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I struggled to leave my sister. Let me rephrase that—it was never easy to leave, but this time felt like a last goodbye. I know that this is what I have to do in order to move on with my life. I had made decisions based on Reese, making sure she was safe. Little did I know she was ten times stronger than I had given her credit for.
I have had one hell of a morning so far. The taxi took the wrong route, and we ended up sitting in traffic for longer. The airport was crowded and smelled of bleach and shit. Humans have become something so vile.
Finally, at the ticket counter, the tired flight attendant tries to be optimistic. She almost seems relieved when I ask for the next flight out and it doesn’t matter where or what seat I am in. I just need to go. I give her a soft smile as the screaming family behind me catches both of our attention.
“Hope your day gets better,” I offer.
She graciously smiles.
Taking the ticket from the attendant gives me a sense of freedom. A purpose for me to live my life on my terms. There is nothing to hold me down except me. I am fully aware of the demons that still linger in my brain. Sitting back and waiting for the opportune moment to resurface.
Walking through the airport, I have some time before boarding. A stale bar seems like a good place to lie low for a bit. I set my bag down and look at my ticket. I know little about London, but that won’t stop me from starting fresh.
I bring my beer to my lips and take a small sip. Letting the bitter taste linger. My fingers tap on the folder in front of me. It was left outside my hotel room with a note that said “New-Baby Package.” It confused me until I opened the folder and found a new passport, bank statements showing money in an account under my name, papers, and anything else I would need to start fresh.
Adam just can’t leave well enough alone. He has to give me this. I am conflicted about using this gift or trashing it and doing this on my own. I shake my head and take another sip. The bartender lays a napkin down with another beer.
“This is on the house,” she says.
I look at it and then at her. I hadn’t noticed what the bartender looked like before now. Sitting back in my chair, I inspect her. Curvy blonde with perfect tits. No matter how good she looks, I know it’s not a smart move. I lift the bottle and tip it to her, thanking her for this gift.
“Appreciate it.” I take a sip.
She winks and walks to the other end of the bar. Before I set the bottle down, I notice a number written on the napkin. I pick it up between two fingers and she looks over.
“You are cute, I admit, but I am not available,” I tell her.
She laughs and turns away. I flip the napkin and notice “Call for the job” written on the back. I’m Perplexed. I am not a bartender.
“Excuse me… um…” I ask.
“Name is Bailey,” she finally offers.
Looking at her, I notice she is like a stocked bottle of liquor, one that you would slowly enjoy. The top-shelf brand that you keep an extra eye on. She is that kind of woman.
“Bailey.” I throw the napkin on the bar. “I am not a bartender.”
She walks over, folds her arms under those perfectly displayed breasts, and leans across the bar.
“I don’t even work here,” she whispers.
I narrow my eyes at her, wondering where she is going with this. She picks up the napkin, pressing her lips against the white paper, leaving her mark on the part with the phone number.
“Are you a hooker?” I ask. It’s the only logical question… right?
Her tongue traces along her lips, and my eyes inadvertently follow.
“I get paid more than a hooker and I don’t even have to sleep with anyone.” She smiles, but I’m still sit confused. “I am a recovery specialist.”
I sit back further in my chair. Can’t tell if she is joking or not. Taking another sip of my beer, still keeping eye contact, I’m trying to determine if she is bullshitting me.
“Recovery specialist?” I ask.
She nods, not giving anything else away. I put the beer down and drop a few dollars on the bar top. So not in the mood to be messed with. I stand to put my folder in my bag to leave. Bailey watches my every move. “I take back what was stolen. Like Robin Hood. I just look better and get paid for my good deed.”
“Thanks for this.” I point to the beer. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with this right now. “I have to get going.”
“Do you?” she teases.
