Killian didn't think life would get much worse...
That was until he busted a kids nose and was suspended from his PhD program.
And maybe it was luck, or God looking out for his tortured soul, because who knew something so good could come from someth...
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Killian's POV
I felt my my finger nails dig further into the palm of my hand as this imbecile besides me continued to irritate me with his attempted small talk.
Why did people on planes always feel as if they needed to strike up a conversation with the person besides them? This was almost as vexing as talkative Uber drivers.
I glanced down at his knee as it brushed against mine once again.
Killian, I spoke to myself, control yourself.
Be calm.
Be composed.
Maybe this was what normal humans did.
It's just a bloody conversation.
You can handle it.
"Yeah I'm flying into Chicago to one of my penthouse suites for the weekend. You should really stop by..."
I looked at this guy through my peripheral vision. He was just shy of maybe 60 years old. His body quite literally took up two entire seats so I wasn't sure if his leg bumping into me was intentional or not.
"I think we could really make a connection.. have a good time." he finished. His hand started slowly sliding down a thigh inching closer to touch mine.
I calmly removed the earbud I had in my right ear and turned to him.
As his eyes soon met my dead ones, his expression changed. "The only connection I'll be having is my flight from Chicago to New York, and my hand when it connects to the back of your neck and slams your face into this plane seat in front of us if you even think of touching me." I replied. My voice was low and collected.
His entire body recoiled at my words as he suddenly became interested in the safety instructions ticket in his lap.
I slipped the earbud back into my ear and listened to sound of the airplane. Sarah had told me to just put in earbuds whenever I didn't feel like conversing... which was 99% percent of the time.
The airplane seat jutted forward as the kid behind me went back to kicking the back of the chair. I felt my body lurch forward once again.
I fucking hated planes.
- Sarah's POV
"Ahh, crazy Pete again?" I asked, slipping my badge back on to the waist line of my jeans as I jogged down the short flight of stairs into the precinct's main lobby area. Crazy Pete was back at it, carrying on an exaggerated conversation with one of our officers. "What's he going on about this time?"
"He's trying to file a complaint against Walmart. He said they refused to accept the rotisserie chicken he bought a couple weeks ago." James replied, walking towards me to hand me a coffee. We both took a seat at our desks towards the far end of the room. I couldn't help but smile.
