Safe Harbor

| 8 |

"How long have we been on this plane?" Marco grumbles, stretching out uncomfortably in his seat.

I check my watch. "I'd say nearly a day--maybe more, maybe less," I reply, giving him my best estimate.

He sighs, before slumping back. "It feels like an eternity. I wanna get to wherever it is we're going, y'know?" He turns to me, and I can see the eagerness swimming in his eyes.

"Yeah," I answer, a little absentmindedly. I did agree with him on that, but not with the same enthusiasm and emotion. If anything, my stomach was gnawing at itself with worry, nervousness, and anticipation. What was this place going to be like? How many people were there? More and more questions bombarded my mind, refusing to let up.

"Alex." Marco's voice brought me back to reality; his tone was knowing and stern. "Stop it."

"Stop what--" I begin, trying to play off my anxiety, to no avail.

"Mate, I'm not completely dense. I can tell you're already freaking out inside."

Sometimes I hated how well he knew me. "How can I not? This is the first time we've ever been away from home," I defend myself. "And this isn't just the town over, this is another world, entirely!"

Marco looks at me, a small, nostalgic smile playing at his lips. "Worrying about anything is like standing outside with an umbrella, waiting for it to rain." He cocks his head, and raises an eyebrow, appraisingly. "Do you know who said that?"

I shake my head, curiously. "No. Someone famous?"

The smile on his face gets wider, but at the same time, sadder. "My dad."

I don't know what to say to him in response. But I know that he doesn't expect one.

"You can live your whole life with anxiety and fear, but that's just not living," he emphasizes, looking me straight in the eyes. "Why waste time doing something that does absolutely nothing for you?"

I look down at my hands, unable to look at him. I know he's right. But how can I stop doing something that's practically second nature to me?

"And if you think I'm not at all worried, you're wrong."

I look up at him disbelievingly. Never have I seen Marco anxious, nervous, or anything but lively and excited-- even now!

He simply laughs. "Mate, I'm beyond scared! I'm just better at pushing it away," he explains. "That's what you've gotta do, starting now," he says firmly. "We're going somewhere new. Somewhere where nobody knows the old Alexander Blake," he continues. "Somewhere without duncecaps like Richard Ericson," he says, rolling his eyes while I laugh. "Somewhere where we can be whoever the hell we want. This is it, Alex," he grins. "This is a fresh start. Let's make the most of it."

I look over at my best mate and smile. "Alright."

He slaps my shoulder, his signature grin back on his face. "Good."

Just then, a low, deep rumbling sound pierces through the air. I look down and pat my stomach, suddenly aware of how hungry I am.

"That noise came from you? When's the last time you ate?" Marco asks, jokingly.

I smile sheepishly, trying to remember for myself. I'd slept through most of the morning. The events of last night had completely pushed away my appetite then, as well. "Er... I think it was lunch at the fair the other day..."

Marco's eyes widen like saucers. "Are you messing with me?" He demands. I shake my head, tentatively. "You're bloody crazy," he admonishes me, suddenly serious. "Go on, then, grab some food from the trolley over there!" He practically wrestles me out of my seat, and shoves me other there. "And don't come back without a heaping helping of food, you little tosser!"