Blue 2

Chapter Thirty-Three

The plane is ice-cold. My hands start to shake. I cup them and blow into them, but no warmth sparks. I'm sitting in the window seat and there's an older man sleeping loudly on the end seat. Blue left a few minutes ago without saying a word to me. Things have been tensed and weird between us ever since our small fight this morning. I'm pissed, but I was prepared to let it go and move on, granted Blue agreed to talk it out and explain to me. But he would rather give me the silent treatment for stumbling upon a straight-up lie on his part. He told me he would erase that toxic guy out of his life, but he didn't. If we're going to be living together and be in such a serious-relationship, he shouldn't be keeping things from me, lying to me. I try to be as honest with him as I can be, why can't he do the same?

"Here," a familiar voice says gruffly.

I look up from my trembling hands on my lap to find Blue holding out a blue folded blanket. A part of me is surprised he noticed me shivering and snapped out of his silent stupor to fetch me a blanket. I thought he shut me out completely and was going to ignore me the entire trip. He acted as if I didn't exist all the way from the apartment to the airport. Nonetheless, I silently take it from him and he sits in his seat beside me, ignoring the flight attendant giving safety regulations at the front of the plane.

"Thank you," I murmur and lay the blanket over my legs. The material is soft and comfy as I bring it up to my neck and rub my hands underneath. I feel Blue's eyes watching me, but when I look over at him, he's staring at the small screen on the back of the seat in front of him.

"No problem." He sighs and buckles his seat belt.

"Is this going to last the entire flight?" I ask him. I can't handle him being this cold to me, for something so miniscule I'm amazed he's giving me the cold shoulder. If we were any normal couple, we would sit down and talk rationally, and without raising our voices or slamming doors. But we're not any ordinary couple; we're one-part crazy-person.

"What are you talking about?" He pretends he isn't being dramatic with this whole silent treatment.

"You know exactly what I am talking about. Can we please drop the theatrics and actually talk about what's wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong, unless you want to go to the bathroom. Am I in your way?" He makes a show of scooting back in his seat.

"Fine, be that way. I already apologized for looking at your phone, I won't feel bad because I found out you're still talking to that A-hole. I don't really need to use the bathroom, but I'll happily go there to escape you."

His face drops and he looks like he wants to apologize, but he stands up and gestures toward the empty aisle. "Go right ahead."

He is such an asshole.

"Thank you." I speak through gritted teeth and stand up.

I walk out of the row and march down to the bathrooms at the end of the plane. Luckily, they are both empty. I lock myself in one of the tiny bathrooms. I splash my face with water and stare into the wonky mirror. I should have known he'd turn back into a jerk. The last week was too blissful for him not to switch his erratic moods.

I wish I'd never touched his damn phone.

* * *

I'd only heard of LAX in Los Angeles. No other airport was ever mentioned in movies and TV shows and in real life. I expected Sex on The Beaches served to passengers and keys to Ferrari's when we stepped off, but of course we were met with nothing but a smooth rush of people milling around a massive glass building. We got our bags without any hassle and left right before two women could fight over whose bag was whose. My mother texted me that there would be a town car waiting for us outside of the airport. I tried not to appear affected by the realization that I would be seeing her after five years of not even hearing from her, apart from her wanting to come to family weekend months ago. The last time I saw her, she'd flown me out here after begging for a whole year. I remember being heartbroken seeing her eleven-year-old son and seven-year-old daughter and her movie producer husband being so jolly and perfect with their blinding white-teeth and humongous house. I was so jealous and resentful, I tried to book a flight back home and refused to stay another second with her and her impeccable family. She flew me back only after one minute of fighting with my dad, and I never heard from her or them again since.