?", Roger broke the ever so intoxicating silence, his stomach harboring a tight knot of fear. Why did it feel like he had just performed the bravest action of all time?

"Is there anything to talk about?", Belle questioned, a slight tone of protest in her voice.

Roger rolled his eyes and shrugged, pressing his tongue against his cheek. "All right. As you wish."

"You were the one who asked me to stay away, Roger. You're no victim. I'm the one who's following your orders", Belle said with a soft but harsh and accusatory way.

"That isn't flattering but it's true", Roger stated, biting a mini sandwich. He had spent so much time debating whether cutting his ties with Belle had been a right or wrong thing to do and he had his answer: Wrong. He wasn't figuring himself out anymore. He was sorry, really sorry, he could literally kneel in front of Belle and beg her for forgiveness.

But despite his very radical wishes, he apologised, but in a much less revolutionary way.

"I'm sorry, Belle. Really sorry. I don't have any excuse. You were only there to help me and I pushed you away. Please forgive me. Will you forgive me? I'll buy hair ribbons if you do."