Turbulence
Page 21
“You’re not helping me learn, sir,” he said, teary eyed just like last time. “Would it kill you to actually give me some advice?”
I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Fly better next time.”
“With all due respect, could you tell me something that will actually help?”
“How about learn how to read?” I stood up and tossed the operations manual for the Airbus 321 at him. “You’re making the same emergency protocol mistakes because you’re treating this like a damn CR-9. Try memorizing chapters seven through thirty. Is that helpful enough?”
He nodded and I rolled my eyes, stepping out of the tube. I walked through the hangar—past the other simulators, ignoring the supervisor who was shaking his head at me.
I made it to the parking lot and opened my car door, but I heard a familiar, ugly voice calling my name.
“Jake! Jake!” Evan stopped a few feet short of me, forcing me to turn around. “Jake, I—I missed the chance to speak to you at the gala. Would you please let me talk to you?”
I didn’t answer.
“I just need five minutes of your time, so—”
“Get the fuck away from my car.”
“Jake.” His face fell. “Jake, don’t do this...”
“Don’t you have some erasing to do?” I glared at him. “More childhood photos you need to crop me out of?”
“Jake, please.”
“I like ‘Pearson’ as a last name. That was a really good choice the two of you made. How many of your legal friends did you have to go through to cover everything up?”
“We’re not covering up anything.”
“No?” I crossed my arms. “Have I somehow missed the scandalous tell-all in the press somewhere? I’d love to read it, if so.”
“We’re still your family, Jake.” He changed the subject. “No matter what you think we did, or no matter what we’ve done, we’re still your flesh and blood and we both need to talk to you.”
“Leave me a voicemail.” I opened my car door, but he stepped in my way.
“We’ve left you hundreds of voicemails, Jake. Hundreds. You keep changing your phone number, treating us like we don’t exist.”
“How ironic is that?” I pushed him. “Get the hell out of my way.”
“Today would’ve been mom’s birthday, you know. She would’ve wanted us to—”
“How do you sleep at night?” I felt the veins in my neck swelling. “How the fuck do either of you sleep at night?”
He shoved his hands into his pocket, regret creeping over his face. “We don’t...We honestly don’t.”
“Good.” I clenched my fists. “You don’t deserve to.”
“I know, and I think it’s time for you to listen to us, Jake. If you heard us out, you’d see that it’s time for you to forgive us.”
“The people who inflict pain can’t decide when it’s time for it to go away.” I slid into the driver’s seat, tempted to roll my car in reverse and then run over him. “Now, get the fuck away from me, and stay the fuck away from me. You, Nathaniel—”
“Dad, Jake. His name is Dad to you.”
“Funny.” I shrugged. “That’s not what I’ve read in the papers all these years.”
Looking saddened, he raised his hands in surrender and backed away from the car. I cranked the engine and pulled off, speeding onto the highway. I now knew I wasn’t going to last at Elite for more than a few more months—huge salary or not, and I needed to figure out a way to leave.
Turning on the radio, I searched for a decent station—something that could distract me, but there was nothing. All static or songs I didn’t feel like listening to.
I groaned and pulled over on the side of the road, parking and putting on my hazard lights. The fact that my brother and father could act so fucking normal, or like they’d ever be forgiven, still got under my skin and grated my nerves.
As a light snow began to fall outside my windows, I leaned back in my chair and shut my eyes—trying to calm myself before driving on the road.
By the time I opened my eyes again, an hour had passed and I had two missed calls from Evan, an unknown number, and a handful of emails from Gillian.
Subject: Can’t sleep.
Are you awake?
—Gillian
Subject: Yes, I know this email is not about fucking...
I know you’re awake, Jake...
—Gillian
Subject: My pussy is wet...
So. Soaking. Wet.
—Gillian
I clicked on her name and hit send via FaceTime.
“Seriously?” She answered on the first ring, her pretty face appearing on my screen immediately. “That’s what it takes?”
“That’s always what it takes.” I noticed she was only wearing a tank top, that her hair was wet and dripping onto her bare shoulders.
She narrowed her eyes at me and sucked in a breath, but I spoke before she could batter me with another long rant.
“I just left a simulator session,” I said. “I saw all of your messages at the same time.”
“So, you would’ve responded to the first one if you’d seen it earlier?”
“Probably not.” I smiled. “You’re in Newark right now, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Which hotel?”
“The Doubletree.” She squinted at the screen.” Are you in your car?”
“Yes.” I turned on my windshield wipers as the snow fell a little harder. “I needed a minute to think.”
The look on her face said she was waiting for an explanation, but I didn’t give it.
“Why can’t you sleep?” I asked instead. “That’s a pretty relaxing hotel.”
“Because I’m so wet.” She shook her wet hair. “So soaking wet...Oh, god, the ache in my pussy is so unbearable right now.”
I rolled my eyes. “Be serious, Gillian.”
“Well, for one, there’s a couple next door to me having sex.”
“Put on some headphones.”
“Two, my supervisor wrote me up for serving the wine and cheese too slow.” She frowned. “She embarrassed me in front of the entire crew, so I’m still trying to get over that. And three...”
“Yes?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“I have a feeling you’d talk to anyone right now if they’d let you.” I shook my head, but decided I could use a little conversation right now. “How many boyfriends have you had?”
“What?”
“How many boyfriends have you had?” I repeated.
“I heard you the first time,” she said. “I’m just shocked you’re asking me something that’s not about sex.”
“This is temporary. I’ll ask you to show me how wet your pussy is later.”
She laughed. “I’ve had one serious boyfriend and three casual ones. Are you going to ask me if I still think about them?”
“You’re fucking me, so you have no reason to. Why did you break up with the serious one?”
“He cheated on me.” She lay back on the bed, holding the phone above her face. “With like ten other women.”
“I take it that’s where your ‘only one’ demand came from?”
She nodded, blushing. “Since you don’t do girlfriends, how many women have you slept with?”
“I’ve never kept count.” I admitted. “None of them ever meant anything.”
“Right.” She forced a smile. “Makes sense. Have you ever dated anyone seriously?”
“Not since my ex-wife,” I said. “Piloting doesn’t allow for any serious relationships.”
She nodded again, giving me that fake smile. “In your non-serious relationships, not including me, have you always had incessant sex in airports and on planes?”
“Gillian, the reason we fuck in airports is because you’re the only woman I’ve been incapable of waiting to have sex with. I’ve never fucked anyone else in an airport—doubt I ever will, and I haven’t fucked you on a plane yet, but I’ll keep that in mind as
that’s something I’d definitely want to do with you. So, that would be a no. Happy?”
“No.” Her real smile gave way, and I turned off the car’s hazard lights.
“Glad we could clear that up.”
“Me, too...Oh, and Jake?” Her cheeks reddened, as if she was about to laugh. “You called me tonight.”
“I’m aware.”
“Well, this counts as a late night phone call.”
“And?” I dared her to hang up on me.
“And I actually wouldn’t mind if you did it again...”
“I won’t.” I took her off video chat and switched the call to my phone’s speakers. “You have to be at the airport in twelve hours, correct?”
“No, nine hours.”
“Did the flight time just change?”
“No.” She let out a breath. “My supervisor makes me show up to everything two to three hours early whenever possible.”
“That’s pointless.” I switched lanes, heading back toward New York. “What do you do with all the free time?”
“Book hop. I start reading a book in one bookstore and then I walk to the next bookstore to read the next few until it’s time to go. Or if you’re in town...Well, I meet you.”
“Interesting.” I turned up the volume on her soft and sexy voice, unable to end this call for some reason. “What’s the last book you read?”
Her tone changed and she became completely animated. For two hours she and I talked about favorite novels as I drove through traffic, and before I knew it, I was crossing the bridge into Newark, not New York.
Jesus...
I turned off my car after parking in front of the Doubletree, with her still talking in my ear.
“Are you at home yet?” she asked, yawning.
“No, I’m outside your hotel...What’s your room number?
GATE B24
GILLIAN
New Orleans (MSY)—> San Francisco (SFO)—> New York (JFK)
I hit “post” on my thirtieth blog post of the week, logging off before I could see a comment from my personal troll. I was sitting on the fire escape by my window, letting New York’s familiar soft rains pelt against my skin.
With two days off, I’d planned to finally address my mail, to finally open the numerous envelopes that littered the corners in my apartment, but I couldn’t do it. For one, I still thought that if I avoided them, they would eventually go away, and two, I was getting slightly paranoid about the fact that Jake had yet to respond to my latest email, even though I knew he was here in New York.
I scrolled through my emails again, double checking to be sure my “Hey...You got a minute?” text had gone through yesterday. I tapped the screen as the word “sent” appeared and tapped my fingers against the window sill.
I didn’t want to make too much of this, but there was definitely a pattern. Every third week of the month, like he’d said from the beginning, he was practically unreachable. No texts, no emails, no phone calls. But the second the weekend ended, he would pick up right where we left off, as if the messages I’d sent prior had never happened.
Not only that, but the few occasions that I spent the night with him, I would catch him whispering in his sleep. It was always the same phrases over and over, “He lied to you, Jake, he lied to all of us,” “How do you sleep at night?” or, “Who are you here for?”
And every time that I attempted to ask him about it, he would look at me as if he had no idea what I was talking about. He would then, as always, distract me from the topic with his incomparable sex—rendering me completely useless for hours.
Sighing, I swung my feet across the ledge and shut the window. I walked over to the corner by my desk and picked up a handful of envelopes, prepared to force myself to at least face five of them, but a familiar sound suddenly came through the walls.
“Ohhhh goddd! Ohhh god! Yesss!!!” Meredith’s voice rang out loud and clear. “Yessss!” The walls shook harder and harder, and before I could grab my earbuds, my phone vibrated against my pocket. A text message from Jake.
Jake: Come over. (Use the luxury cab. I’ll pay for it.)
I tossed the envelopes to the floor and grabbed my coat.
GATE B25
JAKE
JFK (New York)
As the evening clouds gave way to an ashen grey sky, I stood on my balcony, watching Gillian sleep in my bedroom.
Whenever she spent the night with me, I noticed a pattern: No restless nights or stress if she was around. Even today, when my memories seemed hell bent on following me around, her very presence seemed to keep them at bay. Not only that, but anytime I was around her, there were remnants of feelings that came to life whenever she gave me a certain look.
When we kissed, I felt hints of emotions I once possessed. And after several meet-ups in cities all across the country, I wanted to deny that my attraction to her was more than skin deep. I wanted to deny that even though she was the exact type I should stay away from, I couldn’t seem to get close enough. She was getting under my skin, slipping into my marrow, and that was a problem.
Picking up my phone, I logged into my condo’s call log, stopping when I saw a new voicemail from an unfamiliar number. Helplessly hoping it was the one I’d waited years for, I typed the password into my system and let it play.
“One new message...” The system said before the familiar soft beep.
“Jake, it’s me...” It was the last person I wanted to hear again, Evan. “Jake, I really hate that you insist on rerouting all of our phone calls. It really hurts, and you never—”
“Stop.” I gritted my teeth as the message came to an end, scrolling past the new set of blocked numbers for Evan, Riley, and my father—the ten different ones they’d used this month.
As I added this new, unwelcome number to the list, a chill ran down my spine. It was a sudden reminder of how I’d been off track for the past weeks, how I’d lost focus and almost started to trust someone again.
Every person in my life, except one, had betrayed me at some point, or decided to take an opportunistic turn instead of remaining loyal, and I knew it was only a matter of time before Gillian did the same.
I walked back over to her as she slept and pulled the blanket across her body. I trailed my finger against her lips, making them curve into a sated smile, and then I took a pillow and a blanket to the couch.
I needed to stop whatever the hell this was turning into and return to what we were at the start. For both of our sakes.
GATE B26
JAKE
Madrid (MAD)
Subject: Hey...
My parents (and family) are coming into town in a few weeks for that marriage proposal I told you about. We’ll both be in New York that weekend, and I was wondering if you wanted to be my date (casual...just casual) at dinner?
—Gillian
Subject: Re: Hey...
This email is not about fucking.
—Jake
Subject: Re: Re: Hey...
LOL. I’m aware. (Haven’t received one of those from you in awhile, so thank you for the laugh :-) ) Would you like to come, though? It might ease my nerves if you’re there...
—Gillian
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Hey...
Why would I want to meet your parents, Gillian? Would you introduce me as the guy you’re fucking?
—Jake
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey...
I would introduce you as my friend.
—Gillian
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey...
We’re not friends.
—Jake
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey...
Okay...Are you having a bad day or something? Something wrong?
—Gillian
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey...
Jake? Are you there?
—Gillian
I didn’t answer that thread. I started another.
Subject: Dallas.
Meet me at A21 Thursday.
—Jake
Subject: Re: Dallas.
I’m not meeting you anywhere until you tell me what the hell is wrong with you. What’s wrong, Jake?
—Gillian
Subject: Re: Re: Dallas.
Nothing is wrong with me, Gillian. A21. Thursday.
—Jake.
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Dallas.
I won’t be there. Shoot your come in the trash can.
—Gillian
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Dallas
You will be there. Bring your mouth.
—Jake
She never responded.
Days passed and no new words from her ever came. And on Thursday, I stood in the bathroom near A21, realizing she wasn’t going to show.
Agitated, I left and walked into the terminal—spotting her at a restaurant. She was sitting at a table alone with her arms crossed, looking off into the distance.
A part of me wanted to walk over and tell her to follow me back to the restroom, and another part of me wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
She’d get over it.
GILLIAN
~BLOG POST~
Present Day
Foolish, foolish girl...
So much for not being a doormat.
I feel like one of the heroines in an old romance book—one of the Mary Sues who’s willing to put up with anything from an asshole hero in exchange for amazing cock. But I honestly can’t continue to live like this—can’t let someone toss my heart into a grinder over and over again for shits and giggles.
I denied him in Dallas, gave into him in Charlotte, and let him do whatever he wanted to do to me in New York.
And the only words spoken between us were moans. That, and a “See you next week.”
I know better than this...
Write later,
Mary-Sue
**Taylor G.**
1 comment:
KayTROLL: The ‘Misadventures of Taylor G.’s Emotional Pussy’ continues...
GATE B27
GILLIAN
Memphis (MEM)—> New York (JFK)
I stared at Jake as he tossed a condom into the trash, waiting for him to make eye contact with me, but he seemed too pre-occupied.