Abigail
"I'm going to kill him." Annette shrieked, jumping to her feet. "Four years, Abs. FOUR YEARS. And he repays you by fucking other women in your bed? On VALENTINE'S DAY?"
Tears burned behind my eyes again. I pressed my palms against them, but they trickled down my already raw cheeks.
"I can't stay here." I sobbed, wiping the tears and snot off my face. "Annie, I can't. I lost my job. I can't see him. I can't be in New York right now."
She plopped on the sofa, pulling me into another hug. I buried my face in the crook of her neck as I fought the sobs that kept coming in waves.
"Okay, I'll get you out. Where do you want to go?"
"My grandparents." The words came out muffled against her soft, cashmere sweater. My grandparents lived in California, in the house I'd grown up in after my parents died, where everything was safe and warm and didn't hurt like this. "I need to see Meemaw."
"Done." She pulled back, cupping my face with one hand while tapping rapidly on her phone with the other. "There's a flight tonight. It leaves in two hours. I'm booking it, okay?"
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
She disappeared into her kitchen and came back with two wine glasses and a bottle of red. "Airport traffic is hell right now anyway. We have time for a drink."
"Annie, I don't think…"
"You need this, Abs. Trust me." She poured into the tumblers and pressed one into my hands.
The wine was smooth and warm going down, spreading heat through my chest. I drank too fast, desperate for anything to dull the sharp edges of this day.
By the time we left for the airport, I'd had two and a half glasses while Annette had stripped me out of my work clothes and helped me pull on soft black leggings and an oversized cream sweater, then she pressed an oversized square sunglasses into my hand.
Two hours later, she crushed me in a fierce embrace.
"I am here for you, love. You're going to be okay."
"I don't feel okay." My voice came out hoarse and wrecked.
"I know, but you will be. And when you come back? We're going to make Drake regret the day he ever met you."
I managed a nervous laugh and strode toward the jet bridge.
The plane was half empty when I entered. I found my seat near a window, three rows from the back, and collapsed into it with the sunglasses staying firmly on my face. I didn't want anyone seeing my red, swollen eyes, all because of a fucking man.
A flight attendant stopped by my row. "Can I get you anything to drink before takeoff?"
"Red wine, please." The words came out automatically. I needed something to keep the numbness going, to stop my thoughts from spiraling.
She returned moments later with a small bottle and a plastic cup. I poured it all in one go and drank half before the plane even took off.
The alcohol mixed with what I'd already had, and the world blurred even more. The scene kept playing in my head, but it felt more like watching a movie now, distant and unreal.
Drake's flushed face. The blonde beneath him. The brunette's hand on his balls. His mocking voice echoing in my skull.
She just lays there like a dead fish.
Weren't you going to break up with her anyway?
My chest tightened despite the alcohol. I couldn't breathe properly. I unbuckled and stumbled down the aisle toward the bathrooms at the back of the plane.
The cabin lights were dim with most passengers already dozing or absorbed in their phones, and no one looked up as I passed. My steps were slightly wobbly, the wine making the floor tilt more than the plane's movement.
There were two bathrooms side by side near the galley. I grabbed the first handle I reached and stumbled inside, locking the door behind me.
Then the sobs came rushing in full force.
"Fuck him!" I slammed my palm against the wall. The sting felt good and grounding. "Fuck Drake and fuck his friends and fuck those whores."
My voice rose and cracked. "Four years! I gave him everything and he threw it away for what? Some meaningless fuck? An orgy on Valentine's Day!"
He'd made me sound pathetic, like being with me was some chore he had to suffer through.
"That bastard. That absolute piece of shitty vermin." I paced the tiny space, two steps forward, turn, two steps back, and my voice kept rising.
A knock rapped on the door interrupting my tirade.
"Occupied!" I snapped.
The ranting felt too good to stop. I'd suffered all day with Mr. Morgan's hands on me, losing my job, finding Drake balls deep in another woman.
"And on VALENTINE'S DAY!" My voice rose higher, shrill and furious. "We were supposed to go out. We had plans. I bought lingerie, expensive fucking lingerie that I'll never wear now because the thought of him touching me makes me want to vomit!"
Knock knock knock.
"Are you DEAF?" I whirled toward the door. "It's OCCUPIED! Go use another bathroom!"
The silence in the bathroom stretched like a thin wire for a moment before a deep, gruff baritone filtered in through the door.
"Wrong bathroom."
I froze, my eyes flying to the sign on the wall with its little stick figure in pants and the word MEN beneath it.
Heat flooded my face and burned down my neck. "I... shit. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize."
"Rough day?"
Those two words, spoken in that low rumble, made goosebumps erupt down my arms.
"You eavesdropped?"
"It was hard not to."
My cheeks burned hotter behind the sunglasses. The wine made my thoughts slow and syrupy, making this whole situation feel even more unreal while the plane hummed around us. Somewhere overhead, the seatbelt sign dinged.
"He's an asshole."
My throat closed up and the tears threatened again.
"I'm sorry."
"I hate this." The words spilled out before I could stop them, loosened by wine and exhaustion and the strange safety of talking to someone I couldn't see.
"I hate that I'm a mess. I hate that I'm crying in a bathroom, the wrong bathroom, over someone who clearly never deserved me in the first place."
A soft sound reached my ears, like he'd shifted closer to the door.
"What do you want?"