A Beautiful Forever

chapter 1

Paige

“My family are all dead,” I reply to the well-meaning lady sitting next to me. She’s just trying to make conversation to pass the time as

we fly half way across the world from Sydney, Australia to Heathrow Airport in the UK.

“Oh… I’m so sorry to hear that,” she stammers out, now not sure what to say. She looks at me, her mouth moving up and down like

she's a goldfish caught out of water. Her jowly cheeks are wobbling, and her eyes are darting nervously around as she searches for

something else to say.

“It’s fine. I just don’t like to talk about it,” I tell her, looking out the window at the passing clouds. I don’t like to talk about it because it

isn’t true. As far as I know, my family are all alive and well, they just don’t speak to me after kicking me out when I was fifteen. I have

taken to telling people they're dead – because that’s how it feels to me. I used to say that they don’t talk to me anymore, but what

does that say about me? The one that was cast out. It says no one loved me enough to fight for me, that I’m too much trouble to put

up with. It’s better if I say they’re dead – it makes me lucky to be the one who’s still alive.

Staring out the window, I watch the clouds roll by below us, like a fluffy white and grey blanket that I so desperately want to touch. The

woman turns her attention to the guy sitting on the other side of her and starts to ask him questions about his life instead. I've made

her uncomfortable. I have probably made everyone within earshot uncomfortable.

Pressing the buds of my headphones inside my ears, I scroll through my music and select an album. I’m really into 90’s alternative

music right now so I choose Custard’s Wahooti Fandango. ‘Teensville’ starts floating into my ears as I close my eyes and lean my

head against the window. I keep the sound at a level that is just enough to mask the sounds of the plane but quiet enough to lull me

off to sleep.





Elliot


Seriously, I just want to go to sleep. Although, this woman sitting next to me won’t stop yammering in my ear. I’m trying to listen and

answer her politely, but I have been awake for over 20 hours now, and I’m really struggling.

My eyes stray towards the girl sitting in the window seat, her hair has fallen forward to cover most of her face as she sleeps at an

awkward angle against the window. I so wish I was her right now.

“Is London the end of your journey?” the woman asks, leaning slightly so her face blocks my view.

I nod my head and exaggerate a yawn. “It is, how about you?”

“Oh no, I'm going to travel onto Scotland. My sister lives there, in Dundee, I’m going to stay with her for a whole month!”

Opening my mouth, I exaggerate another yawn and add some sleepy eyes in this time for good measure.

“You poor boy, I’m keeping you up. I’m sorry; I don’t sleep very well without one of these,” she tells me as she takes a packet of

sleeping pills out of her bag and puts one in her mouth, swallowing it dry. “I’ll be quiet now. You sleep.”

Gratefully, I close my eyes. Exhaustion washes through my body, and I drift off.

Paige


In my dream, there’s a bear growling outside. I’m aware it’s a dream because Australia doesn’t have bears in the wild, so it

confuses me to hear one. My consciousness moves forward as the rumbling sounds vibrate through me. It’s the sounds of the plane

and…. snoring? My eyes flutter open and I remove the buds from my ears, the album I was listening to long since over, and turn my

head toward the exasperating noise.

The woman who was talking to me earlier has her head tilted back, her mouth is wide open and the noise is emanating from her

throat. I squint at her, willing her with my mind to stir enough so the noise will stop. When she starts making a small choking sound, I

flinch, surprised and slightly impressed with my new mind control ability as she quiets and her breathing evens out.

I breathe out slowly - glad the noise is over; and move to replace the buds in my ears. But I’m paused, my reprieve all too brief, as

my skull starts vibrating when she starts up again – so much for my awesome mind control skills…

I cross my eyes in agitation and reach my hand toward her, clamping my fingers on either side of her nose. She makes a guttural

sound, and I withdraw my hand quickly, looking out the window and pretending nothing happened. I start counting seconds as I wait

to see if it worked, feeling safe when I reach a full minute in silence.

“Thank god,” I say to myself as I lean my head back against the window. The second I begin to relax however, she starts up again.

The guy on the other side of her starts laughing, and I find myself smiling as I lean forward to look at him.

He's quite frankly, the most beautiful man I have ever seen but looks almost too large to be in such a small seat. His long legs are

angled so that one is in the aisle, and the other is wedged in the minute gap between the seats in front of him. He has broad firm

shoulders that span further than the width of the seat. His hair is light golden brown and a little longer than I like on guy, but it kind of

suits him. He’s wearing a good day or two worth of stubble - which I’ll admit is a bit on the sexy side. But it’s his eyes that are most

striking. They look like someone took the clearest, bluest part of the ocean and dropped it into his irises.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m not laughing at you. I've been trying to make her stop snoring for ages. I’m laughing at the situation.”

He’s smiling at me; his smile is textbook perfect and creases the corners of his eyes that are watering a little from his laughter. It’s a

killer smile - if I hadn’t sworn myself off men years ago, I think I’d go all fluttery over him.





Elliot


I can’t stop laughing. Tears are streaming out of my eyes, and I wipe at them as this girl keeps looking at me. She’s a stunner, with

masses of curly dark-brown hair, olive skin, a full pouty mouth and amazing eyes – they kind of look like a piece of amber. They're

hazel in the middle, flecked brown with a thick dark edge before her whites come into play. They’re pretty awesome, and I don’t

mind that she’s studying me, because it gives me a good look at them.

I just wish I could stop laughing because I feel like a fool, but I’m so tired I can’t seem to control myself.

I take a deep breath to try and still my shaking body. “I’m sorry,” I say again once I calm myself a little, “I think I’m becoming delirious

from lack of sleep.”

“So you’ve been trying to stop her as well?” she asks me, ignoring my fits of laughter.

Wiping the last of my tears away, I nod and tell her, “She took a tablet a while back and no matter what I do she still snores.”

“Great,” is all she says as she sits back forcefully in the seat, she’s quiet for a beat before saying, “Listen, I need to get away from

her before I go mental. Can you get up, so I can climb out?”

“Sure,” I say, moving my legs to the side and standing in the aisle. As she stands up, I notice that she’s a decent height – probably

hitting just above my shoulder. She’s wearing almost the same as me, light blue jeans and a fitted t-shirt, although where mine is

plain black, hers is white and has a picture of two chickens dressed up in Mexican styled clothes leaning up against each other and

the words ‘LOS POLLOS HERMANOS’ written in a circle around them.

I recognise the logo from Breaking Bad, “I love that show,” I say, indicating her shirt with a nod of my head.

Without responding, she puts her foot on her seat and hunches over as she climbs over our snoring companion and on to my chair. I

put my hand out to steady her, but she doesn’t take it. She just steps down from my seat and says ‘thanks’ before walking towards

the back of the plane. I catch a glimpse of a tattoo when she adjusts her shirt, before my eyes drift below it to her arse as she walks

down the aisle. It’s one of those firm round arses that sways as she walks, whether she’s meaning to do it or not – it’s hot, and kind

of mesmerising. I feel a slight shift in my pants as I’m suddenly wondering if I could get her to join the ‘mile high club’.

I laugh a little through my nose as I scratch at the back of my head and retake my seat, she wouldn’t be into that I’m sure. She

showed no sign of attraction what so ever, most girls would have gladly grabbed a hold of me if offered my arm. Besides, I need to

stop that shit, I’ve lost count of the amount of girls I’ve screwed in that last couple of years, and I’ve become sick of it. It’s f*cking

hollow.

It was so easy for me. I'd go to club and ask a girl to dance and the next thing I knew I was taking her home and screwing her brains

out all night long. Some girls expected more from me the next morning, others just got up afterwards and left without a word. I didn’t

give a shit about any of them, and I know I hurt the feelings of more than one, but I wasn’t thinking about them. I only cared about

myself.

Eventually, I took a girl home and realised I had been with her before, I’d been with her quite a few times actually, but I still didn’t

know her name. I told her that I couldn’t go through with it and paid for a cab to take her home. That was when I decided I was done, I

’d had enough of night clubs, and I’d had enough of treating women like my own personal harem, picking and choosing them as I

saw fit. It was crappy of me, and I hate myself for it.

So, that’s why I’m heading to London. I’ve secured a three month working visa, and I’m going over there for a change of pace.

Maybe I’ll find myself again while I’m there, this guy who screws around and sees women as sex toys isn’t me. At least, I don’t think it

is - I don’t even know who the f*ck I am anymore.