My knuckles turn white against the arm rest of my chair. I might have never been on a plane before, but I can safely say that I hate taking off. I add flying to my already huge list of phobias. As the plane lifts higher off the ground, my stomach rises and falls, instantly making me feel nauseated. Sweat beads at my brows. The bloke next to me chuckles slightly, shaking his head as though my discomfort is the best source of entertainment in his measly life. I could shake him, if I weren't too preoccupied with keeping whatever contents of my stomach remain. 

"First time flying?" His voice sounds sweet, too sweet. 

"Yep," I close my eyes, counting the seconds until the plane levels off and my stomach returns to its designated spot. "I've decided I hate flying."

He chuckles once more, leaning further into the back of his chair, his arm pushing mine off the arm rest. I swear, if I have to spend the entire flight fighting with this six foot something man with muscles bigger than my entire body, I will. I might lose, but I'll put up one hell of a fight. We're still nudging one another's arms, mine already incredibly sore and no doubt bruise, when a flight attendant steps in front of us, trolley in hand.

Her smile, wide and bright, doesn't waiver as she speaks, "Can I get you guys anything?"

The poor cow's cheeks must ache like a bitch when her shift finishes. Fuck that for a lifestyle. Mr Macho-Man waves a hand forward, letting me give my order first. How wonderfully chivalrous of him... not. 

"I'll have whatever spirits you've got. Two bottles please." 

After the day I've had, two bottles of Vodka, or anything really, is just what I need. She passes me two of the tiniest plastic bottles I have ever seen in my life. Is she taking the piss out of me? Her gaze turns to the man beside me, I should really get his name at the very least if he's to be at the wedding too. I mean, what if I can make an ally out of him? 

"Just a coke please, love." His smile almost matches the air hostess' as he takes the beverage offered. Typical, his is larger than mine.

I watch her walk further down the aisle, her hips swaying, long legs exposed beneath a black pencil skirt. God I love a woman in heels. Loud gulps beside me make my skin crawl until I can't stand it any longer and cover my ears to muffle the vile sound. I'll never understand why people have to eat and drink so noisily. 

"Since we're gonna be neighbours for the next two and a half hours, I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Emily, best friend of the bride. And you are?" I drag out the last word, eyebrows raising.

"Matt," His hand takes mine, shaking it up and down, with enough power behind his squeeze to make me wince. "I'm the groom's best friend. You know what they say about the best man and maid of honour, right?"

I pull my hand back, frowning at his wink. Is he... hitting on me? God, I'm definitely going to be sick now. With a grimace, I put one of the bottles to my lips and let the alcohol burn down my throat. One whole mouthful. That's it? The second follows before the burning has eased, my hand raised to get the attention of the air hostess. Hopefully the same beauty from earlier. 

"You're barking up the wrong tree Matt, I play for the same team as you." 

Coke sprays on the back of the seat in front of him, he splutters and coughs, tears streaming as he laughs. Before he can open his mouth to speak, the air hostess, sadly a different one, asks what she can do for us. Knowing two drinks just isn't enough, I ask for as many bottles of vodka as she can give me. Four drinks are placed into my hand with a warning that should I be found drunk, I could face a serious fine and possible prison sentence. 

Well I'll be damned. Looks like I'll be sticking to these four then. I drink enough to be able to tolerate that much. I don't bother spacing my drinks out, figuring two hours is plenty of time for the alcohol to wear out of my system before we land. A little tipsy can't hurt surely? What's the worst that can happen. 

The burn from the four drinks lasts longer than I'd ever admit to Sarah, knowing the disapproving glare she'd give me. With not much to occupy my time, I stare out of the window, at the wisps of clouds that pass us by. They look like candy floss. At the thought of the sweet, my stomach screams with life. Eating is cheating. I might not want to get entirely pissed, but if I eat now, I know I'll sober up much quicker than I would like. I'll order something halfway through our journey instead.

My vision starts to blur, head swaying. What the? I've never felt this tipsy this quickly after drinking. Blinking fast enough to take off myself, I try and steady my line of vision. Matt's two heads turn to face me, smile on his face.

"Wha' you lookin' at?" I can hear the slur in my words.

"You okay love?" His eyes narrow, head peering around me at the air hostesses who chat amongst themselves. "You can't seriously be drunk already? God I'm gonna drink you under the table at the wedding."

"Not drunk. I drink more than... this normally." 

"Ah, you don't know about drinking on a plane then?" 

Drinking on a? What on earth is he talking about?

"You get drunk quicker on a plane, the altitude does it. Look, I'll keep an eye out for the air hostess, when she's heading this way I'll nudge you and you pretend to be asleep. I'll get some food and water to sober you up okay?" 

Yes, he can definitely be my ally. I like him. He might be a complete jerk, but he gives me a good vibe. Or maybe that's the drink talking. Either way, I decide to trust him, at least until the wedding is over. 

"Cheers." My stomach turns as the plane jolts about. 

He smiles, nods and turns back to his book. Only then, when my lips part and the verbal diarrhoea starts, do I realise how much memories and drink can really fuck you up. 

"I love her!"