By Chance

32 - Genevieve

I sat in seat 13 in row A, next to a guy who minded his business on his computer. He looked older, automatically alerting me, but I tried not to jump ahead of myself too much. The airplane ride was 12 hours, not counting the hours of downtime I had while catching my connecting flight. It was currently one in the morning, and I had been fighting exhaustion for two hours now. I had a five-hour layover in New York, and I knew it wouldn't be wise to waste the last hour sleeping when I'd just have to get up again.

I had been wired when I got on the plane and figured I could make it from Virginia to New York with no problem. The only problem was that I was too excited to see Harry. I wished I was old enough so I could down a couple of shots or something to bring on the sleepiness, but that wouldn't be possible till I crossed the UK border. Besides, I wasn't even sure how I felt about alcohol yet.

My dad had been an alcoholic the whole time he was married to my mother, tearing our entire family apart. I was only eight when she left, taking me with her, young enough to forget the stories of abuse that I was too naive to pick up on at the time but too old not to remember the many times I was left at school because my dad had forgotten to pick me up. I always wondered if my mom's breaking point was when she saw how unfazed I was when I heard that my dad had been in the hospital or when she'd call me and tell me she'd be picking me up instead from wherever I was because he couldn't. She often had to leave in the middle of whatever she was doing at work and come get me, nearly in a rage each time. Naturally, she was the working member of the family because my dad had been fired from his job.

I always felt terrible and like it was my fault somehow for being in that place at that time and needing a ride. She refused to believe I was guilty of any of it, and that's how our conversations always ended. Car rides were never that lively in my family. I found it louder in the library, which was often where I was in an attempt to escape. Thankfully, that was within walking distance from my house, so I never needed to bother my mom for a ride, not even asking my dad because I knew Mom would just show up anyway. The summer before we left, she forbade my father to drive me anywhere, having to figure out ride shares to and from places. It was inconvenient for everyone, so I often just spent time at home, wishing I wasn't there even though I was alone most of the time while my dad was at whatever bar he was spending all his time at that night. Or day.

I never tried to run away. I was never that stupid. But I wish my mom and I had sooner.

Wishful thinking put me in an even more sour mood as I slumped in my seat, watching a sea of dark clouds roll by. I knew I was better off without choking down a few shots like my dad had done when he was nervous. I knew what it had led to. It was hard to forget what happened, but it was harder to remember that I wasn't him and that I made my own choices.

Since my mom and I left and I was old enough, she made me swear that I wouldn't drink until I was old enough. I mentioned to her a few times that I had had a drink with the guys, and she seemed okay with it. I guess she just didn't want me looking at it as a source of healing for anything I might be dealing with as my father had done. I liked the idea of being able to have a drink with Harry now and then, but every time I was still hesitant. I knew things were contrary in England with how people drank compared to how it was in the States. That was one of the reasons I liked it so much there. The human relationship with alcohol was so much different. Of course, there were the typical cases of alcoholism or addiction, as I knew well, but even here, the case numbers were substantially less. I supposed they just had more familiarity with it than Americans did.

I looked out the window, sighing as the wisps of dark clouds barely seen through the black passed me by. Even though I had been to England more times than I could count, I still wondered if it would magically go from night to day in a matter of seconds the minute we crossed over. Time changes to me were an unfathomable wonder, and I chose to live in blissful silence rather than try to comprehend the possible science behind them, especially in the sleep-deprived state I was in now.

I kept blinking, eyes burning so much that I felt tears beginning to form in them. I had only gotten four hours of sleep before my flight, and it wasn't great sleep at that. It was one of those nights where everything I had forgotten I needed to do came at me five minutes into attempting to sleep...then three...then two... By the time I actually fell asleep, I lost a cumulative hour that I could've spent fighting off the... interesting dreams I've had about Harry lately. I may be able to fight off sleep while I'm awake, but all hell breaks lose the second I shut my eyelids.

I still had 12 hours of traveling left and was only three in, already wishing I was on London soil. The familiar thoughts from earlier reminded me of a time that happened shortly after I started dating Harry. We were only two months into our relationship then, so the family and the normalcy of having a drink at dinner were still pretty new for me. I had gotten closer with his twin, Sam, than the other brothers and often spent my time without Harry hanging out with him. He was the one that was around the most, so naturally, we bumped into each other a lot and got to know each other so much to the point where he knew some things about me that even his twin didn't know. Not that I'd tell Harry that, of course. He already got adorably jealous whenever I mentioned I spent a decent amount of time with his brother. It was cute; I know he didn't mean it at heart. I smiled as I recalled that hot, sunny day in the middle of July...