Craving: A Kylo Ren Tale

Twenty-Four

We arrive at the airport in the dead of night and check in at the counter: straight from JFK to Paris, a quick layover, and then on to Copenhagen. Kylo always flies to Europe in style, so we'll be taking advantage of Air France's La Première amenities.

I struggle to keep up as his long legs stride through security and into an exclusive bar near our gate.

He orders himself a whiskey, and a whiskey ginger for me. I smile to myself, with the realization that he's paid attention to my cocktail of choice at home. We discuss his upcoming art show while sipping our liquor.

When it's time to board, we enter the jet first. And I'm absolutely blown away. I've only ever flown basic economy, on airplanes nowhere near this nice.

Our seats are next to each other, they're large and plush, and I swiftly realize that they lay completely flat into beds. Whenever I've flown internationally before, I've had to sleep uncomfortably upright with a pillow jammed between me and the window.

There are floor to ceiling curtains that separate the two of us from the aisles and other seats. We have a small desk area and lamps, they've given us kits of toiletries and a set of pajamas. And a very kind flight attendant brings us glasses of champagne as we're settling in for the overnight flight.

Fucking luxury. Kylo lives his life in a whole different dimension.

I feel completely out of place, as usual. I'm dressed in black leggings and a Rob Zombie shirt under one of my new Prada coats, dressed for comfort during our 7 hour flight. My carryon bag has a more suitable outfit for when we land, Kylo instructed me to change before we touch down.

We'll get to France around lunch, with the time change factored in, and Denmark by mid afternoon. As the plane taxis the runway, I check the spreadsheet and note that Kylo has meetings as soon as we land. No time to waste.

Sipping my bubbly and reading a book, I settle into my cushy seat. Kylo passes me his champagne flute, uninterested in the drink, and takes out a sketch pad to pass the time.

As we take off into the night sky, I look across Kylo to the window and watch the New York City skyline morph from buildings to glittering dots of light.

I absolutely love flying. Even when I flew in cramped seats, next to screaming babies and annoying co-passengers, I always loved taking part in the miracle of human flight. I'll never understand how people can complain about leg room or bags of pretzels when we are literally flying through the sky.

And now that I'm traveling Kylo-style, I'm even giddier.

In time, we're soaring across the Atlantic. Nothing but stars outside our window, the ocean merely a black mass below us, and if I pretend hard enough it's almost as if we're drifting peacefully through space.

Our curtains are drawn for complete privacy, and the cabin is mostly silent except for the occasional footsteps of a flight attendant or soft snore of a fellow passenger.

Knowing I need to sleep so I can avoid jet lag, I eventually drift off, Sylvia Plath's "The Colossus" still in my hands.

A few hours later I'm awoken, and not by the rising sun outside my window that's painting beautiful pinks and oranges across the ocean. But by two large roaming hands.

"Kylo, what do you think you're doing?" I whisper to the depraved man next to me, while rolling over to face him.

"I can't sleep," he murmurs in reply. "Be a good girl and help."

It's eerily silent in the cabin, and I assume that all other passengers must surely be asleep. We still have a few hours until we land, so I know the staff won't be coming around any time soon either.