Born To Burn

Chapter 1.

"GOOD AFTERNOON, PASSENGERS. This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight 78B to Paris. We are now inviting those passengers with small children, and any passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boarding at this time. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes time. Thank you."

My finger hover over my phone screen, torn betweenwhether to press play or not.

Before, I can, there's a commotion and I'm abruptly shoved to the side. A burly man with a screaming toddler in his arm hurries past me.

"Uff!" I gasp as the phone goes careening out of my hands.

"Excusez-moi." He grunts, barely turning back. His suitcase whips against my shin and I stumble backwards again.

Bump! I land on my butt unceremoniously. The phone crashes to the floor. Panic seizes my throat as I watch it bounce in slow motion.

The screen splinters.

To make matters worse, the unread audio messages begin to auto-play.

"Where in god's name are you?" I hear my step mother's shrill voice. The anger is palpable causing a gaggle of teenagers behind me to giggle.  "The makeup artists have been waiting for the past hour. Get your ass here at once!"

Beep.

Next.

I scramble to pick it up amidst the flurry of passengers.

"Tammy!" It's my sister this time. "Mom's going stir crazy. Open the door. I've been knocking for the past ten minutes! Are you planning on causing a scene? This is embarrassing. Ugh!"

Next.

"Baby," a deep baritone voice plays out this time. "I left early while you were still asleep. I love you-"

Seizing the phone, I press the button hard until it switches off.

Only then do I breathe.

Somewhere, the toddler is still screaming. His father is muttering a colorful string of curses as he searches for his pacifier. The teenagers are still giggling. An old lady with a cat carrier is watching me over the rim of her spectacles, her lips pressed in a thin line.

Heart slamming in my chest, I stand up.

Get a bloody grip on yourself. I avoid eye contact as I clutch the strap of my backpack tightly and hurry towards the swift forming queue. Head down, cap pulled lower, I await my turn.

You're good. I remind myself to douse the flaring anxiety. You're okay. You'll be just fine.

I'm dressed down today, in a pair of skinny jeans and leather jacket - a stark contrast to what I usually wear in front of the media with my father. It helps, I think. No one would possibly imagine the demure little heiress, Tamaya Darcy to be in an airport, boarding a flight to Paris, when shes supposed to be getting dolled up and wedded in less than four hours.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a couple huddling close to each other. The guy's arm wrapped around the girl as she pats his chest, a gold ring glinting off her fourth finger as she leans in to whisper something into his ear. He throws his head back and laughs. She gazes at him in adoration. I recognise that look. It's the look I once had on.

Honeymooners. My mouth curls.

I disguise the escaping snort into a hacking cough.

The first time I saw Eric, I was eighteen, well over a month in college. He was a sophomore and played basketball. A total beast on court and a gentleman off it. He had developed reputation for leaving a trail of broken heart over the last couple of years. Not that it mattered personally. I was an introvert and leagues below the ones he usually went for. Or at least, it hadn't mattered until we clashed in the west wing library, and I had left clutching a copy of Shakespeare close to my chest, looking like goddamn chilli.