Literature

fear of flying

"I can go?"

She gives an exasperated sigh. "Yes you can. I'll help you pack. You need swim trucks, lots of sunscreen...condoms," she adds nonchalantly.

"Mum please. I can pack on my own. Relax. It's for two weeks. I'll survive."

"Okay love," she kisses my cheek and I let out an agitated huff.

My phone buzzes and my finger swipes across the screen.

"Hey babe."

"Oh my god Harry," he says frantically.

Oh mah god Harreh.

"Babe what's wrong? Take a deep breath."

"I can't go."

My heart sinks like a heavy stone, straight to bottom of my chest.

"Why not?"

"I've," he wheezes "never been on a plane."

"What? That's why you don't want to go? You're scared of flying?"

I can't contain my laughter but it stops abruptly when he adds

"Harry, I'm dead serious."

"Baby, it's fine. I'll be with you. You can take a nap or read a book."

"I dunno. I did pack a few books," he reasons softly.

I chuckle knowing he'll probably get through all of them on the way there and we'll have to stop somewhere to get more.

"I can jack you off."

"On an airplane? Harry, that's sick."

"Sick."

"Oi not that kind of sick. It's repulsive."

"We had phone sex. I'm pretty sure you initiated it. Do you-"

"Stop," he laughs. "I get it. M'not scared anymore. Just...just hold my hand."

He's so adorable I could cry.

"I will babe. I'll be over soon and we can head to the airport. Okay?"

"Okay."

"You hate that book."

"What love?"

"The Fault in Our Stars. I quite enjoyed it but you hate it for some reason."

"It's fucking depressing. I chucked it at my bedroom wall."

I can see it too, Zayn caught in a fit of rage over an unsatisfying ending, heaving the unsuspecting book into the air, its spine bending as it crashes into the wall.

...

"Stop squirming."

"My stomach is churning. Oh Jesus Harry, m'gonna throw up."

He squeezes his eyes shut and I laugh softly before pecking his lips.

His eyes snap open and I smile reassuringly.

"I've done this so many times. Nothing is going to happen."

"Hate flying, hate flying," he chants it like a mantra.

"Zayn," I press. "You've flown before."

"No I fucking haven't," he snaps.