Page 13 of Riding the Curve

Swiping open my phone, I scroll to my message app. My thumb automatically swipes over her contact with the nickname I have her messages saved under. The ones I haven’t been able to delete, even after all these years.

TROUBLE: Did you just leave?

TROUBLE: ???

TROUBLE: Can I see you tomorrow before I leave?

TROUBLE: We need to talk, Em.

TROUBLE: Please? I don’t want to leave like this.

TROUBLE: Well, I guess I have my answer.

TROUBLE: Do yourself a favor and lose my number. Enjoy your life, Emerson.

Closing my eyes, I can almost hear the hurt in her voice. Almost feel her heart breaking within each text. The way I left things between us when I ran away that night was cruel. The finality in her last text makes my stomach twist. With a swipe, I exit out of the messages quickly before I can inflict further pain on myself.

That night will be forever ingrained in my memory. Sometimes I imagine what our life could have been like if I just could have taken the leap. If I hadn’t broken her heart instead.

Once or twice each month, I find myself scrolling her messages. As tormenting as they may be, I can’t bring myself to delete them. To erase any part of her, good or bad.

She’s the woman I compare every other woman against.

The only one who stole my heart all those years ago.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I feel Henley rustling below, doing the same. A curse escapes her lips as her hands glide against the bruises marring her forehead. Catching the attention of the flight attendant, I hold up the ice pack in my hand, gesturing for another. She nods, reaching for the first aid kit. The weight leaning against my body lifts, and when I look beside me, I’m met with a pair of confused hazel eyes.

“Umm, how long have I been out?” Her eyes widen after she speaks, her hands immediately flying up to smooth out her hair.

“For a few hours.”

“How long was I laying—” She clears her throat, embarrassment reddening her cheeks as her head nods toward my shoulder.

“I’m not sure.” I shrug, trying to appear indifferent to the fact she’s been laying on me for the entire flight. Even though it meant the world to me to have her body lying against mine. “I think I even fell asleep for a while there as well.”

“Oh,” she hums softly. “Sorry for invading your space.”

An ache blossoms in my chest as her eyes drop away from mine. Retreating into herself, sliding her body closer to her side of the plane. Away from me.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Trouble.”

“Please, don’t call me that,” she whispers. Her eyes focus on the clouds drifting by.

Guilt coils inside my stomach as pressure begins to build once more inside my chest. Regret for the way I left things between us not only once, but twice. Remorse for the pain I inflicted upon her heart, and the hurt that still lingers there.

Thankfully, my spiraling thoughts are interrupted by the flight attendant. She hands me a fresh ice pack and a ginger ale. Hesitantly, I nudge Hen’s shoulder. Her gaze flutters between the ice pack and ginger ale and she takes them both without another word.

I can’t tell what’s worse. The silence between us over the past years, or the current void of communication mixed with tension that is hovering over us like a thick fog. It’s suffocating.

Another hour passes before the pilot announces that we are thirty minutes out from landing. Henley lets out a sigh of relief. In my head, I curse my decision to text her brother before we left New York. Something tells me she isn’t going to be thrilled to discover my change of plans.

The plane starts to descend, and before we know it, the airport comes closer into view. Our bodies jolt forward as the plane touches down on the runway. As we taxi towards the airport, Henley begins to tuck her headphones into her bag as the attendant comes to collect her glass and ice pack. Once the seatbelt sign turns off, movement begins inside the plane cabin.

One by one, the passengers in front of us collect their belongings and exit. When it’s our turn, I step into the aisle and begin to retrieve her carry-on. The breath catches in my throat when her palm presses firmly against my chest.

“I’ve got it.”

Not wanting to push her any further, I submit to her request, raising my hands and backing out of her path. She struggles to pull it from the overhead compartment, and my hands bolt up instinctively. Her palm slaps mine away, the glare she gives me searing my skin. With a grunt, she finally frees the suitcase, clutching it tightly against her torso. Looking straight through me to the doctor behind me, she smiles sweetly. “Thank you for your help earlier.”