“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. But I don’t.
Instead, I decide to get up and go for a walk to stretch my legs. He gets up to let me out and makes some comment about my shirt that I ignore. He even holds his hand out to steady me as I climb over the large woman who is seated between us.
I don’t take it. I just look at it. He’s trying to be nice. I know that. But I can’t let men be nice to me. Not when I’ve come so far. Not when I know that I can do this on my own.
As I walk toward the back of the plane I feel his eyes on me. It makes my skin prickle with an attraction I don’t want to feel. I pull at my shirt to make sure all my skin is covered.
Covertly, I glance over my shoulder at the beautiful man who is still standing in the aisle as he leans forward and rubs the back of his neck, with a strong lean arm. He looks the epitome of the perfect man - strong, healthy, and based upon my short interaction with him, he’s been brought up well.
I walk until I reach the back of the plane where there's a little alcove with a window. I'm so tired that I rest my forehead against the glass and just look out at the nothingness that is the night sky.
“Hey there,” a deep rumble of a voice says from behind me, I tilt my head to the side, still pressed up against the glass - it’s the guy from my row.
Sighing, I turn and face him, not saying anything. I just look at him and wait for him to speak – he obviously wants to have a conversation, and I'm doing my best to seem uninterested. I want to get this done and over, as quickly as possible.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, putting his hands in his jean's pockets, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “I needed to get away from the noise too.” The corner of his lip turns up as he studies me. I notice his eyes scan the length of my body and automatically fold my arms across my middle protectively, feeling betrayed by my body as it flashes hot under his gaze.
“Why would I mind?” I ask him flatly. “It’s not like I own the plane.”
He gives me what I think might be his most dashing smile, but he still looks unsure of me. “I’m Elliot by the way,” he tells me, extending his hand to shake mine.
My eyes travel down to his outstretched arm. I don’t want to take it. When I look up at his expectant face, his eyes narrow slightly, but he keeps his hand stretched out towards me stubbornly.
“I won’t bite,” he assures me, and I’m not so sure about that.
Giving in, I reach out and take his hand. “Paige,” I nod, trying to keep my cool. Although, I have to supress a gasp as our palms connect. It’s as if his life force just travelled up my arm and mingled with mine. I snatch my hand back quickly, hiding it behind my back, as I try to ignore the tingle his hand has left there.
A slight longing throbs inside of me. The one that wishes for the life I could have had, instead of the one I got. But I squash it down as quickly as it surfaces.
I can’t allow myself to seek the comfort in the arms of another person again. It’s caused me nothing but pain and rejection, from the moment my mother stopped holding me as a child. I’ve longed to be held. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had this yearning inside me for comfort, for caring. For someone who gave a damn.
That longing has caused me to make colossal errors in my life. I’ve fallen into situations that a stronger person would have refused to be a part of – and all because I was searching for comfort, searching for love – for acceptance.