Page 8 of Bad Influence
I imagined the wedding, the marriage, the kids. Living in a house with a husband I knew could never love me or be loyal to me. For the rest of my life, I’d have a time-share for my own husband, knowing that when he left the house, he was free to do anything he wanted with anyone he wanted.
If I stayed and went through with it all, didn’t that mean I was choosing my own misery? Sitting up, I got out of bed and walked to my dresser. Opening the top drawer, I pulled out the small metal jewelry box which housed the key to the apartment Geraldine had gifted me.
Darling, if you hold onto broken glass because it’s what someone expects, you’re only hurting yourself.
Come with me, Caroline.
I closed my eyes, trying to remember the timber of his voice. The sound of his voice has faded from my memory and no matter how hard I try, I can’t recall it exactly. It’s been five years since I last heard it. My fist closed over the key, the teeth pressing into the soft skin of my palm.
I can kill every part of myself and stay here for their happiness.
Or, for once in my life, I can do something for myself.
I snuck out of my room into the quiet hallway and down to my father’s office. The house was eerily quiet, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I expected someone to wake up and ask me what the hell I was doing sneaking around my own house like a thief. But it was the middle of the night and everyone was asleep.
I unlocked the family safe and took out my passport. I might be going to New York, but I wasn’t going to leave my passport here. Picking up a pen from my father’s desk, I quickly scrawled out a note telling them that I couldn’t marry Beckett and I was leaving. I removed my ring and set it on top of the note.
Fear made my palms clammy so the ring slipped off easily. It felt heavy in my hand, like the weight of all their expectations. I set it down on top of the note and stood up from the chair.
Rushing out of the room, I threw clothes into a suitcase, stuffed all my essentials, and left.
I’ve been sitting at the airport for the last four hours, waiting to catch my flight. The sky’s just starting to lighten and by the time my family wakes up and realizes I’m gone, I’ll be halfway to New York. But I can’t let go of this anxious feeling that any minute now I’m going to wake up in my own bed and this will all be a dream. Until now, I’ve only dreamed of running away.
I don’t know what it looks like to do something without seeking my parent’s approval first. Without thinking how it will affect them.
There’s still time for me to change my mind. I can go back and it’ll be like nothing ever happened. And that’s the crux of the problem. For my family and the Yorks,nothinghappened. All they expect me to be is a cardboard cutout that looks pretty in pictures and that they can pull out and parade around when the need suits them.
Pulling out my phone, I scroll to my brother’s contact information. I wonder if he’ll understand my decision to leave. If he’ll respect it. I think better of it and put my phone back in my purse. There’s a reason why he’s the perfect child and I’m a pale impression.
I wait until the last boarding call, giving myself the time to change my mind. But there’s no going back. Not now. And maybe the universe agrees with me because as I take my window seat in first class, a gorgeous man sits down next to me.
He’s wearing glasses, hair disheveled, and the smile he shoots in my direction makes my stomach swoop. I’d be remiss to mention that I don’t have a lot of experience with men. I had exactly one boyfriend before Beckett, someone I thought my parents would approve of, and they did. Now that I think about it, when he dumped me, my parents thought it was my fault and that I’d surely made some mistake.
I give my seat companion a smile that I hope seems normal, though I can feel how tremulous it is.
“Nervous flyer?” He asks, once he sits down. God, even his voice is perfect. It’s deep and rich, and like an utter fool, I can imagine this turning into something more. What if he’s the one I’m meant to be with? What if I was always meant to take this flight just so I could meet him? If he’s from San Francisco, could it mean we’ve almost crossed each other’s paths, like ships passing in the night?
Belatedly, I realize he’s looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to answer. My cheeks heat and I look away, clearing my throat.
“Um, not usually, no,” I reply.
“Well, let me know if you feel like puking or something. These are new shoes,” he says.
And just like that, my crush evaporates. Apparently, I am surrounded by Becketts. Beautiful on the outside, rotten on the inside.
“Don’t worry, if I feel like puking, I’ll aim for your lap rather than your shoes,” I say with a sweet smile.
I watch horror dawn on his face as I put on my noise cancelling headphones and turn on my audiobook. It’s going to be a very long flight.
Somehow, I manage to fall asleep as soon as the plane takes off and I don’t wake up until the flight attendant shakes me awake because we’re about to land.
I straighten in my seat and rub a hand over my face, surreptitiously wiping away any drool. There’s no time to go to the bathroom.
I look out the window as the plane lands at La Guardia, almost like it’s going to descend into the water. There’s no going back now.
“Welcome to New York,” my seat partner says.
I throw him a look. “And I didn’t even get to throw up on your pants.”
