Currently My Turn

‘The hardest challenge is to be yourself in a world where everyone is trying to make you be somebody else.’
E. E. Cummings

Prologue
The air of privilege hangs in the air like burnt rubber and I‘m gagging for freedom. The airhostess remains oblivious. If flying to England means I have to submit to this torture perhaps I should have avoided going there all together, but - as with most things in life- I have no choice. With an inheritance to claim and a father to lie at rest I have to return home even if that means I will be subjected to the eau de wealth. I would have, should have, flown economy, but being the private person I am, I like my space, comfortable seating and a delicious view of the blackened skies out of my window. Ah, perfect.

Slouching further into my seat, I drown the remaining contents of the plastic glass till only a dewdrop of water lay in its wake. Fortunately, the seat beside me is vacant allowing me a good view of the others in my row. A man is tapping away at his keyboard the tips of his fingers numb and white as he stabs in another set of numbers. He pauses for a minute, studying the screen in front of him, his neck bent slightly, his crop of chestnut hair dishevelled and scruffy - clearly in need of a good wash - he sighs and his shoulders droop pulling back his head, as he stares up at the ceiling of the plane, his hands at rest on his keyboard. He looks around as if he’s searching for some thing, some thought. Then, his eyes rest on me. His face is slightly drawn in, his jaw masculine and rather square. His cheekbones defined and straight heading from his temple to the flares of his nostrils, his nose short but slightly hooked, stubble littering his face. His eyes, green emeralds, flicker as if beneath the jewel exterior lies a raging fire. My breath catches. His presence is calm and assuring, yet, the passionate fire darting in his pupils entrances me and I am captivated.

He smiles, his lips drawing into a coy grin like that of a schoolboy. I revert my gaze, so no meaningless words pass his or my lips. I pick up my book, my actions lacking enthusiasm and I find the page I was at and begin reading.


I think I must have spent half an hour on that single page my mind clouding with thought and wonder all directed at the man sitting to my left- so much for a vacant seat. He mutters something, incoherent to others, but to me it was like a sweet lullaby playing effortlessly into my ear. His voice was deep and lustful. I giggle. It felt so good to be flirted with, a feeling that had been rare for the last six months. My cheeks redden as his flirting escalates. My book is my only chance for sanctity from this outrageous man.

He lowers my book, drawing my head towards him.

I do not resist.

He ducks his head so his lower lip is just floating above my own.

I do not resist.

He closes his eyes and wraps an arm around my back.

I do not resist.

He is just about to kiss me when I catch a sight of his laptop screen almost closed, yet, open enough for me to catch a glance at its contents. There are words scrawled on a newspaper template, sentences that I have seen before, paragraph after paragraph of lies.

He kisses me and I resist.

I stand up and take my leave to the bathroom. His expression shot with confusion, my face a maelstrom of tears. I walk into the little cubicle, close the door, and sit on the toilet seat. My head in my hands and I cry.