- RORY -
When planes take off, it’s always the worst part. I usually don’t mind flying that much, but the transition from a slow taxi around the runway to sudden acceleration is always startling no matter how many tis I’ve experienced it. And then that first sensation of riding on air instead of ground when the wheels lift off... that requires a great deal of trust. Trust that the air is going to carry you, of all things. The air.
This is the first ti I’ve flown with any of these people though, and the special layout of the seating makes it so that I’m able to look at my older sister’s smiling face. There are a select number of people in life that have those familiar faces that feel like ho and bring more comfort than anyone else could. For , Raya has that face.
She looks especially radiant today. I haven’t paid much attention the past several weeks to her feelings, but now that I’m really looking at her, I can appreciate just how happy she is. It’s selfish of to notice now, because that happiness is offering itself to like an anchor of reassurance and I’m greedily hanging onto it for dear life.
There’s a steadfastness to Raya that never changes. She’s always been there for . She’s older, and despite the fact that she’s more sensitive and emotional, she’s always been that anchor for . I have let her down in the past, though. When Nana died, I know I let her down.
While Raya was outwardly mourning in such a deep way, I had to avoid her. I didn’t know how to deal with my own grief and sadness much less help her with it. Avoidance is what I do. I bury those difficult feelings far within and then allow a hard shell to build around them, protecting them from the outside world. That’s how I get through. That’s how I move on. If that shell is compromised... I don’t know how to be strong without it.
This past month or so is proof that my strategy is not a good one. It’s like all my wounds are still there inside, and I’ve never let them heal. They’re not gone. They’re still very much there, waiting to reerge when sothing cuts too deep.
But rather than change my strategy and actually deal with these shitty things that have happened in a healthy way, I’ve been laying low, trying to wait for that protective layer to build itself back up so that I can face the world again. Because now one of my wounds has been uncovered. It feels recent and raw despite the fact that it happened so long ago.
That has to be why sothing as simple as flying is causing so much anxiety at the mont. Normally, I would grit my teeth and clench my clenchables and give no obvious indication that this is a fear of mine. But it’s not so easy to put up an act about anything right now. All my energy goes into nursing that one wound and hoping the tough, calloused tissue returns to shield it from the world.
The open skylight in the plane was like being exposed—unable to hide. Now while we’re rushing through the air, ascending at high speed, I fight the urge to turn to Luciano and thank him for asking the pilot to close it. I’m afraid to. I’m afraid of what I might accidentally reveal in a mont of weakness even without speaking.
If I give Luciano too much access—allow him another key to another door inside—I’m just asking for more wounds to recover from in the future. Even if he says he won’t hurt , I can’t trust that. He might even an it—and I can’t help but think that he does by the way his eyes didn’t waiver—but he can’t know what will happen. He can’t know how his feelings will change in the weeks to co.
Right now I’m like the moonlight cactus in his eyes. I’m a rare flower, and I can’t help but get the sense that Luci is simply waiting around for a chance to see that rare flower bloom. He may actually try to help make it happen with his intensely caring eyes and touching gestures. But then once it blooms, the beauty wilts, and then the fun is over. The intrigue will be gone.
All Luciano wants is a glimpse that very few get. But I have built up layers and doors for a reason. The darkness is comfortable. I don’t need that surprising warmth of his trying to light it. I need the cloak of darkness. It’s like burrowing under covers or hiding in the closet—staying quiet and hidden and waiting for the dangers to pass.
Finally, my ears pop and the plane feels like it levels out. The flight attendant, Carrie, appears and offers us cute little nus of the food on board. My stomach still isn’t quite over what just happened, so I can’t imagine eating at this point.
Dex and Raya giggle about lon Pan. Apparently he has gotten her a lot of the strawberry croissants, which is adorable and almost cloyingly sweet. It’s occurring to that I’m going to be witnessing a lot of this interaction between the two of them.
Raya’s gaze flicks to Luciano and then to . Before I have ti to consider why there is suddenly anxiety feathering her expression, she’s looking back down at the nu. "You like lon Pan, right Rory?"
"Yep."
"What are you going to have?" Her bright blue gaze lifts again.
"I don’t know. I’m not really hungry right now. Maybe just..." My eyes rake the nu. "Tea."
"No, that’s not acceptable," Luciano says next to , the deep authority of his voice sohow stirring a latent instinct to submit to whatever he’s saying. But that’s sure as hell not happening. I’ve never been one for submitting.
I scoff, ready to assure him that I’m capable of deciding when and what to eat for myself, but he calls Carrie over before I get a chance to. And then my mory flashes back to Angelini’s and how I asked him to choose for that ti. Maybe I’ve given him the wrong impression.
"Can we just get four of everything?" He takes the nu from , and my mouth drops open, ready to object to the fucking arrogance of that move, but I can’t bring myself to do it. One, because this might be my fault with how I deferred to him during our previous lunch. And two, his dark eyes return to mine and that sa shock of intensity flashes through , suspending the words on my tongue.
"Of course," Carrie replies, and Raya and Dex offer their nus back to her as well.
"What?" Luci asks, eyes dropping to my lips that are still parted. "You need to eat, dolcezza. It’s going to be a long day. Don’t make yourself sick."
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I look at Raya. She shrugs with a small smile.
"He’s right. You’ll be hungry once you see everything anyway."
When I notice Dex’s eyebrows tent like he’s worried this is going to be an argunt, my mouth snaps shut. This trip isn’t about defending my ego. It’s about my sister having so of the best mories of her life, and she deserves it. I guess I can accept being confronted with a bunch of delicious food.
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