a little bit of black with a little bit of pink

Frequent Flyer, part 1

Lisa shoved another pair of socks into her suitcase, ignoring how doing so wrinkled the blazer she had already packed. She could feel her frayed nerves jittering in her chest, the anxiety of tomorrow creeping up the back of her neck and taking root in her throat. It leveled her, setting her teeth on edge and making her hands feel shaky. 
 
Fifteen hours.
 
Her flight to Shanghai would be fifteen hours long.
 
Fifteen hours stuck, trapped, sealed in an airplane.
 
A coffin.
 
A tomb.
 
Lisa shuddered, her heartbeat racing. She shook her head, turning away from her half packed suitcase and flicking the light off. She wandered on trembling legs to the kitchen, her shuffling feet catching on loose shirts she’d tossed off at some point. She kicked them off as she went, little care for where they landed, and yanked the refrigerator open.
 
One lone beer clanked in the door.
 
A few moments later, Lisa was slouched on her couch, half the beer gone.
 
She leaned her head back, swiping a hand over her face.
 
Fifteen hours.
 
She could do fifteen hours.
 
She’d done longer.
 
Not by much, but she had.
 
Fifteen hours.
 
She’d done it before.
 
She’d do it again.
 
Fifteen hours.
 
Lisa sighed, leaning forward and fiddling with the label on her beer. It was damp, peeling off slowly and then, all at once. 
 
Fifteen hours.
 
She finished the bottle.
 
 

–----
 
 

Routine was how Lisa battled the rising anxiety.
 
Wake up. Brush teeth. Pour coffee. Drink coffee. Take shower. Iron shirt. Set watch to future time zone. Get dressed. Apply makeup. Check luggage. Check ticket. Check delays.
 
Check. Check. Check.
 
Rosé told her she was childish to be so regimented, to need such a schedule just to get on a plane.
 
But Rosé didn’t have a fifteen hour flight, she was already in Shanghai.
 
Lucky bastard, working at headquarters.
 
Lisa was the traveler.
 
Lived in New York, jetted around the world to meet with investors and contractors; the glittering girl who lured in big clients and even bigger money. Mother had trained her well.
 
Too well.
 
When Rosé took over, she kept Lisa at her seducing despite knowing that the flights caused her to bite her nails until they bled, to stay awake all night before her trips. Some sister she was.
 
Lisa sighed, letting her mind go blank as she reached the security line. It was short, thankfully. A round man with a red face glared at Lisa as he checked her ID, his gaze flicking her up and down one too many times. Lisa let her annoyance with him seep into her bones, focusing on its hot spike instead of the increasing anxiety running up her back.
 
The gate was at the far end of the airport, a long slow walk that felt like a march to the gallows.
 
Lisa could feel her heart beat in the base of her throat. It was too big and off rhythm and made her feel woozy. She passed a bar on her left and briefly debated having a drink. Her flight was still a few hours away and it would be nice to take the edge off, something to dull the nerves, to dull everything. 
 
Instead, she continued to her gate and tucked herself on the floor by a power outlet. She was a first class frequent flyer and had access to the most lavish members only clubs in the airport, but she remained on the ground with her back against a pillar, facing a giant window.
 
The fancy digs and overly friendly personnel did nothing to calm her nerves.
 
They were stuffy, pompous places filled with smothering people. 
 
Lisa couldn't handle that, handle the caged, private sanctums for the most wealthy. 
 
She needed windows.
 
She needed to see.
 
She needed open space for as long as she could have it, needed visual on everything connecting to her flight as long as she could. 
 
Her plane seemed to all ready be docked, impressive for the wait she still had, and its golden writing on the body glinted in the afternoon sun.
 
Elite.
 
Elite Airlines was one of the largest and most decadent fleet of planes on the market. Lisa’s mother had bought stock in them years ago, adding to her all ready massive collection of wealth and making her entire company loyal customers. As far as planes went, they weren’t so bad. Private seats for first class, large bathrooms with a shower for overnight flights, five star meals, and endless amenities to make it feel more like a flying hotel than a speeding tin can.
 
All the same, it did little to shake the cold fear out of Lisa’s chest.
 
She’d still be over 30,000 feet in the air.
 
She’d still be hurtling at breakneck speeds in a giant metal machine.
 
She’d still be fifteen hours from breathing air that wasn’t stale and stiff and overly warm.
 
Recirculated. 
 
Dead.
 
Lisa closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the pillar.
 
Fifteen hours.
 
It was only fifteen hours.
 
She could do fifteen hours.