Page 120 of Riot Rules
She laughs, though the sound comes out thick with tears. “I will. I promise. I’ll find you.”
I help her downstairs, my heart shattering all over again. It’s funny—I thought it had already been ground into a million little pieces, but it turns out that the tattered lump of meat in my chest has an infinite capacity for breaking.
57
DASH
“Will that be all, Sir?”
I glance down at the rum and coke in my hand, not even pleased with myself that the bartender didn’t card me. Around me, a thousand people bustle in and out of shops on the concourse, grabbing last minute items and magazines for their trips.
I fucking hate airports.
“Yeah, that’s it, cheers.”
She gives me the check and I pay, then I down the drink in one go, gritting my teeth as the cold liquid freezes the back of my throat.
I checked in online three hours ago. It’s only seven in the morning, so there’s very little chance the boys are up yet. Wren won’t realize I’ve left until it’s too late, by which time I’ll already be halfway over the Atlantic. I didn’t even bother bringing a full-sized suitcase in the end. Just my carry on. I can grab anything I need when I get to London, but for now my laptop and a couple of changes of clothes are all I require. And no, there isn’t a single formal shirt inside my bag. No dress pants, either. A couple of t-shirts. A few pairs of jeans. Socks. Underwear. One pair of sneakers. I swear on everything holy, I will never wear a suit again unless a situation specifically requires it. Life should not be spent so constricted, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
I meander from store to store, my eyes passing blindly over all of the Boston branded sweaters, mugs, pens and socks, delaying the inevitable, but soon, there’s no putting it off.
“Advantage Airlines would like to invite all passengers traveling to London, England, to now board at gate fifty-three. That’sallpassengers, at gate fifty-three.”
I hung back when they called my section half an hour ago, but this is the final call. It’s time to go. I pull out my boarding pass and my passport and join the end of the short line gathered in front of the desks. Out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the plane that will take me from Boston back to England awaits.
I should be excited for this. A new journey? True independence? My own place? I’m sure I’ll begin to appreciate all of the adventures that are just over the horizon for me, but for now all I can feel is…shitty. I try to scrounge up a better descriptor, but there really isn’t one. I feel like a steaming hot pile of dog shit.
I’m leaving my friends behind. The academy. Rasputin. AndCarrie. Worst of all, I’m leaving the girl I love more than anything in the world behind, and there’s no light at the end of that tunnel. I imagine that this is how an astronaut might feel if they were heading out into deep space, with the Earth, and the moon, and the sun growing smaller and smaller behind them. I am heading into the unknown, into so much darkness, and there are no familiar lights or landmarks up ahead to guide me. I hate to sound melodramatic here, but this kind of feels like the end of the world.
The guy in front of me hands over his ticket and passport to the airline employee, juggling a massive backpack and bag full of booze he must have bought at duty free. I hear his English accent and it hits home. This is really happening. I’m really doing this. I’m really leaving.
I take a step back…
“Shit!”
…and collide with someone rushing to join the end of the line.
“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I—” I turn around, and a bright bolt of pain explodes in my temple. Wren shakes out his hand, cursing loudly. He just fuckinghitme. I hold the side of my head, shrinking away from the splintering headache that I’ve suddenly developed.
“What thehell?”
“Don’twhat the hell?me. I am seriously fucking pissed at you, man. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Uhh, excuse me? Did this person justassaultyou?” A woman with a perfect bun, perfect red lipstick, and a perfectly pressed uniform shows up, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“No, no.” I try to smile reassuringly but I’m still seeing fucking stars. “It was an accident.”
“Hah!Accident,” Wren snipes.
The woman tuts disapprovingly. “I’m calling security.”
“No! No, really. Look. See. I’m fine.” I straighten up, dropping my hand from my face, attempting a cheerful smile, but the woman blanches.
“Sir, you’rebleeding.”
Christ, I am. I can feel something wet and warm trickling down the side of my face. “Don’t worry. Like I said. It was an accident.” I grab Wren by the shoulder and shove him away from the desks, dragging him away from the gate.
“Sir, boarding closes in three minutes. We won’t be admitting late passengers after that time.”
