killer, gbd (EDITING)

27

Riding in a private jet is much more relaxing than riding in a plane. The smaller body means for a bit more turbulence, but the seating and the quiet make up for it. There's also a nice bathroom and the attendants actually serve decent drinks and food.

My stomach aches, but not for food, so I refuse when they offer. Grayson took the spot across from me. I reclined my seat and turned my body to face the window. Tucking myself into a blanket, I block out Grayson and the soft chatter of Murph and Lila.

As opposed to our last jet ride, Grayson now stares at me relentlessly, as if I am going to burst out into tears at any moment. He should no better, I won't cry over such a ridiculous matter as jealousy.

I consider moving to another seat, or covering myself fully with my blanket. But I can't gain the motivation to do either. So I let him dig daggers into me with his worried gaze.

The cities twinkle with lights that resemble stars in a night sky. A soft blue glow lights up the private jet, as requested by Murph. It is peaceful, I have little nervousness over the mission, but what little there was has vanished. Now it's replaced by a numbness, which is a blessing because jealously makes me feel like a sick child.

Sleep comes and smothers me like a tight embrace. I don't dream, the sleep is deep and much needed. I sleep for hours and still wake wishing I had more time. Grayson's hand on my leg draws me out of my rest.

I raise my head, my eyes not fully opened. He is leaning forward in his seat, his arm reached out to me, his hand rubbing my calf through my blanket. I consider moving away from his touch, but find too much comfort in his warmth.

"Hey, you should eat something," Grayson says, his smile small and crooked. "We won't be eating until we get to the hotel." My eyes are on him, but I'm not truly seeing him yet.

I nod, but let my head fall back down to the cushion. I hear Grayson talking, but pull my blanket higher and let the pull of sleep take me.

But Grayson's hand stirs me again, this time more insistent. Groaning, I sit up and open my eyes fully. "What?" I ask, a yawn building in my chest.

"Here," Grayson sticks out a fist. He drops a spoon into my hand then shoved a yogurt into the other. "Eat." He tells me. I roll my eyes, but settle back into my seat with my yogurt anyway.

I let the blanket fall to my lap as I eat and admire the still beautiful view. When I finish an attendant takes my trash, as I'm thanking her, my gaze flips to Grayson.

His arms are crossed over his chest. The soft blue light keeps his face darkened, but I can still see the crease between his raised brows and the shallow pout on his lips. But I can't be sure what it is he's feeling, guilt, sadness, worry?

I turn back to the window and cuddle back into a ball, but sleep doesn't come again.

When we land, the attendant shows us the closet made up for the mission. We dress in the body of the plane, backs turned to one another. The outfits are onesies, made from a new design. Our measurements were used, so they fit us like second skin.

Around the waist on a belt are holsters and alone the legs are speak leather knife sheaths. They zip up the front and are warm without being hot. They're convenient, and I'm happy to be the guinea pig for their test run.