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Andrew
Ifeel like I don’t even know Dylan anymore. What the hell is wrong with him? How could he just lash out at me like that? My best friend and my co-pilot, picking a fight with me right now, of all times. This is the time when we should be there for each other the most.
I splash cold water on my face, cooling down the hot, pulsing spots on my cheeks that collided with Dylan’s fists. Out of all the years we’ve been best friends, I’ve never seen him so afraid and angry.
It’s so unlike him. He’sDylan. He’s supposed to be calmer and cooler than anyone else I know.
We need to get it together before this flight because the situation is clouding my vision and I know for a fact that it’s clouding Dylan’s too. We can’t be miscommunicating like this if something happens on the job.
The sterile scent of the plane calms me a bit. At least here, there’s a small sense of normalcy, except the fact that Dylan isn’t here yet. He’s usually here first.
An ominous shiver runs down my spine.
I’ve got goosebumps.
Suddenly, Dylan sits down in his seat and sniffles. His eyes are red and puffy. Was he crying?
My heart hurts for just a moment before I realize he’s not looking at me. He’s not even acknowledging my existence.
How about an ‘I’m sorry,’ Dylan?
Hazel is on this flight. I wonder if I’ll get to see her in private and have an actual conversation or if they’ll both continue the awkward silent treatment.
You know what? Fine, if that’s the game they’re playing- I can play it too.
At least the ride is smooth so far. Smooth and quiet. I can’t even hear Dylan breathe and every time I look over at him, he quickly looks away from me.
When our eyes meet, he softens, only for that quick second before he looks away. I’m not sure anyone else would even notice except Hazel and I. Still, it’s almost like he wants to say sorry, but can’t for some reason. Or maybe I’m just being hopeful.
His resting face isn’t angry anymore. It’s vacant… which somehow seems worse.
What the hell is going on in that head of his?
I just need to focus on the flight and then get away from here.
Focus.
I look down at the GPS.
“We’re coming up on CLEAT.”
Dylan’s still ignoring me.
“Dylan.”
“What?”
“I said, we’re coming up on CLEAT.”
“So?”
Whatever anger he has inside his body has officially transferred into mine.
“I get that you’re pissed off but right now isnotthe time. You know this waypoint is a CAT hot spot, so knock it off and focus with me.”
The softness I saw in him earlier, that split-second softness, is making its return. Thank God. I can’t do this alone.
“I’m sorry.”
