The second I saw it, I knew that this was the place that I was going to die.

        Okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. And, sure, maybe it's my fault for arriving at the airport an hour after I should've arrived to catch my flight. But, I mean, there's nothing wrong with wanting to stop for coffee (even if it's your fourth cup that morning), or going to pick up shaving cream at the grocery store because you don't have any even though you don't shave your legs in the winter and you aren't allowed to bring that sort of stuff on airplanes. It wasn't like I was trying to miss my flight.

        Maybe I should just drive ther-

        I shook my head, removing the thought. I hadn't invested the money and the time to find myself the perfect window seat, with just the right amount of leg room, just to chicken out at the last second. I was going to do this. I was going to get on that plane and have the time of my life if it was the last thing I did.

        Oh, man, I shouldn't have said (thought, whatever) that.

        Driving eighteen hours really isn't that bad, right?

        No answer reached my mind before, suddenly, I was spinning like a merry-go-around, circling my luggage again and again like one of those fucking pastel horses. And the next thing I knew, I was tasting day-old gum and rubber on my tongue, rubbing my jaw from the place it snapped against the ground, feeling the cool air on my toes and knowing that my faithless Birkenstocks had fallen off my feet. I glanced up just in time to see him

        Okay, maybe just in time was a bit of an exaggeration, considering the figure was stumbling through the crowd and knocking others down just as easily as he/she (I don't gender stereotype, thank you very much) had done with me. An annoyed murmur of complaints arouse from that general direction, and I could hear his (assuming by the voice) exasperated responses "out of my way" and "my plane was here first" like the chorus of a song with a bad remix. Yet he never stopped to give a proper apology and continued to shove his way to the front of the line.

        As I looked at him, I tried to remember what my therapist said about what to do when I was angry- something about counting down from ten. Ten-

        Oh, screw it, we all knew that guy wasn't going anywhere until I had given him a piece of my mind. I wished I could say that I felt this way because no one should treat others like that and expect to get away with it blah, blah, blah, but the truth of the matter was that no one could treat me like that and expect to come out of it with their genitals intact.

        I was back on my feet faster than I had time to think or the line (which, in all honesty, was never really a line but a crowd surrounding the desk) had to reform.

        He stood at the front of the line now, before the attendant at the check-in desk and next to a man who looked like he had been trying to check in myself. Based off the expressions on their faces, they were beyond annoyed.

        The guy who had pushed me over was speaking in a warbled tangent. Honestly, he could probably speak faster than Usain Bolt could run. "-I have to get through check-in now. My flight to New York is going to leave without me and then I'll be stranded here and my family will be angry and if they're angry at me than I'll feel guilty and I'll spend Christmas alone and I'll be sad and did you know that suicide rates are the highest during this holiday season? It's because people are alone and so they can't sad and they kill themselves and what if that becomes me and wh-"

        "Look, that's all very nice, sir," the attendant interrupted in a hiss. "But the fact of the matter is that there is a line that you just can't skip. If you needed to get through so badly, you should've arrived on time."

        "Are you even listening to me?" The guy was demanding. "Do you have functioning human ears? Do you need me to check them out for you? I happen to be certified to d-"

        I had enough of this. "Hey, fuckface."

        He didn't turn around, just kept muttering about ears and his certifications or whatever.

        I grunted in irritation; he wasn't not going to ruin my badass standing-up-to-the-class-bully (although this wasn't middle school and he wasn't a bully, just an asshole in general) moment. I stepped forward and jerked his shoulder, turning him around.

        He yelped, completely startled. "W-wh-who are y-you?"

        "Well, I'm about to become your worst nightmare, you fucking tool, and do you want to know why?" I responded, feeling my eyebrows rise.

        "Wh-why?"

        "Because you fucking plowed me and all of these people over because throughout all your selfish bullshit, you didn't even stop to realize that there are people here who are trying to get places to," I snapped. "People who actually had the decency to show up on time. Ironic that you didn't, considering that this is so important to you."

        "Oh, snap," someone exclaimed behind me.

        "You go, girl!"

        "Tell him who's boss!"

        I grinned. The guy in front of me, however, almost seemed to take a step back at the sight of my smile and that made me laugh. If it makes me sadistic to laugh at his fear, then I'm a psychopath. "Not to mention that you're cutting the line and harassing the attendant. Honestly, do you even take other people into consideration? Do you even stop to think for a moment that maybe y-"

        "You're right," he said.

        I stopped short. "Excuse me?"

        "L-look, I'm sorry," he apologized. "Sometimes I get worked up and I-I forgot other people have stuff going on as well."

        Now I wanted to take a step back. He was gazing down at me with these big blue eyes . . . blue wasn't even the right word. His eyes were pieces of the sky, so endless and deep a-and cold. I swallowed and it was a cloud got stuck in my throat.

        Oh, shit, I thought. Not here.

        The guy frowned. "Are you okay?"

        "G-get away from me," I hissed. I needed to get out of here. I couldn't do this. It was a mistake.

        His scowl deepened. "I thought you wanted an apolo-"

        "All I want is for you to get the fuck out of my way," I glowered, searching for my bag. I snatched it off the ground, ready to turn around and find the exit.

        "Are you crying?" He asked. "I didn't mean t-"

        "No," I snapped, but I could feel the coolness tracing lines down my cheeks. "Of course I'm not crying, my mascara is designer."

        "Wait . . . what?"

        "Shut up!" I growled. "Why can't you just go away? You almost damaged my Birkenstocks."

        "I'm seriously so confused."

        If I had been paying enough attention, I would've noticed the cell phone cameras that had dialed in on me and this guy with those fucking skies for eyes and some genitals would've been ripped off before any of those videos could show up on YouTube. But my eyes were filling up like the storms that had taken everyone I love away from me and I couldn't see anything but something that was too far away to be real.

        "Um, anyways . . ." The attendant interrupted awkwardly. "I have some bad news. Due to the storm raging on outside, all flights have been cancelled. We'd be happy to help reschedule your flights if you would line up in a calm and orderly fashi-"

        People stampeded.

        As I was right in front of the attendant's desk, everyone poured around and eventually over me to reach the front of the line. I crouched down on the ground, bracing for impact as a massive rush of tangled limbs scurried past me. Now you don't need to go on the plane, I was telling myself. You don't need to go on ever again.

        Abruptly, I felt something tighten around my forearm. I was being dragged up from my safe little puddle on the ground and I whimpered, trying to reach for it safety. I didn't care if people were practically running me over, it was safe down there- the ground is safe, not the sky. Why did I think it was a good idea to fly?

        Suddenly, I was staring into large, blue eyes.

        "You're an idiot," he told me.

        I used the back of my hand to wipe the tears off of my face. I knew I must've looked the most attractive raccoon in the airport, but I didn't have to focus on that. "Excuse me?"

        "Look, Birkenstocks, I don't know what you're trying to pull, but that was literally the stupidest thing I had ever seen," he informed me. "You almost got yourself trampled by those people."

        "Almost like you trampled me, huh?"

        His expression hardened. "I said I was sorry-"

        "Sorry doesn't cut it for being an asshole."

        I didn't realize he was still holding onto my arm until he let it go. I could see the red imprint of his hand, the tiny curved lines where his nails had been digging in. "I don't care. I have to get to the car rental place before they run out of cars. I would say it was nice meeting you, but it really wasn't."

        He ran off before I could even respond.

*

        I finally reached the car rental place about thirty minutes later. It took me a while to find my bag, which a toddler was sitting on, and one of my Birkenstocks, which had somehow fallen off my feet during the mad rush for the attendant's desk. If anything, however, the car rental was completely barren when I arrived. It was nice to get to skip the line.

        "Hi," I greeted the attendant at the desk, cheerily.

        She glanced up from her computer. "Oh, sorry, I thought I put up a sign on the door. Unless you have a reservation, we don't have any more cars t-"

        "Actually, I do have a reservation," I told her.

        Her eyebrows raised. "You do?"

        I scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

        Suddenly, her cheeks turned red. "Sorry, it's not you, just no one has come in today who's had a reservation. It's refreshing."

        I tried to take it as a compliment (it probably was anyways, did you hear what I said about that raccoon earlier?) as I handed her the paperwork. Right now was one of those moments that my being a complete coward was working out for me- if a small part of me hadn't known for a fact that I was going to chicken out and booked a car so I could drive just in case, I would probably be stranded here in Chicago for the holiday season.

        After filling out a couple more sheets, the attendant handed me the keys to the car and I was off.

        Except . . .

        No, no, no! I hissed at my conscious, as I drove past him. He is an asshole who trampled you, almost made you lose your Birkenstocks, and made you cry in front of a large group of people. There is no way you're helping him out.

        But I was already pulling over.

        "Hey, Mr. Certified Ear Checker or whoever the fuck you," I shouted.

        He had been sitting slumped over at the bus terminal. He glanced up at me, scowling. "How the hell did you get a car and I didn't?"

        "I booked it early." I beamed cheekily at him.

        "Then why did you book a flight as well?"

        "Is that any of your business?"

        "Come here just to gloat then?" He demanded. "What's your problem with me? You don't even know me."

        "Look . . ." I sighed. "You said you're heading to New York, right? So am I. And, you know, gas is expensive and I figured you could pay for three-fourths of it and come with me since we're heading in the same direction."

        I was expecting him to start thanking me profusely for my epic generosity (and modesty), but instead he just stared at me blankly. "Birkenstocks, you know nothing about me. New York is, what, a twelve hour drive away from here? I could literally murder you."

        "Yeah, you're so not helping your case here."

        "And, for that matter, why would I want to go anywhere with you?" He demanded. "You're clearly deranged."

        "Remember what I said about gas?" I retorted. "I'm a desperate girl. And you're about to see deranged if you don't get into this car."

        Why did I care so much about this dork? Sometimes, I got in these moods that were so weird that were telling me to do something so specific that even I questioned my sanity. But when I craved a grilled cheese sandwich made with donuts instead of bread, sometimes you just had to go with the flow and trust your gut (exhibit a: gut wants donut grilled cheese sandwich and in return doesn't make you throw up). 

        He scowled. "Are you kidnapping me?"

        "You're not exactly a kid," I responded. "You're like, three times bigger than me-"

        "I'm really not-"

        "-And probably way stronger." I patted my stomach. "Do you know how many cookies I eat?"

        Instead of taking it as the rhetorical question it clearly was, his head tilted slightly to his side and his clouded with curiousity. "How many?"

        Did he seriously just ask me that? I jerked my chin out at him. "Too many. Now get in the car before I change my mind and run you over."

        However, he hadn't moved anywhere. "Wait . . . what about gas? If, and I'm just saying if, I come, are we going to split it, or . . ."

        I considered this for a moment. "You may seventy-five percent."

        His eyes widened. "We go fifty-fifty on the gas."

        I just about laughed. "I'm being extremely generous and offering you a ride. Three-fourths or no deal."

        "What about you fifty-fifty and I pay for any motels if we want to crash out?"

        "Why would I want to sleep anywhere with your ugly ass?" I demanded. "Like, seriously, have you ever looked in a mirror? What if it rubs off on me and damages my extraordinary good looks?"

        He shot me another blank stare. "You have no people skills."

        I couldn't help the (incredibly attractive) snort that fell through my lips. "Comes from the guy who literally cut a whole line just s-"

        Abruptly, his cheeks turned red. "Shut up."

        I squealed. "Aww, are you blushing? Look at you, getting all red ar-"

        If it was possible, he had turned even more red. "If I agree to pay for food for the whole trip, will you shut up?"

        "Shut up about what?" I asked, although the thought of food . . .

        "Everything," he responded. 

        "You're going to have to be more specific than that," I reasoned. 

        He groaned. "Ugh, okay . . . just don't mention blushing. Ever again. And if you do, I'll buy you cookies?"

        My stomach responded positively to the thought, even shouting out a greeting to the guy with the blue eyes. "Oooh. How many? When? What typ-"

        He grabbed his bags and started heading over. "You know what? Shut up about cookies, too."

*

Hey Reader!

Notice: So, yeah, I know I'm supposed to be working on my other story, but I really need a break from it to recuperate. So that's why I'm here, with this lil story. For those of you who may have read my other works, yes . . . these are Bea and Claude from How to Paint Our Skies. They'll be quite different from the drafted version seen of them on wattpad, since that was the first draft of the story, and I've developed them quite differently in newer versions which aren't online. Also, if you haven't read it, don't worry about it, you're not missing out on anything important to the plot. 

So . . . yeah. You guys are the best. 

Love Your Favorite Liar <3