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"Ah, here we go. There's a plane taking off to central Wisconsin in about four hours. Does that work?"
I nod my head, a smile breaking out on my face so wide my cheeks hurt. "That's perfect."
She takes my money, counting out what she needs and handing me back a much smaller stack. The small printer below her starts whirring to life, and a small ticket pops out. The lady tears it off and holds it out to me. "Do you have any bags you need to check?"
I shake my head. "No, nothing."
Her face frowns in confusion, but she nods. "Have a safe flight."
I take the ticket, sliding it from between her fingers and looking down at it. "Thank you." All I can read is the word Wisconsin.
I walk off, heading through the airport and looking for my concourse. There are small shops, restaurants, and gift stores. I curve left toward a small convenience shop, realizing I haven't drank anything in I don't know how long.
I grab a water, and a small bag of peanuts, slipping a twenty-dollar bill from the stack and setting my things on the counter. A younger guy behind the cash register gives me a smile, staring a little too long at my stomach. I wrap my arms around my midsection, drifting my eyes away from his and toward the magazine stand.
And everything stops.
Everything.
My hand reaches out automatically, almost in slow motion as I grab the magazine closest to me. Pulling it free, I bring it to my face and read the headline.
ROMAN HALL FROM CATACLYSM HAS MELTDOWN ON STAGE. TREATMENT? GIRLFRIEND TELLS ALL.
Girlfriend?
Roman has a girlfriend?
It shows a picture of him, looking so different, yet so much the same. He looks older, but I suppose he would after not seeing him in years. He has a pair of sunglasses on his face as he sings. It looks like this picture was taken during a concert. I don't need to look into his eyes, I already know what I'll see.
He's changed. Just as I've changed.
I drag my finger over the curve of his face, over the sharp edges that have formed over the years. Over his tan skin, and his dark brown hair. It’s like I can really touch him as my finger glides over this piece of smooth paper.
Except I’m not, and I can’t.
There's a heaviness in him that I can feel through the pages. A sadness and an anger that bleeds in the way he holds himself.
The pages crumple in my fingers as I pull it to my chest, lowering my head and letting out a quiet sob.
He met someone.
He's moved on.
"Miss, are you okay?"
I don't pay attention to him, taking this moment to grieve the loss that I know is gone forever. I thought we were soulmates. In the back of my heart, I always hoped one day we'd end up together again. I didn't even give it a second thought, just assuming that our hearts were one. I didn't anticipate him meeting someone else. Finding someone to give his heart to.
Maybe I shouldn't read too much into it, but if the media knows, it must be serious, right?
Another sob racks my spine, and I want to fall to my knees and wail. I don't do that, though. I just sniffle into the magazine and wish for the pages to swallow me whole.
"Um, do you need me to get someone?" the man behind the counter asks.
I shake my head, pulling my face out of the pages. I straighten it the best I can, sliding it back onto the rack. It’s crumpled and wet, but I don’t want it. I turn around, keeping my back to the counter as I walk out.
I know what I have to do.
"Wait, do you want your things?"
