Page 111 of Scarred by You

“THANK YOU, SIR, have a safe flight.”

I thank the flight attendant and make my way down the tunnel to board my plane to Brazil, feeling like I haven’t slept for almost a week. I haven’t.

I put my small leather case in the overhead compartment, sink back into my seat and stretch out my legs.

“A drink, sir? Champagne or orange juice?”

After what I’ve put my body through the last two days, I can’t accept champagne. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

I check my watch for the third time in ten minutes. 08:56. Four minutes.

I can’t sit here. I can’t bear not knowing whether she submitted another bid. If she bid with Hassan, he’ll take it, I know it. It’s a sensible deal for him, and no matter how much Caspar upped his offer, she’d win. Dayna would get her Persian well. At what cost?

Fuck.

If she wins, she’s in trouble, serious trouble. I know men like Hassan, I’ve seen it. This weekend I realised I was raised by one of them. If she wins the well and starts to make it work, they’ll steal her knowledge, or worse, they’ll worm their way into SP. They’ll find a way to take what she’s built. If she has the winning bid and doesn’t turn a profit… Jesus. They’ll make her pay. They won’t accept a loss.

If she wins, Caspar will come after her, and he won’t stop until she’s gone. I can’t stand knowing the part my father played in the demise of SP, but on some warped level, he had motive. Caspar, he’s just dirty. He doesn’t like people on his turf, and he’s already threatened Dayna.

If she wins the well, she loses. She loses everything. Maybe, one day, her life.

I cover my mouth and swallow the bile that rises in my throat.

I stand, gripping the edge of my seat, and look at my watch again. Two minutes.

“Sir, you need to sit down.” The same flight attendant who offered me champagne is by my side. “We’re taxiing, sir, and the seat belt sign is on.”

I rub my face roughly with both hands. “I’m sitting.”

I take my seat and bend forwards over my knees.

“Sir, you need to put your seat belt on.”

I bore holes in the stewardess then check my watch again. One minute.

The captain’s voice comes over the speakers, spouting some babble about the flight times, the cruising altitude, telling all passengers to listen to the safety video.

“Sir, your belt.”

“I’m doing it, for Christ’s sake.”

I sit back in my seat and fasten my belt.

“Ladies and gentlemen, at this time you must turn off all electronic devices or switch them to aeroplane mode.”

I take out my iPhone. Nine. Come on. Come the fuck on.

We pick up speed on the runway. An email lands in my inbox. My heart pounds in my chest as I open the message.

Bidder 1 – Persian Fuels

Bidder 2 – Withdrawn

Bidder 3 – Withdrawn

I’m thrust back into my seat as the plane lifts off the tarmac. I switch off my phone and rest my head back, watching London grow smaller through my window.

She didn’t bid.

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