“How come you’re on this flight? I thought you’d have left with everyone else.”
“That was the plan, yes.” Connie takes out her reading glasses from her case and puts them on. “But then things changed this morning, as I’m sure you arewellaware.”
Her veiled swipe of passive-aggressiveness, coming as she slams her glasses case shut, makes me feel like I’m responsible for this, rather than a victim.
Cabin crew, boarding is complete. Close the doors and cross check.
Connie glares at me and reaches for the folder. I start to ask another question, one of the dozen I still have, but decide against it. Instead, I start to take my seat, but she reaches for my arm and stops me.
“Before you get off this flight, I’m going to need you to read through what’s inside, sign the documents, and hand it back to me.” Connie passes me the folder.
Her jaw clenches so hard as I take it that I can hear her teeth grinding.
I want to speak, but my voice cracks. Like I’ve lost all ability to voice my thoughts.
Connie shakes her head at me, turns, and slides into her chair. She grabs her headphones and slides them on.
Point taken.
“Here you go, sir.” The steward returns with the Bloody Mary. “I’m going to need you to take your seat for takeoff.” He points to my place.
I nod and sit down, placing the folder to the side along with the drink, and fasten my seatbelt.
I take a deep breath. Then another. And another. And then reach for the folder.
Resting it on my lap, I slowly open it to the documents inside. My jaw drops as I take in the first line.
29.Alexander
Monday
The atmosphere in the green room suffocates me, like I’m being buried alive, but the dirt isn’t just my own thoughts, but everyone around me who is making a fuss about this TV interview withBehind the Scenes.
Erica applies another layer of makeup.
Laurie holds up several clothing options to choose from.
Paul and Connie continue to explain the “strategy” to me.
Lucy runs in and out of the room fielding calls.
Rob stands guard by the door.
“I need a minute.” I bat away Erica’s brush as I get up out of the makeup chair and head toward the restroom.
I try to close the door behind me, just to get one moment to myself, but Rob’s glare—not a chance—stops me from doing so.
God forbid I have a few seconds of privacy.
Everyone is worried about me. I’ve caught their sideward glances, the awkward silences. I even overheard Paul saysuicide watchto Rob yesterday, when they thought I was listening to music through my headphones.
I turn on the tap and let the familiar feeling of cold waterwash over my hands. I lean over the sink to splash my face. It’s the only thing in the last thirty-six hours that seems to calm me down, other than Ambien.
I’m not allowed to go for a run.
Box breathing no longer works.
Even my ADHD medication isn’t helping me focus.
