I will love you, always

Row 18, seat C. I looked at my plane ticket. I was at the right spot.

I looked back cautiously as sweat dripped down my forehead, hesitating before sitting down.

I put my backpack between my legs and took out my black iPhone 11 from the back pocket of my ripped jeans, making sure that it was in airplane mode. I bit my lips nervously, hoping no one would sit beside me.

Unfortunately, someone was hovering by the aisle. A middle-aged lady looked me in the eye with a slight smile, signalling me to scoot over so that she could get to her seat beside me.

I didn’t return the smile. I couldn’t. So, I just nodded.

She made herself comfortable by adjusting the pillows behind her neck and turning on the movie screen after plugging in the headphones the airline provided.

The speakers turned on, and the pilot introduced himself and continued with the pre-flight chatter.

Finally, the plane’s wheels moved, gradually getting faster. Soon it was in the air. I gazed out the window, looking at tiny pieces of land all over.

The seatbelt sign went off. Taking the blanket from the plastic, I wrapped myself in it, trying my best to close my eyes.

But I couldn’t.

Millions of thoughts filled my head, and it was all about you. I thought that by running away from you, you would leave, but in my mind, you remained.

I remembered the first day I saw you, how you peeked through the record store window because you were scared to come in when I was at the counter.

The day you passed me a receipt of a Michael Jackson record with the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard: “I can’t be as smooth as MJ, but can I get your number, please?”

The day we went to watch a movie. We held hands for the first time. My hand was sweating like crazy because I felt nervous around you, but you caressed it with your gentle fingers, not caring about it.

The day you begged me to go ice skating with you. I held on to two of your fingers for dear life, trying not to fall.

The day we had a picnic, when you opened up to me about your problems, and when I hugged you while you cried.

The day you told me you loved me. We were happy, weren’t we? You loved me. I loved you.

But that was not enough for you, was it, my love? Why did you lie to me? I was the other woman. It was always her from the start.

Her. That brown-haired, pale skin goddess with a wedding ring on her finger.

Did you think I’d never find that picture of you looking into her eyes with pure love? Did you even love me? Or was I just one of your rats running a lab test?

Eight years. Eight damn years I spent loving you, thinking that the ring and your last name would be mine.

But I held it in for you, my love. I wanted to believe that I was your one and only.

I kept quiet. I held in my rage.

But that one day, the day when I walked into your apartment with dandelions in my hand, your favourite, for our ninth anniversary.

She was there, wearing my T-shirt. The one you got for me, my love.

That was the last straw, my love. I felt my soul burning hotter than the heat of a fire.

I snapped and rushed at her, you tried to stop me, but it was too late. She and I pushed each other. She slipped and hit her head against the table.

That look on your face. You hated me, and the tears streamed down your face. You feared me, my love. Why? Why? Why? You ran to the phone to ring for help, but I did not let you.

I kept begging for forgiveness as I choked on my tears. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry, my love.

“I love you.”

But that look didn’t leave your face. The look of fear and hate for me, not love.

Wasn’t that fun? A trip down memory lane. Now I remember why I’m on this plane.

You’ve always wanted me to meet your family. Don’t worry, my love. Your wish will come true.  Soon, I will meet your mum, dad and sister. Soon, they will know the truth about their ‘perfect son’.

There are still a few more hours until my destination. I should get some rest.

Goodnight, my love. Sweet dreams to me.

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