by Whitney G.
“The occupied light is clearly—” The door swung open and she gasped, looking me up and down. Her eyes were filled with tears and her face was flushed red, yet she still looked absolutely stunning.
Behind her, in the lavatory, crumpled Kleenex littered the small sink and her phone sat still on the ledge.
I considered remaining calm, going with the bullshit, “Please hear me out” approach, but I decided not to waste my time.
“We need to talk, Gillian,” I said. “Now.”
“I’ll pass.” She tried to slam the door in my face, but I held it open and pushed her inside—locking the door behind me.
For several seconds, neither of us said a word. We simply stared at each other in silence, waiting for the other person to start. I was supposed to apologize right now, to say something poignant and sweet that I knew would get to her, but I had a feeling that shit wouldn’t work tonight. And I had a more important question on my mind, anyway.
“I have nothing else to say to you, Jake,” she said softly. “Nothing else to say.”
“Good, I’ll do most of the talking.”
“Well, that’s quite ironic. You don’t normally talk at all.”
“Are you fucking someone else?”
“What?”
“Do I need to repeat it?” I closed the gap between us. “Are you fucking someone else?”
“We haven’t spoken in weeks.” She hissed. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, and this is the first thing you ask me? How about, ‘Hello, Gillian. It’s been a long time since we last spoke. How are you?’”
“Hello, Gillian.” I locked my eyes on hers. “It’s been a long time since we last spoke. How are you? Are you fucking someone else?”
“No.”
“Are you seeing someone else?”
“That’s the same goddamn question.”
“Then give me the same goddamn answer.”
“No.” She crossed her arms. “No, I have not been seeing someone else, but I will be soon. And you know what? It’ll be someone who doesn’t make me feel this way every few weeks, someone who doesn’t get a sick thrill out of disappearing on me for weeks at a time or leaving me wondering at all hours of the night because he won’t open up to me. Best of all, it’ll be someone who will respect me and not act like loving me is a burden.”
“I’ve never said loving you was a burden.”
“You’ve never said you loved me at all.”
Silence.
“Gillian…” I looked right into her eyes. “Listen to me.”
“Screw you. Let me leave, please.” She pushed me, but I held her still. “Let me leave right now, Jake.”
“No.” I pulled her close and wrapped my arm around her waist, using my free hand to wipe her tears with my fingertips. I ran my hands across her back and kissed the edges of her mouth, softly biting her bottom lip to calm her down. “You know that I would never want to hurt you.”
“Do I?”
“You fucking should.” I bit her bottom lip again, harsher this time, and then I whispered against her mouth. “I need you to give ‘us’ another chance.”
“What makes you think I would be stupid enough to do that?”
“Because I’m not the only person here who has ever made a mistake.” My lips brushed against hers. “I recall the start of this being quite fucked up.”
“It’s still fucked up.” She looked as if she was about to cry again, but I wiped away the tears before they could fall. She began rambling, launching into one of those long, epic rants I actually missed and I couldn’t help but kiss her lips.
She tried to pull away from me, to act like moans weren’t escaping from her mouth, so I kissed her harder until she finally gave in to me.
“Are you having sex with someone else, Jake?” she whispered against my mouth.
“No.”
“Have you been dating anyone else?”
“No.” I slapped her ass and yanked her hair out of its bun. And as she continued to ask questions like only she could, I kissed her until she was too breathless to ask another. Until she gave me a glazed over look that said she was actually willing to listen to me.
“We can talk tonight,” I whispered. I grabbed her hand and pressed it against the front of my pants, letting her feel how hard she made me. “We can talk about whatever the hell you want to talk about tonight…”
Gate B37
Gillian
Paris (CDG) ---> New York (JFK)
Hours after landing in Paris, Jake pulled me close against him in his suite’s Jacuzzi. My back was pressed against his chest and he was running his fingers through my wet hair—kissing my neck every few seconds.
Despite what he'd said on the plane about talking about “whatever [I ] wanted,” no words were spoken when we first checked in. Instead, we’d spent most of the night re-connecting all over his room, letting our sex say all the things we still struggled to say aloud to each other.
It wasn’t until a couple hours ago, that he’d held me still and began to tell me about all the things that had plagued his entire life. His father’s lies. His brother’s assistance in protecting those lies. His ex wife. And the saddest story of all, his mother.
“That’s where you go every three weeks?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I felt guilty for assuming it was something else. “Does your brother or your father ever go visit her?”
“No.”
“Do they know where she is?”
“They do,” he said. “I’m sure they’ve sent things their money can buy. Maybe once or twice they may have snuck in under the guise of a charity event, but…”
“They can’t let the truth get out.”
“Exactly. That can never get out because it would ruin them both,” he said.
“But why haven’t you said anything about it at least?”
“There’s nothing to gain,” he whispered into my ear. “Do you mind if I change the subject?”
I shook my head and he slid his hands underneath my thighs, slowly turning me around until we were face to face. He leaned forward to kiss me—letting his teeth slightly bite my bottom lip, and then he grabbed both my hands.
“I want us to make this work,” he said, looking into my eyes. “I need us to make this work.”
“I said I was willing to give us another chance when we were on the plane.”
“No, no, no…” He shook his head. “You don’t understand what I’m saying.” His eyes were still on mine, looking more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him. “Almost everyone in my life has betrayed me at some point or used me for some type of personal gain. Almost everyone…My father is a goddamn liar and a cheat, my brother is a manipulative hypocrite, my ex-wife is an opportunist and a father-fucker.”
“You, on the other hand…” His lips found mine again and he pulled me down against his chest. “You’re my anomaly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Surely after all the crossword puzzles you’ve stolen from me, you know what the word ‘anomaly’ means.”
“I know what the word means, I mean in terms of us.”
“I mean that although I’m sure you’re practically incapable of doing any of the things my family has done, I don’t ever want to have to wake up and read the papers to find out about what lies you’re spinning, I don’t want to have to worry about you being with someone else, and something tells me no one else would put up with your incessant talking as much as I do, so this relationship would actually be in your best interest as well.”
“One of those clauses was not like the others…”
“I’m aware.” He let out a low laugh. “I just need you to promise to continue being my anomaly. And I’m also just not sure how to say I love you.”
I sucked in a breath, my heart immediately full of butterflies, and his mouth claimed mine with kisses, breaking down any playful resistance, cementing his feelings over my own.
When he finally let me go, I remembered what I n
eeded to talk about tonight. What had changed in my life since we last broke up. “Wait, Jake. I have to tell you something.”
He ignored me, pressing his lips against mine again, slipping his tongue deeper into my mouth.
“No, wait…” I pulled away from him. “It’s really important.”
“Is it bad?”
I hesitated. “It depends on your definition of bad.”
“You know what bad is, Gillian.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Is it really that bad to where you have to tell me right now, or can it wait?”
“It can wait.”
“Good.” His mouth was on mine again and he pulled me into his lap before standing up with me attached to his waist. “Tonight, I just want to focus on the good, and the fact that I really do love you.”
“If you love me so much, maybe we don’t have to do so much fucking anymore…”
“We’ll always be fucking, Gillian.” He smiled, biting my lip before tossing me onto the bed. “That’s the best part of us.”
Gate B38
Jake
New York (JFK) ---> Tokyo (NRT)
For the first time in years, I felt that everything in my life was almost right. That thrilling adrenaline rush I once lived for at every takeoff had now returned, and the fact that I finally had someone who wasn’t out to use or betray me, made me feel like I was capable of trusting again.
It’d only been a few days since I made up with Gillian, and I knew we had more work to do to get on the same page—to remain on the same page, but I was actually determined to make this work.
The second I landed in Tokyo, I called Jeff to make sure the flowers I’d ordered yesterday were still set to arrive at her place on Eastern time tomorrow.
“Yes, I placed the flower order, Mr. Weston.” Jeff laughed as he answered the phone. “All eight bouquets. That is what you’re calling about, isn’t it?”
“I called to discuss the weather.”
“I thought so.” He laughed again. “I like the way love looks on you, Mr. Weston. You’re far more tolerable this way.”
“I was tolerable before,” I said. “I’ll see you when I get back. And thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
I ended the call and stood up to leave the cockpit, bidding the departing passengers farewell for the first time in as long as I could remember. I didn’t even get annoyed when they took their precious-ass time to take selfies in the aisle with the flight attendants.
When the last one deplaned, I walked down the jet-bridge and felt my phone vibrating against my pocket. Gillian.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hey…” Her voice was faint for some reason. “I was hoping to get your voicemail.”
“Why is that?”
“I wanted to leave you an important message.”
“Are you drunk, Gillian?” I sighed. “Are you and your roommate playing some type of game tonight?”
“No…” She cleared her throat. “I need to tell you something, the same something I tried to tell you when we made up that day.”
I stopped walking as I entered the terminal, rolling my bag over to the windows. “So it is something bad?”
“No, it’s just bad timing.”
“You’re not pregnant.”
“No…” She laughed nervously. “No, I’m definitely not pregnant.”
“And you also said you didn’t fuck anyone else while we were apart.” I felt my jaw clenching. “Are you about to tell me differently?”
“No, that’s not it either. I’ve only slept with you since we’ve met.”
I tapped my fingers against the handle of my luggage, mentally rewinding the past months we’d been apart and the months prior that we’d been together. I thought about the times she’d given me her “Cliff’s Notes” of long stories, her bad days that always involved her family, and figured she was probably blowing whatever it was out of proportion.
“I take it this is going to be a long conversation?” I asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was damn near a whisper now.
“Okay.” I walked toward the transportation dock. “I’ll call you once I check into the hotel.”
“You promise?” There was worry in her voice. “You promise to call me as soon as you check in?”
“Yes, Gillian. As soon as I check in.”
“Okay, good. I’ll be waiting.”
“Talk to you in twenty.” I ended the call, extremely confused. I walked past baggage claim and outside, catching sight of the rest of the flight crew getting onto the shuttle van.
“Excuse me, Captain?” A man walked up to me, his camera in hand. “Will you please take a picture with us?”
“With?”
He nodded, pointing at his toddler daughter who was wearing a blue and white dress. “My daughter begged me to ask. It would really make her day.”
“Sure.” I stood still and waited for his daughter to stand next to me.
He held his camera above all of us and I actually smiled for a change.
“Thank you!” He picked his daughter up to show her the picture, dropping his newspaper onto the ground.
“I’ll get it,” I said, stooping down to grab it. I started to hand it back to him, but my fingers instinctively tightened around the edges once I realized that this was yesterday’s edition of The New York Times. Once I realized that my so-called “anomaly” was on the front page.
What the fuck…
Terminal C
Boy Fucks Girl (Well, Vice Versa…)
Blog Post
Gillian
Present Day
* * *
Somewhere between the time we last broke up and the moment he showed up on my doorstep, the previous weeks of tears were long forgotten. The endless coffee runs and all-nighters that ended with crumpled Kleenex beside my laptop all faded, all went away the second he wrapped me in his arms and begged me to take him back.
And even so, when he bared his truths to me, when he told me he loved me and our sex meant more than “just sex,” I wanted to tell him that this time, during our longest break up, my life hadn’t been solely filled with crying and pain. There were days when I didn’t cry in-flight, nights when I wouldn’t let myself waste a single second thinking about him. And in those times, I’d channeled my energy into something else.
I was going to tell him.
I really was…
Write later,
**Taylor G.**
* * *
No comments posted.
Blog Post
Gillian
Present Day
* * *
Twenty calls to his home phone since last week.
Thirty texts to his cell since last weekend.
Twelve emails to his personal and work addresses this morning alone.
Not a single response from him, though. Not even a rude and well deserved, “This text isn’t about fucking.”
I even caught him in the airport today, an hour after I formally submitted my two weeks’ notice.
I was taking one final glance of the newest runway, when I spotted him walking through the terminal. Still turning heads with his every step, still making damn near every woman blush as his cockiness radiated off him in waves, his eyes met mine and my entire world stopped.
I rushed over to him, anxious to explain myself, but he looked right through me and continued walking. I even ran after him—calling his name, but he glared at me with eyes that held hurt and betrayal. Eyes that once held nothing but overwhelming, chaotic love for me.
“Please listen to me,” I said. “Please, let me explain.”
He didn’t. He held up his hand and forced a smile. “I don’t take photos with passengers, Miss,” he said. “I’m sure any of the other pilots here would be happy to help you. Have a good day.”
Then he walked away.
I haven’t seen or heard from him since.
Write later somewhere else,
**Taylor G.**
; 1 comment posted:
KayTROLL: So…Do I still need to comment on these posts now that we’ve met up in person? Let me know!
Gate C39
Gillian
Eight Weeks Earlier…
I stared at my blank screen and held back tears. Time wasn’t healing anything between me and Jake, and every second without him was only making things worse.
It was taking everything in me not to call and reach out to him, and I knew I was being foolish by picking the lines with the absolute worst routes so we wouldn’t cross paths, but I couldn’t bear to see him in person right now.
Our last argument still left me feeling raw and allowed me to see that we’d finally reached the end of our relationship. There was nowhere else for us to go, and we needed to stay the hell away from each other before we ended up being even more messed up than we already were.
Unable to write a long blog post, I simply wrote, “I think this really was the end for us,” and hit publish. Before I could shut down my laptop, there was a soft pinging sound. An immediate comment from my personal troll.
(KayTROLL)—I’m pretty sure he’s thinking about you just as much as you’re thinking about him. Just my two cents. If I were you, I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over it.
I’d never responded to his troll-ish comments before, but with Meredith out of town and no one else to vent to, I typed a response.
(Taylor G.)—No, I think this was finally the end for us. It feels different this time.
(KayTROLL) You always say that. Then two days later, you go right back. (I’m not holding my breath on this one. Sorry.)