The muscles in my leg tightened; this urge to get off the plane becoming more and more overt. I take deep breaths, holding back the nausea and cries that so desperately want to escape. We still have some time until we take off. I desperately search for my cell in my purse; finding it fallen at the bottom amongst my other possessions.
I see Wesley’s texts, one after another but I don’t have the strength to open them. I’m overwhelmed by us. What this relationship is doing to me. I wanted to hear his voice, and despite my drunken stupor last night, I recall us exchanging words that couldn’t be retracted, at least—not in my eyes.
And I knew myself well enough to know that his voice, alone, would lure me into his sinful ways. He would tell me this is nothing. I don’t have to worry, and fuck ’em. He didn’t care, so why should I?
Without realizing, my hands are shaking. I dial Mom’s number, desperate to speak to her and seek the reassurance I needed at this moment. The cell rings, and rings, until it hangs up on its accord.
I try again, closing my eyes and praying that she would pick up. Nothing.
Fighting back the tears, I send Wesley a text. It’s all I had to say at this moment.
I can’t do this. It’s not me.
I’m sorry.
My cell is hidden away in my purse; switched to airplane mode and out of sight, out of mind. The plane begins to fill with passengers; some walking past me without interest and some watching me followed by whispers to the person next to them. The announcement is made for all passengers to take a seat. Minutes later, Emerson sits down beside me, without saying a single word.
After the safety presentation, the engine roars as we take off and head to the sky.
Emerson had organized for me to sit at the window so I could experience the city from above. It was beautiful; another piece of the world that I wouldn’t have experienced had I not taken the job with Emerson. Resting my head against the chair, I think about all the things I had done in the past months that have both terrified and excited me at the same time.
And they all lead back to Wesley.
“How long?” Emerson asks, keeping her voice low.
“Only three weeks.”
“Three weeks with Wesley Rich is enough to send anyone over the edge.”
She wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t experienced. Though part of me questioned how much she would truly understand. Yes, they had a relationship but it was so tainted that she saw nothing but black. Or perhaps, I was living a lie behind rose-colored glasses.
“I don’t understand…” she stumbles on her words. “Why on earth would you want to be with him?”
I’m slightly offended. “Emerson, you dated him once upon a time. In fact, you were engaged to him. You were willing to spend the rest of your life with him. I’m sure you still remember something about him that kept you there.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Well, that’s your own opinion.”
I hated arguing with her. I respected her as my boss and a friend but the jealously, it got a hold of me and knowing that she once had something with Wesley became my focus…again.
“It’s just that Wesley is so infuriating. You deserve better than him.”
“What if he deserves better than me?”
“Not possible. Do you even know what he did to me? Not only did he go to Amsterdam and get high while sleeping with someone…plural. He cheated on me. With multiple girls in some gang-bang hurrah. He’s not good for you.”
I hold back the tears that stem from anger—not hurt. Emerson couldn’t possibly understand what Wesley and I had. Nobody could. I wanted to tell everyone I loved him, and it’s stupid, right? After three weeks how can I be so in love with a man that I know is not good for me? Everyone had an opinion on Wesley, and majority ruled that he was nothing but a bad boy.
“I think I can decide what’s good for me. I don’t expect you to understand. You see Wesley the way you want to see him. It’s different with me and him. He’s different when he’s with me.”
Emerson laughs, shaking her head and acknowledging her own private joke. “That’s what all the girls say. Why don’t you have a chat with Farrah? I’m sure Wesley has spun the same story and that’s how he wooed you into bed.”
I turn to face her, quick and sharp. “What makes you think that Wesley wooed me into bed? You don’t think it’s possible for two people to be sexually attracted to each other and make a joint decision to be intimate with each other?”
“Milana. Trust me when I say this to you. Wesley is no good. He will hurt you. He is destructive by nature. You’re smart, you’ve got good morals. Run while you can.”
“If you think he is so destructive, then why are you still business partners? Why won’t you let go of him? Are you still in love with him? Is that why you’re so worked up about us?”