Turbulence - (18+)

44.

GATE C39 SHAY

Eight Weeks Earlier...

I stared at my blank screen and held back tears. Time wasn't healing anything between me and Justin, and every second without him was only making things worse.

It was taking everything in me not to call and reach out to him, and I knew I was being foolish by picking the lines with the absolute worst routes so we wouldn't cross paths, but I couldn't bear to see him in person right now.

Our last argument still left me feeling raw and allowed me to see that we'd finally reached the end of our relationship. There was nowhere else for us to go, and we needed to stay the hell away from each other before we ended up being even more messed up than we already were.

Unable to write a long blog post, I simply wrote, "I think this really was the end for us," and hit publish. Before I could shut down my laptop, there was a soft pinging sound. An immediate comment from my personal troll.

(KayTROLL)-I'm pretty sure he's thinking about you just as much as you're thinking about him. Just my two cents. If I were you, I wouldn't lose too much sleep over it.

I'd never responded to his troll-ish comments before, but with Meredith out of town and no one else to vent to, I typed a response.

(Taylor S.)-No, I think this was finally the end for us. It feels different this time.

(KayTROLL)--You always say that. Then two days later, you go right back. (I'm not holding my breath on this one. Sorry.)

I groaned, typing. "Well, CLEARLY this time is different because it's been more than two days. It's been damn near TWO MONTHS to be exact, so quite honestly? Fuck you and your "two cents." Since you clearly don't have a life, go find yourself another random and obscure blog to bother on a daily basis, please. I don't have anything else for you."

There was one more reply before I logged off. A brief, "LOL. Still a hothead, I see. :-)".

I couldn't think of a decent biting rebuttal, so I slammed the laptop shut altogether and fell back against my sheets. I needed to figure out a way to be re-assigned to a different home-base city as soon as possible.

As I was thinking of the best possible excuse for a transfer, my phone rang. My mom. I immediately silenced her call. I didn't need any additional doses of negativity right now.

It rang once more minutes later, but my finger hovered over the silent button. It wasn't my Mom attempting a second call. It was a number I hadn't seen in forever. One I'd avoided and loathed for years.

"Kimberly B"...

***

Her full name was Kimberly Bronson, and she was once my literary agent.

She scooped me up fresh out of graduate school-admiring my talent, promising me what every aspiring author secretly wanted: A book deal.

She swooned over my words with her infectious personality, and pitched my ideas to publishers while I interned under an esteemed editor at The New York Times.

Back then-just a few short years ago, life as a writer was good.

Publishers were handing out book deals like brownies-baking them early in the morning and holding them out for whoever wanted a taste in the afternoon. Magazines were hiring the eager-faced girl with ambition and a smile, and newspapers were printing about their infinite number of internships because there was so much that needed to be written. So much that needed to be said.