Beneath the Vaults

// One //

If there was one thing my mother instilled in me as a child, it was the importance of my ears.

My father was an architect, and when I was young, I loved watching the buildings he designed go up. One day, I thought, I'd build something just like him. Sometimes, if I was really lucky, he'd let me tag along and visit a job site.

Every time, my mom insisted I wear earplugs.

When I got older and started attending rock concerts instead of construction sites, I was that one weird kid with the two neon-yellow hunks of foam stuck in my head. I could come home wasted and covered in bruises from fighting in a mosh pit and my mom wouldn't care. But good lord, I better protect my ears.

Whatever, at least it made her happy.

For some reason—maybe thinking of my mom, because I did love her—I kept up with the habit of it. That was why, at some 30,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean, it took this poor flight attendant way longer than it should have to get my attention.

"I'm sorry, what?" I pulled the earplugs out of my ears as she tapped me on the shoulder. The roar of the airplane engine filled my head, muting all other sound for a second.

"Excuse me, sir." The flight attendant pushed a strand of blonde hair that had escaped from her bun back behind her ear. "Are you all right?"

My grip on my arm rest tightened, and a bead of sweat rolled down my back. "Yeah, I'm fine, why?" A sinking feeling welled up in my throat like vomit. Something wasn't right.

"It's just..." The young woman paused mid-sentence. She brought her hand up to her face and wiped at her lower lip.

My heart skipped a beat. Oh fuck... what now?

"What?" My hand shook as I ran it over my mouth. I pulled it back to look, and my eyes widened. Sticky, red streaks coated my fingertips.

Something wet slithered over the edge of my lip and rolled down my chin. The dull ache that had been pounding in my jaws for the past few hours flared up with a nauseating pulse. My head spun. "I... I'm sorry." I pushed myself up from my seat.

I have to get out of here.

"Are you all right? Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine." I pushed past her, covering my mouth with my hand.

I felt eyes turning to look at me as I rushed down the aisle. People whispered, and I tasted hot, metallic blood between my teeth. I wanted to cover my ears and close my eyes and disappear and make everything go away. My head pounded like knives were slicing through it.

When I reached the back of the plane, I stumbled into the bathroom and slammed the door. We bumped over a patch of turbulence. My stomach turned as my hands slipped on the smooth walls, trying to find something firm to brace myself. A damp roll of toilet paper tumbled across the floor and hit my shoe.

When the plane sunk back into a smooth pocket, I leaned against the sink, coughed once, and then spat a mouthful of blood out into the basin.

Oh fuck... oh fuck...

Blood clung like a web to the inside of my mouth. I coughed and spat, trying to get it to let go of my gums. Finally, I resolved to pulling the sticky strand out with my hand. With a sickening, gurgling pop like a suction cup, it released. My head spun with nausea, and I gagged. I didn't want to throw up. Not here. Not right now.

I leaned against the sink and panted as the dizziness subsided. Sweat coated my back. I looked at myself in the mirror. My mouth was stained red, and the blue in my irises was piercing in contrast with how bloodshot my eyes were. This could not be happening...