Dan: we can go to my house..if you wanna; hang out in my bedroom, lose your honor.
even if they find us, we're apathetic and they can't take that away.
It's a quiet tapping, but it sounds loud and fills both my ears with the repetitive thud sound. Thud, Thud, And then there's silence on the airplane.
I look at Phil.
I glance up to his face, and he's asleep. His hair is draped lightly over his nose, so I move it out of his face. His cheeks are pale, and his eyes are closed all the way.
I don't know if this is normal for him, or if he's just having a dream.
- My thoughts get interrupted by a female voice over the intercom. "We have reached our destination, please stay in your seats and turns off all electronics. Thank you for flying with us." Then it stops.
I look over at Phil, who's as awake as ever. He's almost jumping out of his seat because he is unable to sit still from excitement- or anxiety.
Looking out the window, I see all the architecture, and it's amazing.
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I look around at the buildings, and the blue lake. It's huge. At first, there's bliss. The bliss feels like a release, like this might actually go well; that it will be the first time in a long time that I have ever truly felt free.
The smile on my face switches off like an unwanted Instagram filter. Aside from the bliss, there's an overwhelming amount of terror. This terror feels so intense, I feel it feeding off my brain cells. I never feel scared unless I've run out of something I need, but this feels like a whole new level of scared. I get weak in the knees, and my heart is pounding; but only I can hear it.
The bliss has died down and now all that pumps through my veins is a new feeling of insecurity and fear. I pinch the outside of my thighs through the jean material, and it hurts just as bad as if you were cutting or something. I start to subconsciously claw at my face, but quickly rub away the scratch marks when I do realize that I'm doing myself harm.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and heave from the shock. I turn and it's just him. "You alright?" He says, and I'm trying to hard to remember his name. "Yeah." My mind feels like a filing cabinet that's out of order and nothing seems right. I count my breaths. And I count the seconds it takes for us to land. I don't realize I'm holding my breath until I catch it, longing for something.
The compulsion, the demand, the extremity, the must, the urge. I need off the plane.
-- It's a minute for our luggage to trail back to us, and I find myself taking interest and calm in watching the cars and taxi cabs drive by. I count every blue car I see. 16,
18,
27. I look over at Phil; his cheeks are as flushed as mine. I look away, focusing on the streets and the architecture of the place. I feel a soft glaze from something, and I glance at Phil, who is skimming his hand on my sleeve. "This way," He says. There's a difference in his voice, almost like a gasp for air. I start to wonder if he's anxious, too. He seems collected, but who knows what's going on in that mind of his. He probably thinks pretty things.
