Infinity | Sequel to Right Now |

I'm Not A Robot

           

Virginie's Point Of View

December 3rd

I hate him. 

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

I remember telling him that I didn't want him to leave me and that I was thankful that he came to 'help' me.  Bullshit! 

Once again, I got caught by his lie.  We are not going to my home, we are going to his.  That wanker hurts me more than he helps me.  I feel betrayed and completely fooled.  Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me too many times I can't even keep count anymore, shame on me.  When will his lies end?  And when will I stop believing them?  I'm not asking for much, I just want him to be honest with me.

Eleven hours stuck in an airplane with him.  This is my definition of hell.

Once the pilot authorizes us to take off our seat belt, I immediately take off.  I get out of my seat and walk to my luggage to get changed.  I can't stand not wearing my own clothes.  It will hopefully make me feel a bit better in my own skin.  I have waited too long to take off these horrible, not comfortable, dirty and disturbingly long pink converse.

I drag my bag to the toilet cabin and lock myself in there.  I put it gently on the seat and open it.  I see all of my clothes organised by outfits of work.  Most of them are professional looking coats and blouses.  I take my pair of black formal trousers and slide them on.  I can't explain the pleasure I get from feeling the fabric on my skin.  I have been living in H's sweats for the last couple of days.  I couldn't wait to get them off.  It feels like I have a second skin to protect me.  I take his shirt off and look for a bra to wear.  I take the first I see and it's great to feel finally my breasts supported.  I put on a white blouse and a formal coat right over.  I feel like myself again.  It's very classic and elegant and gives a good impression even though I don't feel like it anymore.  I look for a pair of shoes, but only stumble upon heels.  I look at the converse on the floor.  I prefer wearing heels than wearing them ever again.  I put all the clothes I had on back in my suitcase, including the shoes I hate so much.  I turn around and look at myself in the mirror.  I need make up.  I look dead.  I put some mascara and it helps my confidence a lot.  My hair is a mess and I decide to fix myself by making me look good for myself, for once, and not anyone else.  I gather my hair up in a bun as I comb up the rebel hair falling on the side of my face.  I look through my things and get my glasses out.  I'm really satisfied of the way I look after all that happened. 

I look pretty and it feels good to think that about myself.  I decide it's time for me to get out of the cabin, but, I'll admit, I struggle getting my luggage out of this tiny space wearing heels in my feet.  I get it back where it was when the plane took off.  I walk back to my seat, but Harry isn't in his.  I catch myself looking around for him, but refrain to once I realise that.  I don't care.

"You can come back here and lie on the couch, maybe try to get some sleep."  I hear his accent from behind me. 

I lift my head and look back between the seats.  He is laid on one, looking at the ceiling of the plane.  I'm torn between the idea of ignoring him, but I must admit that if I sleep, I don't have to talk nor look at him.

I get up and, with the sound of my heels on the floor, make my way to the couch across of his.  I sit and look at the leather fabric.  I take a moment to feel how soft and surprisingly cold it is.  I slide on it and lay, mirroring Harry.  He rolls on his side and I feel his gaze on me.  I get annoyed instantly and roll my eyes.  I turn on my side to face the back of the couch before bringing my knees to my chest in a foetal position.  It makes it easier for me to really give in to the exhaustion I have accumulated.  I fall asleep.