Be The One | ...

two; how ila became alila

alila heikkinen stared at the huge airbus 380 parked in front of her. she breathed out the warm air from her lung and reached for her walkie talkie, " how's the bay? over." how she would give her kidney away to have her menthol malboro tucked between her freezing lips. heat from the small roll of tobacco would've keep her 60kg body heated in this weather as she stood on the zero ground of the airport of düsseldorf. it's almost 20 degree out here with her old tag heuer (her 21st birthday and graduation gift from papa which is reaching its 3rd year now) watch ticking at 4:16 am.

the device hissed, " all equipments are at top conditions. reseting the voice recorder in 10- over."

" noted. proceed with erasure- over." she placed the walkie talkie on the seat of the truck and fetched the log book. her left hand immediately filled in some columns and noted the earlier errors they've caught on the cockpit. the rest was to be filled by the technician. the loud noise of the power unit that's currently supplying the airbus some power instead of the turbojet isn't longer bothering her anymore.

her mind wondered how she got here; she was never good in physics in high school. she could barely pass the c mark. on the other hand, her biology, math and history are perfect a. but during her senior year, she got mental break down, medic as a future isn't working anymore. her mind wondered and somehow found herself at the homepage of samara university, stuttgart.

2 years of books and 3 fucking years in the practical industry and the so much money spend to get her engineer's license and here she is; an engineer.

she smiled to herself, " should've gotten out the first day, heikkinen. should've gotten out."

she rubbed her forehead and slowly ran her fingers through her hair and slowly undoing her hair tie. her dark lock fall loose resting right along her shoulder blades blew gently into a mess. she sat on the passenger's seat and sighed. her mind now wandered to 3 days ago.

the day she left and never returned.

she has to admit, she has taken too much liking over that boy. she just- doesn't like admitting that he was right and she was wrong.

she couldn't dare admit that she likes how his voice skipped an octave when he calls her babe or when he admitted he loves her hazel eyes; oh, how they wrinkle when she frowns or smiles, or how they are sunflowerish. he made her warmer than her cigarettes.

when he took her out, he likes holding her hand. she hates the idea of when two people are perfect for each other, their hands magically fits each other; because their hands didn't fit each other. their hands are enormously so different; hers was rough and small, his was smooth and big. huge contrast but she likes it when his hand touches: her lips, the flower tattoo right behind her ears, inner thighs, her breasts- he's a man of wonderful touch.

but at the end, she was just too damaged to be in another relationship.

greg has been her boss for years but it didn't stop his hands from wondering disgustingly like an unwanted house guest. her neck is a wishing well and his disgusting breath is a coin casted into. to him, a woman in this genre of work is just a distraction; an entertainment.

alila wasn't the victim, she is a survivor; but ila was. and she was sorry that she didn't survive to live another day.

ila wasn't also the first; there were too many to count. a crowd of bodies but they are all voiceless. she was hoping the management would've take notice that this kind of behavior is just unprofessional, disgusting and a harassment- but shame, silence can easily force to be bought with money.