Heyooo!! It's me :)) I got my first commenter! This chapter is dedicated to you, Nefariouserein!! This chapter's stalker song is "Two Steps Behind" by Def Leppard! I hope you enjoy :) If you have any suggestions or corrections, leave your comments below!
<3 Pia
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Madison Vaughn
I always pictured my airport scene to be dramatic. I, who had never been away from my grandparents for more than a day, was leaving for college and was not going to be able to see them for the rest of the year. I thought I would be crying my eyes out. But now, standing in front of my family, it hadn't hit me quite yet. I didn't feel like I was about to board a plane going to Europe. I didn't feel like I was going to college. None of it felt real just yet. I had a feeling, though, that it would hit me when I got there. But now, I felt nothing.
"You have to call us everyday," my grandmother said, smiling as she held my cheeks in her hands. She didn't look like she was about to cry. I guessed it hadn't hit her either.
I nodded, "I promise, mama."
"Oh! I almost forgot, dear," my grandfather said, fishing through his pockets and bringing out a pack of gum. "You'll need this, in case your ears pop!"
I smiled and took the pack from him. "Thanks, papa," I said, kissing him on the cheek.
Cara, who was the only one crying, threw her arms around me one last time. "Be good, ok?"
I laughed, "Like I can afford to be otherwise. Do you know the kind of battle I'm about to enter?"
She looked at me, sniffling before asking, "What?"
"I'm supposed to maintain a scholarship in The University Of Cambridge. Do you know how hard that's going to be?"
"Very?"
"Very," I confirmed. "I won't have time for trouble, don't worry. I'll be too busy being a nerd," I winked.
Lesley raised her eyebrows at me. "Too busy even for Brent?"
I gave her a look that said 'are you seriously asking me that question?' "Of course not. I always have time for Brent."
My family laughed.
Aunt Sally, Cara's mother, gave me a hug next. "Don't work yourself too hard, ok kiddo?"
"I'll try," I assured her before pulling away and picking my carry-on bag up from the floor. "Ok guys, this is it."
I took one good look at the people I loved and said my final goodbyes. The moment I turned my back on them, that was when it hit me. The tears streamed down my face and I couldn't control it. I wanted to run back to them. Instead, I decided to keep walking. I was afraid that if I looked at them again, I would decide not to leave anymore.
Looking for my seat was difficult. It was my first time on an airplane by myself and I had no idea which way was which.
"Do you need help, miss?" A flight attendant asked, probably noticing my obvious confusion.
"Yes please!" I said. "How do I get to seat number F24?" I asked, showing her my ticket.
She directed me to the back of the plane. When I finally found my seat, I tiptoed to put my carry-on bag in the ceiling compartment, before settling down. For economy class, my seat was quite comfortable. I was by the window and there was an empty seat to my left. I wondered who would be sitting next to me.
As if to answer my question, a pregnant woman walked toward me and said, "hi, can you help me with my bag?"
I immediately stood up, taking the bag from her. "Of course," I said, putting it in the ceiling compartment, right beside my bag.
"Thanks," She smiled as I sat back down. "Ever since this little guy came, I couldn't do anything by myself," she laughed, sitting down as well.
"It's no problem," I assured her. "I'm Madison," I introduced myself.
"Rita," She said, extending her hand.
I happily shook it. "Nice to meet you," I said.
She smiled, "And you."
"Are you alone?" I asked.
"Yeah. My husband's waiting for me in Dublin."
I frowned. "Will Dublin be the first stop or the second?" I wondered.
"I'll be the second. The first stop before Dublin will be Toronto, I think," she answered.
Just then, a flight attendant spoke through the speakers, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome onboard Flight 4B7 with service from California to Toronto to Dublin to Cambridge. We are expected to be in the air in approximately seven minutes time. Fight time to the final destination will be 18 hours and 35 minutes, including 2 connecting stops. Our captain will provide you with more information after take-off. We ask that you please fasten your seat belts at this time and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartments. We also ask that your seats and table trays are in the upright position for take-off. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and cell phones. Smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. Thank you for choosing British Airways. Enjoy your flight."
I followed their instructions, putting my seat belt on and turning my phone off. I had no problem with heights and planes but for some reason, I never felt very good during the taking-off part. The way the plane shook as it quickly rolled off the ground and up towards the sky always freaked me out. My grip on the hand rests tightened as I shut my eyes and tried to imagine I was somewhere else. When the scary part was over and we were finally in the sky, I decided to make small talk.
"When's the baby coming?" I smiled.
She grinned, "He's coming in two months."
"Congratulations!" I said.
"Thank you. We're very excited."
Before I could reply, Rita's hand suddenly flew to her stomach, her face was contorted with pain. My eyes widened in panic. "Oh my goodness, are you ok?" I asked, touching her shoulder, a concerned expression on my face.
Rita breathed slowly, trying to calm herself down before nodding. "I'm fine. It's just the lack of sleep."
"You should go to sleep then," I said, turning the light above our seats off so she could relax. "Tell me if you need anything at all, ok?"
She touched my hand. "Thank you, Madison," she said before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.
I checked my watch and it was 5:30 pm. What was I going to do in 18 hours and 35 minutes? I decided to bring out my notebook and try finishing the song I started the day before. Whenever I wrote songs, I remembered Stephen Hawking. Call me a nerd, but hear me out. As most of us already know, he was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). That meant that the nerves that controlled his muscles were shutting down. When he began to lose his ability to speak, he used a speaking machine that could be directed by head or eye movement. They told him it wouldn't work out but it did. It still does to this day. Songwriting was like that machine for me. Whenever I couldn't speak out what I really wanted to say, I wrote it down and made it a song.
In the case of many of my songs, what I couldn't say out loud was how I felt about Brent. Actually, let me rephrase that. Many of my songs were about what I couldn't say to him. I was open about it to everyone else but him. I was so confident about how I felt, I would have screamed it out in the middle of a crowd. But in front of Brent? I would freeze, just like I always did. So I needed songwriting. It was my own personal speaking machine. Whatever I never had the confidence to say out loud, I somehow had the confidence to sing.
I was about to finish the second verse after the chorus when I heard a puking sound from behind me. A second later, I felt something wet on my neck. I turned around and saw a baby whose mouth was wet with vomit. After smelling the wet stuff I felt on my neck, I quickly realized what had happened.
The baby just vomited on my hair.
I stood up in shock. The mother, whose attention was now on my hair, gasped in horror at the sight.
"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" She said, handing her baby to her husband before she scavenged through her baby bag for something.
I could see how embarrassed she was, so I immediately faked a smile, pushing my disgust to the back of my head so she wouldn't see it.
"It's ok, it can be washed off," I assured her.
She handed me a fat pack of wet wipes and said, "At least let me help you clean it off, dear."
Taking the wet wipes from her, I shook my head. "No, it's ok. I can handle it. Thank you for the wet wipes!"
With that, I slowly squeezed over Rita's seat, trying hard not to wake her up, and silently made my way to the plane washroom. When I saw that it was occupied, I went to the next nearest washroom. Still occupied. I sighed in annoyance, leaning hopelessly on the wall beside the washroom.
Just then, a flight attendant came towards me and asked, "Can I help you with something?"
I stood up straight and answered, "Uhm, yeah. I really need to get this stuff off my hair but none of the washrooms at this area are vacant."
"You can use the washroom in business class. Follow me," she said, turning and leading me towards the front of the plane.
"Thank you," I said when we got there.
She smiled, "No problem. There's extra soap in the compartment under the sink if you need it."
I smelled my hair before nodding and said, "I'll need it."
Entering the washroom, I took one good look at myself. Thankfully, none of the vomit got on my clothes. However, it did make its way to my scalp. That meant that unless I shampooed my hair, the smell was not going away. I sighed, trying to wipe some of it off with the wet wipes. I had a scowl on my face when I realized it wasn't going to work.
"No," I said, looking at myself through the mirror. "Stop looking annoyed. It wasn't the baby's fault. How was he supposed to know there was an 18 year old girl with an apparently super absorbent scalp sitting in front of him? Just put a smile on your face so his mom doesn't feel any worse than she already does, Mad. You'll be at Dylan's in no time." I nodded at myself once, before washing my hands and drying them.
But when I opened the door, I immediately regretted it. Because standing outside with his hand over his nose was Brenton O'Keith. And he didn't have a pleasant look on his face.
I internally groaned. Just kill me now, I thought. Why did this have to happen to me? Did the universe have something against me? Had I not been a good person all my life? Why? Just why.
"Uhm... Are you just gonna stand there or...?" He said, his fingers still pinching his nose, making his voice come out sounding like he inhaled a helium balloon.
I mentally slapped myself, forcing my legs to move. "Uh... s-s-sorry," I lamely stuttered, squeezing past him and running away fast. But not fast enough.
When I finally got to my seat, I slumped down low, buried my face in my hands and whimpered. Of course, I thought, it had to be him behind the freaking door because life just loves to mess with me.
"Oh dear," the woman behind me said, looking at me over my seat. I looked up at her before she said, "You're crying because of the vomit, aren't you?"
I quickly shook my head, sniffling. "No no no! Not at all," I said, searching my mind for a good excuse to give her. "I accidentally stubbed my toe against the toilet."
The concerned look on her face grew deeper. "Oh my goodness, are you ok?"
I wiped my face with the back of my hands, nodded and replied, "Yes, I'm ok. Thank you so much for the wet wipes." I gave her back her pack of wet wipes.
She took it. "Did it work?"
I tried to smile. "It almost did. Don't worry, I can just take a bath when we arrive at Cambridge."
The woman gave me an awed look. "You're such a nice girl," she said, grinning.
"I'm nice to nice people," I replied, making her grin wider.
She sat back down and I returned to my little pity party. I sobbed as silently as I could, careful not to wake Rita up. I felt pathetic. Do not dare judge me, I just froze in front of Brenton O'Keith, reeking of baby puke and pure shame.
Pulling myself together, I decided to forget about what happened by reading a book. It didn't work, of course. However, it did help put me to sleep. At least in dreamland, I didn't have to relive the worst moment of my life again and again in my head.