I took my last look at Alabama out the window of the plane. The night had taken over the day, leaving me with a dark silhouetted version of my home. Images of Max's rage flicked over in my mind as his final words to me played over in my head, 'It's not over, until I say it's over.' Tears trickled down my cheeks but I wiped them away furiously.
"No Morgan. You don't cry. You do not cry. Under any circumstances," I whispered to myself.
"Did you say something to me, dear?" The old lady next to me asked. She had those big magneifying glasses, which made her bluey grey eyes look huge.
"No, I was just talking to myself," I replied, trying to smile.
"Would you like a sweet?" She asked me. I realised there was something weird about her accent. It wasn't like mine, was it Australian? I hadn't heard many Australian voices before only those ones that were like "G'Day mate" or like "Chuck some shrimp on the barbie with the bangas" so I couldn't be too sure. The lady held out a withered old hand in which half a dozen boiled pieces of candy sat. I took one, to be polite, thanking the lady as I did so.
"What's your name, dear?" her frayed voice asked.
"Morgan, Morgan Brudenell," I replied.
"Morgan. that is a lovely name. Celtic I believe. My second cousin's son was named Morgan..." she continued to talk for a couple of hours about her family, she was very proud of it. Her grandson, Daniel, was a part of some group called The Janoskians. They did pranks around the streets and filmed it, putting it up on YouTube. It wasn't the type of thing you would think someone would be proud of but never the less but Grandma Sahyoune, here was very proud. She showed me a picture of this Daniel boy. He was quite attractive to be honest. He had two piercings under his lip, on one side, black hair and green eyes.
Soon after Grandma Sahyoune fell asleep, leaving me with nothing to keep my mind off Max. What if he followed me here? What if he wanted revenge on me? What was I going to do?
