This Means War

2| Like Some Geltao With That Leather Jacket

I groaned cursing myself for ordering a second glass of wine after I'd finished my bottle of water. You just had to let loose didn't you. The snarky woman in my head hissed pointedly, bouncing on her toes. "Nathaniel...Nathaniel..." I whined, attempting to rouse my sleeping companion—sprawled across the makeshift bed the seating doubled as—I sighed, shifting in my seat uncomfortably.

As of ten minutes ago crossing my legs had only made my current situation worse. "Nate." I cried, shaking him a little harder, desperate for him to wake up. It was useless,  short of a bucket of ice water straight to the face he would remain dead to the world until he was good and ready.

"That's it!" I hissed. Unbuckling my belt I awkwardly climbed over him and hurried to the toilet. As luck would have it, both facilities were occupied. My bladder groaned in distress. Bouncing on my toes I folded my arms over my chest, waiting impatiently. "Come on Nance, keep it together...." I muttered to myself, doing anything but breathing out.

"Are you alright honey?" A woman in her mid-forties questioned taking in my agitated, crackhead in withdrawal, appearance. "Not a regular flyer?" She deduced, incorrectly. Regardless, I was glad my clothes and jittery body language didn't give off 'drug addict' vibes after all. "First time in first class?" She whispered.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I snapped, drawing the attention of serval travellers accustomed to long flights. My eyes widened apologetically and I quickly deflected. "S...sorry. It's just, I think I had a little too much to drink." I gestured with my hand pretending to throw back an imaginary beverage. Great, you're not a drug addict but you bloody well look like an alcoholic now. That obnoxious inner voice returned, clapping mockingly. Flipping her hair over a shoulder the lady forced a laugh before returned to her seat and the mind numbing reality show she was watching. "Finally." I mumbled, almost mowing down the gentleman who exited the pod as I lunged inside.

Having finally emptied what felt like litres of liquid from my exhausted bladder, I sighed in contentment. The last thing I needed was the mortification of wetting myself upon landing. Now relived, I was able to take in the luxurious facilities. The space was much larger than I was used to in economy, nice lighting, porcelain sinks and counters, perfumes and lotions too. Not interested in exploring further, I pressed the soap dispenser several times. "Bollocks." I tried again but nothing came out. Checking the cupboards and draws for any substitute I frowned coming up empty apart from toilet paper. "Really, perfumes but no bars of soap?" I mumbled, reluctant to leave without washing my hands thoroughly.

An inpatient knock on the door had me fumbling with the dispenser, trying to squeeze out any liquid. "Hello, are you almost done in there, my son needs to go!" A voice called with annoyance.

"Just a few drops...come on, please..." I begged, whispering to a bloody soap dispenser, like a lunatic. "Shit!" The front cover of the dispenser snapped off, clattering against the basin as it sea-sawed from side to side over the smooth surface. To my surprise and horror the dispenser hadn't been empty, only jammed.

Streams of liquid pink soap rapidly leaked from a plastic bag—now sporting a long gash through the centre—fitted within the contraption. Blanketing the counter, the soap continued to spread. I frantically swept the liquid into the basin to no avail, now elbow deep in aeroplane toilet soap. My biceps burned in agony as I worked them furiously to contain the mess. It was no use. "Come on lady!" A younger voice echoed into the lavatory. I wanted to cry.

My leggings were soaked in the slippery substance, as was my sweater. Trying to keep the blonde strands from falling in my eyes, I'd also managed to spread the soap to my face and hair. My moronic decision to run the tap had only left me with a sink overflowing with soapy bubbles. "Hey! What are you doing in there-other people need to use the toilet too!" They began to knock louder as muffled sounds of angered voices gathered outside the door. Admitting defeat, I dropped the toilet lid and sat down, drawing some toilet paper to dry my hands. Could this day get any worse? "That's it we're calling the attendants!" Someone threatened.