Disloyalty

- I Recognise you -

"Fuck," I groaned, rolling over to see the glowing numbers on the clock. 2:46 AM.

I shot up, panic instantly replacing the warmth of sleep. I'd overslept. That damn alarm is useless. My heart pounded as I scrambled out of bed, sheets tangling around my ankles and nearly sending me face-first into the floor. 

I kicked them off, the chill of the room finally hitting me as I rushed to throw on whatever clothes I had laid out. I've got less than an hour to make it to the airport, and I am definitely not built for this ungodly wake-up routine.

Every second feels like it's ticking away twice as fast. I grab my toothbrush with one hand while I fumble to zip my suitcase with the other, my toothpaste splattering onto my shirt. Perfect.

 A quick glance in the mirror shows that my hair looks like I wrestled with a pack of raccoons. No time for fixing it, I'll just have to wear my hoodie and hope I look mysterious instead of half-dead.

By some miracle, I finish packing up and stumble into the hallway, practically tripping over my own feet as I head out the door. I double-check for my passport and ticket, my heart seizing for a second as I rummage through my bag.

 Finally, I feel the stiff paper and relax. Slamming the door shut behind me, I rush down to the cab waiting outside.

The driver gives me a sympathetic look, probably assuming I'm some poor soul on a business trip who's already regretting life choices. "Airport, right?"

"Yeah," I mumble, throwing my bag in the back and slumping into the seat. The cab smells like a weird mix of stale coffee and someone's leftover dinner from last night, but I'm too frazzled to care. 

The city outside is dark and quiet, streetlights casting long shadows as we speed down empty roads. It's eerie but somehow peaceful. Maybe the early-morning fog swirling around makes it feel even more like I'm in some strange, half-awake dream.

I check the time every two minutes, watching the numbers crawl painfully toward 4:00 AM. The adrenaline has started to wear off, and now all I want is to lie back down and knock out for another six hours. This flight had better be worth it.

Finally, we pull up to the airport, the fluorescent lights blinding as I step out of the cab and into the chilly morning air. The automatic doors slide open with a sterile beep, and I step inside, greeted by the quiet chaos of people lined up at kiosks, hauling bags, and rubbing sleep from their eyes.

I'm barely awake, but at-least I made it.

I pulled out my phone, glancing around the bustling airport, and called my mom. The phone rang and rang, but nothing. I tried Charlotte next—same result. Frowning, I redialed my mom twice more, only to be met with silence. The date and time on my boarding pass were correct; I hadn't botched my arrival... this time.

One last option. My finger hovered over Andrew's name in my contacts. Maybe I should just give up on this whole absurd trip? But, no. I wanted to see the snow, to experience something different. Fine, I thought, pressing the call icon, resigning to whatever I was walking into. The line rang, just as I was about to hang up, he picked up.

"Hello?" His voice was low and calm.

"Oh, uh, where are you?" I stammered, feeling a wave of awkwardness roll over me. Why did asking this guy anything always feel... tense?

"I'll find you."

"But how will you—" The line went dead. Great.

I shifted uncomfortably near the entrance, feeling like some lost kid. People around me stole glances, probably wondering why I looked like I'd barely escaped a horror movie. The lack of makeup didn't help, either. Fantastic. I rubbed my eyes and let out a sigh, half-defeated, half-annoyed.