Oblivion (Completed)

Prologue

I hold my breath and count to ten as the wheels of our plane touch down. 

This is really happening.

I should be cartwheeling down the aisle that I'm finally here, but I'm not. Ten hours and 1 missed connecting flight gave me too much time to think. This moment has played out in my mind in at least ten different ways, none of which I hope come true. 

Debbie, the woman to my left, shifts and unbuckles her belt the moment the plane stops. She's been with me from the start, all the way from Cody, Wyoming, to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I've heard all about her four grandchildren and her plans to retire next year, and I've welcomed the easy conversation. It's kept my mind off my own life and the man sitting to my right.

His light brown hair is sticking up on the right side. He's been mashed against the window for the last few hours, somehow lulled to sleep by the rock music blaring from his earbuds. He's awake now, staring out the small, finger-print smeared window.

"Thank God we're here," Debbie says, reaching for my hand on the cold armrest. "I'm sure you two are, too." Her eyes dart to him, then back to me and she winks. "Before he died, my husband and I were always happy to sleep in our own bed after a long trip,"

Her voice is full of love and longing, and I wish I knew what it felt like to miss someone that way. "Hang onto that one, dear," she says with a smile. "He's a looker."

The blood rushes to my cheeks, but I don't know why; there's no way he can hear her over his music. I hope she attributes my blush to affection and not the discomfort twisting my insides.

I manage a smile. Jesus. If she only knew the half of it.

She's right. He's easy to look at. It's not like I haven't noticed. He's got long, dark eyelashes any woman would envy, and stubble along his cheeks. I catch a glance of his reflection in the window and quickly look away before he turns. This isn't the first time he's caught me staring at him, and it won't be the last; the longer and harder I look, the more desperate I become to remember.

He pulls his earbuds free with one gentle tug and they fall easily into his lap.  His hand slides over my right one naturally, as if he's done it a thousand times. I'm guessing he has. I swallow and tip my head in his direction and his lips curve up in a lopsided smile. At least one of us seems comfortable.

To be fair, he's had a whole hell of a lot longer to figure out what to say.

"All set, Henley?" His voice is rich and deep, the timbre protective. There's genuine tenderness in his eyes, and I'm not certain what to do with it. Suddenly, it feels like I've been sucking on a wad of cotton the entire flight. He may be calm, but I'm terrified.

My own name feels foreign on my lips. I didn't expect to wake up one morning and learn I'd slept through the last four years. My early-twenties are practically gone, and I missed every moment.

The worst part is knowing the world kept right on going while I was away. He tells me it was only four years, and I know he's trying to comfort me, but it isn't working. I can't get those years back. 

Having a stranger tell me I survived when no one else did was bad enough. I don't remember my last night awake or the few years leading up to it, but I must've made some big, reckless decisions; the shiny diamond on my ring finger is proof enough.

"Stay by me in the airport. It's crowded and we'll have to pick up our luggage from baggage claim," he says. He's speaking to me like I'm a child and I can't stand it anymore. I cringe and look away, but nod slowly so he doesn't say it again. I know how hard this must be on him. He didn't vow to sleep alone every night for years while I lie in a hospital bed.