17 BLACK | HS

TEN

tw: discussion of drugs/overdose and seizures

Miller Langley

"Wheels up in five, Ms. Langley." Arthur, the pilot for our private jet, calls back to me –a little too loud– from the entrance to the cockpit.

"Thanks, Art," I respond flatly while making my way over to my seat.

Slumping down into the large cushioned seat, I reach to pull the window shade closed. The morning sunlight seeping through the cracks in the plane causes me to squint my eyes shut as I readjust the sunglasses that are sat on my face.

This five hour flight is going to be a fucking long one.

There's this sort of in between feeling where I'm just hungover enough that I'm not able to sleep peacefully– otherwise I'd be taking advantage of the large bed in the back of our jet. The humming and simultaneous ringing in my ears serves as a constant reminder of the night that was last.

Harry and I's little excursion around town was two days ago now.

After I fell asleep on the car ride home, Harry woke me up softly with a shake of my shoulder. Back outside the small coffee shop he picked me up from –him having no sense of anywhere else to drop me off– asking if he could take me home instead.

I declined, saying my car was still here and that I could manage to get myself home, and where I feel like he normally would have persisted a bit harder, he let me off without another word.

Since then my mind has become a sort of war zone.

I wasn't kidding when I told Harry I was exhausted from our outing. I don't... do social engagements. And as nice as It started –feeling like I might have some sort of friend– doesn't mean it didn't suck the life out of me and replace it with an almost tumultuous kind of feeling.

That night, when I got home, I lay awake engulfed by my large mattress and fluffy cream sheets. Tossing and turning until the sun came up, signifying a new day where I could forget about the reasons why I couldn't sleep. Idea after idea circulated inside my mind and yet, I still was unable to place a specific reason as to why I couldn't get him off my mind.

Thursday went by just like any one before. Getting up and out in the morning, trying to remove any distraction that might've tried to invade my mind.

My morning became filled with a run back to my coffee shop with music blasting into my ears –becoming the only thing I can focus on– and back to my apartment where I showered for almost two hours. Scrubbing my body clean of any lingering feeling where his touch resided.

The way that his hand burned into my leg with its hold. Igniting a fire through me— making me feel like I was being set aflame, being burned alive the rest of the way home. So I scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed until I couldn't feel his persisting hold. But a deadly thought stayed residing in the back of my mind that the way his touch felt was so similar to the way my heart races in the heat of a mission. Exciting me and thrilling me to a point of no return.

The rest of the day was filled with a deep clean of my apartment, once again blasting my music to engulf my senses, pushing down that previous thought and attempting to keep my mind from wandering.

All of this built up to family dinner night with Xavier, and it took everything in me not to take my anger out on him. I had to keep my composure if I was going to convince him that after my mission with Marco went perfectly –despite the bump in the road that was Harry– I was ready to be on my own again.

The worst part about all of this is that I don't even understand where the thoughts or the anger is coming from.

If anything I think my frustration is stemming from the way that the moment —if you could even call it that— lingered on my mind for so long after next to nothing even happened. It's infuriating that I can't seem to understand where any of these... knots in my stomach have come from.