A million thanks to my beta, the wonderful LatteCoug, and to my pre-reader, the amazing MizzezPattinson. Your friendship and support mean everything to me.
Written for Words for Meli.
Romance. Edward & Bella.
Come, join me as we explore the rugged frontier of British Columbia with one lost pilot who is struggling to get rid of the demons that haunt him. I hope you enjoy.
Frontiers - by CarLemon (Cars1)
Edward
The fog envelopes the tarmac as I sit, practically hyperventilating in the glass cockpit of the Airbus A320. I can't see a goddamn thing out the window. My heart is racing in my chest, and I feel like I might throw up. The controls blur in front of me, the blood pumping wildly behind my ears while I try to focus.
Vaguely, I can hear passengers loading into the cabin behind me; the friendly voices of the flight attendants directing them to their seats, assisting with stowing their bags.
It's been eleven months. I should be over this by now.
I've been through enough therapy sessions, and spent a fucking fortune to try to chase the demons away. I've been perfect in every single flight simulation I've done since it happened. It's almost like it never really happened.
Almost.
But now, as I hear the faint cry of an infant in the cabin while I try to concentrate on the pre-flight routine, it all comes crashing back to me. No two flights are the same. Flying is complex, fluid, and constantly changing. It's a place where decision-making is critical. One mistake means the difference between life and death, and now, it's like I'm right back there, living it again.
I can hear the engines thud mid-way through the flight. The thrust becomes non-existent, and the plane takes a gradual nosedive towards the Atlantic. Then I see very clearly the exact moment when I panicked.
I freeze in front of the controls. The countless hours spent learning and flying, preparing for something like this fall away from me, and for a fraction of a second, I'm lost; a moment in time that changed my life completely. A moment that, if done differently, maybe would not have resulted in the loss of life.
Pilots will have countless takeoffs and landings in their career. Most of the time, flights will simply blur together. Then, there are some that will stay with you forever. Flight 872, May 18, 2015, is mine.
Even though I've received the Master's Medal for saving one hundred and thirty-nine lives, I don't feel like I deserve it. Even after his father told me it wasn't my fault, and the Prime Minister shook my hand and called me a hero. Even after I've attended countless dinners held, allegedly, in my honour.
The only thing I can see, the only thing that matters, is the fact that one hundred and forty people boarded that plane, but only one hundred and thirty-nine came back alive.
An eight-year-old little boy is dead, taken away before he got a chance to live, and it's my fault.
I can hear the muffled confusion from passengers I'm responsible for behind the cockpit door. I hear the flight attendant, Jane, her strained voice through the intercom, though what she said on that day, I can't remember now. It's muted, hazy.
I see my co-pilot, Jasper, his eyes focused in concentration while we work through the emergency procedure protocols to try to restart the engines. He's saying something to me; his lips are moving, but I can't hear him.
The whitecaps on the aqua surface of the ocean loom closer, and something snaps in my brain. Regaining composure, somehow the plane levels. I hear myself announcing to the passengers and the crew to brace for impact – probably the worst words any pilot can ever say.
Jasper and I work in tandem; quietly, methodically, fuelled solely by adrenaline.
An eerie silence envelopes the cockpit. The sun beats down through a cloudless sky, and the calming blue ocean inches ever closer. I radio for help. The plane skims across the water for some indefinable period of time. And I do the only thing I can - focus on trying to land a commercial aircraft in the ocean.
I remember us working through the evacuation checklist, ensuring the plane was depressurized once we stopped, before I opened the cockpit door and gave the order to evacuate.
Children, fathers, mothers, strangers; their lives put blindly in my hands. I've heard their terrified cries most nights since it happened. I hear Jane giving the order to don life vests before helping to guide the passengers out the side doors and onto the slide rafts. I see the crew usher them out and into the ocean where they bob aimlessly, and wait thirty-two torturous minutes, adrift in the vastness of the Atlantic, until the Coast Guard rescue units start to arrive.
I search relentlessly up and down the aisles, ensuring there is no one left inside, while the back of the cabin fills slowly with salty water.
I remember how cold the ground felt as I knelt at the gravestone of the little boy who was trampled while the passengers scrambled over each other to evacuate. He died in the hospital fourteen hours later from internal injuries. I know distinctly, how it felt when his father put his hand on my shoulder and hugged me, comforted me, after I had taken his child away from him.
"Earth to Cullen." Jasper's voice stirs me from the unwelcome memories. "You alright there, man?" He raises a brow.
"Yeah, I'm good," I answer quietly with a nod, adjusting my headset again.
"You sure about that? Now would be the time to let me know if you're not ready for this," he presses, sounding concerned.
"I'm okay, Jasper." I hope it sounds convincing.
"Just let me know if you're going to go all catatonic on me," he states, handing me the checklist. Right. The checklist. This is exactly what I need, every single move I make laid out for me. Something I can focus on. Lifting the clipboard from him, we systematically go over the pre-flight checks.
I'm thankful that it's Jasper with me today. He's one of my best friends, and I don't have many of them. We met in flight school, flew our first commercial red-eye together, and survived that fateful day eleven months ago. So, it only seems fitting that he would be the one to sit beside me as I pilot my first flight since it happened.
I've been cleared for months to return to the skies by countless psychiatrists, therapists, the airline, my mom and dad, my best friend Emmett, and my sister Alice. Somehow, they all seem to have faith in me. My father tells me everyone would have likely died with someone else at the controls. That the bank of experience and thousands of hours I logged in the air saved lives that day.
My shrink tells me it's normal to question myself given what I went through.
Normal.
Nothing about this seems normal. The 'what-ifs' haunt me. The flashbacks are a consistent reminder. The lack of sleep plagues me. The nightmares vary in intensity.
But this is all apparently normal.
So why did I freeze for that fraction of a second? That's something no one has been able to answer, and something that will haunt me forever. I suppose at the end of the day it doesn't really matter why. The only thing that matters is someone is dead because of it.
Emmett says I need to let go and move on; that I simply just need to fly again. He complains that since it happened, I'm no longer the confident, and let's face it, cocky, womanizing bastard I used to be.
It's no secret that I have been with a lot of random women. Something about being a pilot seems to turn them on, and who am I to complain? I've actually not joined the mile-high club, despite the rumour mill. I take my job too seriously, and quite frankly, when I fuck, I'd prefer it to not be in a cramped, tiny space. But still, it's not as if I'm going to pretend I'm a saint. I have enjoyed my fair share of flight attendants.
A steady relationship is not something I've had in a while. Being gone for as much as I am, coupled with the inevitable rumours that accompany this job, doesn't make for a package that most women want to sign up for.
Jane and I had started to form something of a relationship before the accident. Well, as much as a pilot who is gone for days on end can be in a relationship with a head flight attendant who is never around, and fucks anything she can.
Whatever Jane and I had came to a screeching halt after it became extremely apparent that I wasn't dealing with the accident. The nightmares, the panic attacks, and the post-traumatic stress I was diagnosed with, was too much for her to handle. I don't blame her. For weeks I was almost catatonic, just going through the motions; Jasper literally having to hold me up as we received our accolades of heroism on national television.
Flying is in my blood, and I love it with a passion. My father is a pilot, and his father before him was as well. There's a sense of freedom, a power of being in control. To see the sights I've seen, the sunrises and the sunsets…each time it's a new experience. One I'll never take for granted.
After the accident, it was like a cloak of darkness fell over me, and I just gave up until Emmett literally kicked my ass out of his bar one night after way too many shots of Crown. I crashed at his place that night, and thus began his project to get me back into the cockpit.
So, he's back there now in the cabin with Alice, as we take the short flight from Toronto to Bermuda in what he's calling the "Cullen Come Back Tour."
He's got a week planned in Bermuda, that I'm sure will involve copious amounts of alcohol, and of course, knowing Emmett, plenty of women. Honestly, what I'd really like to do is sit on the beach by myself and finally forget about what happened. I'd like to do nothing but have drinks served to me by some anonymous waitress who doesn't speak to me, but I know that's not happening.
I had shut out everyone, including my family after the accident, and Emmett has made it his personal mission to make sure that I don't ever spend too much time alone anymore.
Hearing the flight attendant secure the cabin door, breaking me from my thoughts, I run through the checklist again.
"Edward, we're good. You've checked it four times already," Jasper remind me with a smirk. "I think our passengers would like to hear from their captain now."
I nod at him and glance out the side window. The fog has lifted. There will be no delaying the inevitable.
Mustering up the soothing, in-control pilot voice, I greet the passengers over the in-flight announcement system. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is Edward Cullen, your captain, and along with the first officer and the crew, we'd like to welcome you aboard True North Air flight 489 with service from Toronto to Bermuda. The weather is sunny ahead with excellent visibility, and it looks like we'll have a smooth ride. Flying time is approximately two hours and forty minutes, with an estimated arrival time in Bermuda at 12:10 pm. Local weather is a twenty- seven degrees Celsius. That would be about eighty degrees, Emmett." Jasper smirks at me and shakes his head. "Once again, welcome aboard. We'll be airborne soon."
After we receive clearance of crosschecks from the head attendant, Jasper grins as the pushback gets ready to take us away from the gate. "Just like riding a bike," he mumbles while I radio the tower.
"This is TNA 489, ready to taxi for takeoff." The familiar adrenaline rush I get every single time I fly fires through me. I've missed this feeling, and now I'm kicking myself for taking this long to get back up here.
"Flight attendants, please prepare for gate departure." My voice is smooth and strong, no trace of hesitation.
Instruction from the tower doesn't take long. "Roger, TNA 489, taxi to runway 24R 06L, and prepare for takeoff."
"Roger, that. Taxiing to 24R 06L." I glance at Jasper while the pushback maneuvers us to the tarmac. Waiting is typically torturous when the queue is backed up, but today, we get lucky. There's only two planes ahead of us, and turning into position is seamless. Still, I can feel the weight of Jasper's gaze on me, ready to take over if he needs to.
The Air Transat A330 in front of us speeds down the runway, my heart racing as I watch it rise effortlessly into the sky. "Crew, prepare for takeoff." With my heart in my throat, I wait for the go ahead from the tower.
Time seems to stand still as I stare out the cockpit window. I know that I'm very good at what I do, and that the accident was a mechanical engine failure -something completely out of my control. I've logged more hours flying than most pilots have at my age. This is something I intrinsically love. And in this moment, I'm angry at myself for wasting so many months away from it; for wallowing and sinking further into an abyss when I could have been leaving it behind me. In the shock of the year, Emmett was right for a change. I do just actually need to fly again.
"Roger. TNA 489, you are cleared for takeoff. Have a safe flight, Edward. Enjoy Bermuda."
Jasper smirks at the break in formality from the Tower.
"I fully intend to." I advance the throttles, taxiing down the runway, rising smoothly into the sky, and leave Toronto behind. A euphoric sensation overtakes my body, and I grin as we climb higher above the clouds, the city falling away below us.
"See?" Jasper looks over at me. "Piece of cake."
"Thanks, man," I say sincerely. "I can't imagine being up here right now with anyone else."
"Don't get all mushy with me, Cullen," he teases with a grin, and we continue to work together silently, leveling the plane off at our cruising altitude.
"So, what does Emmett have planned?" I ask once we are stabilized.
"My lips are sealed. I'm just happy to finally get to a beach and see Alice in one of her eighty-five bikinis."
I grimace, shaking my head. "Jesus. That's my sister you're talking about. Enough with the visuals."
"And you, my friend need to get laid. Who's the new attendant out there?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows. "I saw her looking at you."
"I didn't even notice them. I think I'm done with the flight attendants. Right now, I just want to lie on the beach by myself."
"And what, sleep all day? Stare into the ocean and think about what happened, all by yourself? Maybe you should let somebody in, live a little."
"I'm flying aren't I?" I fire back at him.
"And doing a fine job of it, man," he comments quickly. "Well, I'm sure there will be lots of possibilities for you in sunny Bermuda."
"Honestly, my life is complicated enough right now."
"Who said anything about complications? I just said you need to get laid." He smirks, checking the flight plan.
I know on some level, Jasper is right. It has been a long time. I haven't exactly been in any mood to date, and I'm fairly certain no one would really want to deal with the host of issues I've got going on right now.
It's not as if Alice hasn't tried to hook me up since the accident. God knows she schemes every chance she gets, casually calling the dates she sets me on 'distractions.' But, the 'distractions' Alice selects always seem more interested in the fact that I'm a pilot, rather than getting to know who I really am.
There seems to be this misconception that it's all fun and glamorous; jaunting from city to city, country to country. It's truly not. It's fucking tiresome and lonely most of the time. Hotels and cities blur together, countless empty nights spent in a cold, hard bed have made me long for something else.
The rest of the flight is spent with me checking and double checking instrumentation as if I have OCD or something. Jasper just shakes his head at me, knowing that it's something I need to do at least this time around.
We land in Bermuda just after noon without incident, and a new found confidence washes over me. I know that it will take some time for the anxiety to dissipate altogether, but this has been a massive first step for me.
I'm practically euphoric while Jasper and I go through our post landing routine and power down the plane. Emmett hollers loudly from the back when we take our positions at the door of the cockpit to greet the shuffling line of debarking passengers. I can see him waving his hands, careening his head to try to catch a glimpse of us.
He's walking behind a fantastically beautiful, tall blonde, and pointing his finger at her while he winks at me. Leave it to Emmett to find a woman like that on some random flight.
Alice comes into view, practically skipping up the aisle in front of the blonde, the permanent smile that's been there since her and Jasper got together a year ago wider than I've ever seen it.
I shake my head at how ridiculous the two of them are. Actually, if I'm being honest, I envy what Alice and Jasper have. They're meant to be together, and I wonder if I'm destined to just be the poster boy for the stereotypical one-night stand pilot. Is that really such a bad thing?
I know it's possible to have a meaningful relationship in this job. My dad met my mom during flight school, and they've been together ever since.
Jasper and I receive mumbled thanks from the parade of passengers that are ushered out the cabin door. When Alice nears us, she's in deep conversation with a tall redhead, who is laughing loudly like she doesn't have a care in the world.
She's dressed in old pink flip-flops, with a dark green bikini strap exposed over her shoulder, and a flowing white linen dress falling just above her knees. She continues laughing as she hoists a large, tattered beige messenger bag over her head and settles it across her body. She flips her fiery red hair over her shoulder, and I smirk at Alice. I have a feeling this is distraction number one.
"So, you're really going to stay in that dive?" Alice asks her as they stop just in front of us, waiting for the slow moving passengers to exit.
Red shrugs, trying to wind her wayward hair into an elastic. "It's not that bad of a place. I'm not worried about it," she says casually.
My eyes lock to hers before sliding to Alice, silently asking for an introduction.
"Oh, Vicki, this is my brother I was telling you about, Edward." Alice beams, looking all proud of me as she and Jasper exchange glances.
"You're a pilot?" Vicki asks, lowering her gaze slowly down over my uniform.
"That's what they tell me," I murmur, amused by her reaction. She finally finishes checking me out, returning her eyes to mine. "It's nice to meet you, Vicki."
"Stay with us. There's lots of room at the villa," Alice suggests. God, I love my sister. That's the best idea she's had in months.
"No, we wouldn't want to intrude," Vicki starts. Whoa, wait a minute we? I scan the aisle for the lucky bastard who is with her, but only see Emmett who now has his tongue down a tall blonde's throat. Fuck that was fast…even for him.
"I don't think Rosalie's going anywhere any time soon," Alice notes. Vicki whips her head around, and shakes it as she sees the borderline inappropriate PDA in the aisle.
"Rose! Seriously! Can you not wait until we at least get off the plane?" she hisses. Rose is paying no attention to Vicki, happy to be groping Emmett for the foreseeable future.
"Come on, it'll be fun," Alice coaxes. "Right, guys? We have lots of room."
"Mhmm. We sure do," Jasper adds. So helpful.
"This would be my Jasper, Vic." Alice beams at Jasper, clearly eager to get the vacation started.
"Nice to meet you," Vicki says, while she stares back at me instead of even acknowledging his existence.
"Say you'll stay with us, please?" There's no mistaking Alice's excitement.
"Hell, ya they're staying with us!" Emmett's voice booms from the aisle, and he wraps his arm around Rosalie's shoulder as they make their way forward.
"We are?" Vicki asks, turning back to Rose.
Say yes, please say yes.
"I think that's a fantastic idea," Rose says. Emmett's grin gets wider, if that's possible, and I try to rein in mine.
Vicki looks back up at me, her eyes wide, questioning me silently it seems. I simply nod my head.
She narrows her eyes, and then swipes my hat from underneath my arm, putting it on her head. "Show me what you've got, Edward." Her voice is all breathy, promising something more, and I enjoy the view as she saunters casually off the plane.
While I watch Vicki's perfectly toned body move through the jetway, suddenly I think spending the next week alone on the beach is a very bad idea. Emmett is right. It's time to move on with my life. I think maybe a fiery redhead is exactly what I need right now; carefree, no strings, a new perspective.
Welcome to good times in Bermuda, Cullen.
And it was good times… until the nightmares inevitably came knocking. Even fruity drinks with umbrellas, pink sands, and a naked Vicki writhing under me couldn't chase them away.
I scared the living hell out of her and everyone else in the villa as I thrashed awake, screaming bloody murder, the sheets soaked through. Vic spent the rest of her vacation elsewhere and honestly, didn't seem bothered by it. She's a free spirit, content to float anywhere the wind blows. I'm fairly certain she wouldn't have spent the entire time with me anyway. This just gave her a very convenient excuse.
No one wants a lover with nightmares.
The trip to Bermuda would be my last commercial flight.
At thirty-six, I decided I needed a massive change. I moved back home to middle of fucking nowhere British Columbia. Even though I felt like a failure, my parents didn't see it that way.
They put me to work quickly, helping to run Frontiers. They started the adventure camp for troubled teens shortly after dad retired from the airline ten years ago.
With mom's background as an elementary school principal, and their mutual love of the great outdoors, it really was a perfect fit for them. In the summer, they take in struggling teens and put them through their paces in a wilderness adventure camp where they learn basic survival skills, teamwork, planning, and an appreciation of the environment. They also employ counselors to focus on the behavioural issues and addiction recovery processes the teens are working through.
In the winter, they… well, I guess now we fly heli-charters into the remote mountains where adrenaline-seeking junkies can heli-hike, ski, and camp to their heart's content.
Business is booming. We have to turn away clients, it's so busy. Apparently, money is no object to some of these idiots who probably shouldn't be going down a kiddy toboggan hill let alone navigating the face of one of BC's unchartered mountains.
A few positives have emerged since I quit the airline. My nightmares have subsided somewhat. I don't wake my parents up with blood-curdling screams anymore while they sleep away up in the main cabin. Maybe they have just gotten used it.
Yet another perk of the job, piloting a chopper into the middle of nowhere gives me a new brand of adrenaline. One that isn't associated with landings in the ocean and hero medals that I don't deserve.
I think my shrink would say I'd making progress… That's if I ever went to him anymore. I stopped going about a month after I decided to leave the airline. He gave me a three-month prescription for Xanax and told me to try them. The bottle sits in my medicine cabinet, taunting me; a reminder of everything that happened. I think I'm keeping it there on purpose. If I don't take one, it means that on some level, I've won the battle. That I've finally gotten over it without needing some drug to help me along the way.
Frontiers is a real family affair now. Emmett has taken over bar and kitchen duty. I had no idea he was even interested in becoming a chef until he took some courses down in the town of Hope – the closest town to my home in the middle of nowhere - and is now responsible for the menu at the lodge. We've even been given a five-star rating from the Hope Standard's restaurant reviewer on the basis of his mushroom risotto alone.
Damn. I could use some of that right now.
Rose and Emmett continued their relationship after the fling in Bermuda. She moved from Vancouver to shack up with him, and now is one of our team leads for heli-hike tours. She's spent her entire life hiking the mountains in BC, and knows how to handle assholes who can quickly get out of control if left unchecked.
Jasper is still flying for the airline. He and Alice are playing house in one of the cabins that line our property. She handles all the bookings and trip planning for Frontiers, as well as my dating schedule, which at the moment is extremely pathetic.
Setting the chopper on the landing pad outside the lodge, I power down and turn to the backseat where one extremely green Mike Newton is cowering like a frightened rabbit, curled up in a fetal position.
Sliding off my aviators, I shake my head slowly at him. "We're back, Mike. You can breathe now." You pussy. Christ, it's not as if they were even up that high. I store my headset, and take another glance back at him.
Mike and his frat buddies are here for a heli-camping trip. However, not five hours into the hike, I was lifting one terrified Newton back to the lodge, while dad continued with the rest of the crew where he would stay the night on the mountain.
I was looking forward to camping up there with dad. We usually are going in opposite directions, so taking a tour together doesn't happen very often. But then, damn Newton swore up and down he saw a bear, refusing to stay another minute.
What the fuck ever. It's your dime, asshole.
Hauling open the back door of the chopper, I shake my head at Mike as he sits up, tugging his Ralph Lauren down-filled jacket, and taking off his headset. Every damn thing this idiot owns has that horse on it.
Since he looks like he's going to hurl, I tug his limp body free from the chopper just in time to see him double over, the contents of a campfire dinner splaying over my boots.
Why did I quit the airline again?
Once he's done, I reach into the chopper, grabbing his way-too-expensive horse-embroidered backpack, and sling it over my shoulder, guiding him through the snow back to his cabin.
Another perk about winter up here; puke on your boots comes off easily in three-foot-high snow banks.
He doesn't say a goddamn word as I lead him past the fire-pit to his cabin. He glances at me sheepishly, his breath crystallizing in the freezing air when I pass him the backpack at his door, and he slinks inside.
Dusk is descending as I trudge back through the snow to my cabin. It would be nice to curl up with a soft, warm female body right now. I furrow my brow, rounding the snow-covered path for my cabin, taking in the soft glow that emanates from the bank of windows in the living room.
I never leave the lights on.
Ever.
Not spotting any tracks outside in the freshly fallen snow, I'm on high alert. Whoever has been or is currently in here, has been here a while.
The cedar deck creaks in its usual spot, and I press against the side of the cabin, stepping up to the front door.
Muffled sounds of music drifts from inside as I place my hand on the door handle and try it. It's unlocked and I push it open slowly, muscles coiled, ready to kick some ass.
The smell of freshly baked brownies drifts to me—all chocolate, and rich, and warm—as I step inside, quietly shut the door behind me.
Intruders baking brownies and playing music? My eyes fall to a pair of expensive looking high-heeled boots beside the door. Maybe it's Jessica. Sometimes, she brings me cookies when she's here for a fuck. But how the hell did she even get up here?
I toe out of my boots, thankful that the snowdrifts have removed Newton's earlier hurling scene, and scan the living room. I see nothing out of place, with the exception of an unfamiliar ski jacket draped over the back of one of my sofas. Furrowing my brow, I make my way to the enticing smell emanating from the kitchen.
Holy fuck, these brownies smell good. I'm drawn to the pan of chocolate goodness that sits on the counter, and I pull a fork out of the cutlery drawer, sinking it into the pan and take a bite.
What the hell?
I spit the brownie – if that's what you want to call it—out into my hand, my tongue desperate for something to wash away the most horrific taste I've ever had in my mouth.
These are the worst brownies in the history of baking. Throwing the chocolate remnants into the sink, I haul open the fridge door, reaching for a carton of milk, not bothering with a glass, I press open the cardboard and drink back a few large mouthfuls in quick succession until the rancid taste starts to disappear.
Maybe it's Emmett and another one of his attempts at a joke.
Not fucking funny.
At all.
Narrowing my eyes in the direction of my bedroom loft, I stalk up the stairs, the music getting louder with each step. Axl is welcoming me to the jungle.
Once in my loft, my eyes fall to a soaked black t-shirt draped across the foot of my bed, and a pair of jeans that could never be Jessica's. I see an iPhone that isn't mine docked in my sound system on my dresser.
My gaze lingers on a black lace bra, and I can't help myself. I'm drawn to it, much like the brownies. Let's hope it doesn't have the same effect.
I know I probably shouldn't be picking up some unknown woman's lingerie, but hell, she's in my house, making gut-wrenching brownies in my stove, and using my iPod sound system. I think I'm entitled.
My fingers trace the black lace bra as the music track changes. I hear a little squeal from the bathroom, and then it starts.
I love myself
I want you to love me
I can't help the smirk that overtakes my face as I move to the open door of the bathroom. An open door means come on in, right?
When I feel down
I want you above me
It's off key, top of your lungs shower singing at its best. And who has the Divinyls on their playlist?
Leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, I can't help but smirk, my eyes falling to the blurred form behind the glass shower door. I wish for once I had opted for a shower with no door. It would be nice to see who's currently getting wet in my shower.
Oh yeah. Bring it home, sweetheart.
And shower girl does. Belting it out at the top of her lungs as the steam fills the bathroom.
I don't want anybody else
When I think about you
I touch myself
I switch the music off as mystery girl continues for a few bars before she actually recognizes that the music has stopped.
Dropping the bra to the bed, I take up my previous position at the doorframe, leaning against it. I cross my arms, hearing the shower switch off and then a very quiet, "Shit!"
Silence. And then…
"Um… Hello?" a timid voice echoes from behind the frosted shower door. My smirk widens, my eyes staying fixed on the blurred figure just beyond my reach.
"Alice? Is that you?"
"Afraid not," I answer.
Silence greets me again for a moment before she speaks. "I'm warning you now, I have pepper spray," her voice threatens.
I suppress my laugh. "In the shower? You have to watch out for that soap. It can get unruly."
"Don't hurt me. Please." Her voice sounds frantic, and for the first time, I actually feel kind of bad about sneaking up on her.
Kind of.
"Hey, hey. Calm down there, howler."
I hear her take in a sharp breath. "Howler? Did you just call me howler?" I see a palm press against the glass and rub frantically to reveal a small clear oval on the steamed glass. Hmm… she's a feisty thing.
Her blurred figure bends slightly, and I see just her eyes lower to appear in the cleared portion of glass. They're wild and dark as she stares back at me.
I move toward the door slowly, holding my palm up to her. "Hey. I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"
"Who are you?" she barks at me.
I narrow my eyes at her. "Hmm… I think I'm the one who should be asking you that. You're in my shower."
"Oh shit! Alice said you were gone until tomorrow."
I hold her gaze, lifting a brow. "Yeah? Well…Surprise."
To be continued…