𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝

Chapter 7 - Dear Seattle

"I am tired of myself tonight. I should like to be somebody else."
― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Alice

– Miss ? We've arrived. Please wake up.

I frown and open my eyes. For a moment, I can't seem to remember where I am. Why is someone waking me up ? Why are people talking everywhere around me ? Why is someone shaking my shoulder, damn it ? And oh, fuck, my head ! Why do I hurt so much ?

Then, slowly, memories come back to my head. I'm on a plane, right ? A plane to Seattle. And this lady... she's waking me up because we've arrived, and I am completely knocked out, because of the pills I took before getting on the engine. I also drank some whisky before that, which really did help me sleep. But there was no way I would stay awake during a plane trip, or I would cry the whole journey.

– Right, yes, sorry.

The lady smiles at me before leaving to go wake up the other passengers, as I stand up to collect my thoughts. Once I'm sure I can walk, and after taking some aspirin for my head, I finally head towards the airport to collect my luggage. As I stepped off the plane in Seattle, the chilly October air greeted me with a crisp embrace, making me shiver despite my excitement.

The sky was still draped in the hues of predawn, casting a serene blue-gray light over the airport. It was 5 am, and the world around me seemed to be just waking up, a quiet energy lingering in the air. Exhausted from the long flight, I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the sleepiness. The airport, usually bustling with activity, from my previous travels, was surprisingly serene at this early hour. My heart raced with anticipation as I made my way through the terminal, the clacking of my boots on the polished floors echoing in the empty corridors.

Something about seeing my family always puts me in a weird mood. I never know if I should be excited, stressed, anxious, but I know for a fact that I am never completely thrilled to be here.

Especially since that day.

I try to shake off the weird feeling in my chest as I walk towards the airport with my luggage in my hand, looking around me, waiting for the taxi that my cousins sent me, because even though their hearts are filled with good intentions, they would not come pick me up at five in the morning and, well, it was understandable.

The driver holds a sign of my name in his hands, as if the enormous crowd here would prevent me from seeing him - and yes, that was meant to be sarcastic.

I urge towards the guy, eager to just go to bed, get a real night of rest, even if that means I have to sleep through the day. I'm not used to those trips anymore, ever since what happened two years ago. The fact is, being in Seattle makes me physically sick, as if the whole city was to blame for their death.

And when I get in the car, exhausted, I don't know anymore if it's because of my thoughts or the jetlag. I guess the week-end will tell us.