I looked out the window at the barely visible ground below me. It felt like I'd been on the plane for weeks instead of hours. A voice next to me spoke, effectively snapping me out of my thoughts. "Visiting London for business or pleasure, love?"
The voice came from a middle-aged woman with a kind and genial face.
My mind scanned her without a second thought. Lives alone, three cats and a dog, an obvious divorcee with no children. I forced a small smile on my lips. I'd always been able to deduce the smallest things, things most people were too unobservant to notice. I don't really count it as a talent - after all, it's only being observant.
"Bit of both really," I finally answered, brushing amber hair from my eyes.
The woman nodded, clearly noticing I wasn't in a sociable mood, and for that I was grateful. I had too much on my mind, no doubt due to my narrow escape in America.
No…no, I mustn't think about that, not here, not now. I looked around the plane hoping to distract myself, as I did observations made themselves known to me. I closed my eyes trying to center myself, if I didn't, I'd surely have a panic attack. Sometimes it's all too much, but I can't shut it off - it's a part of me. My mind always moves too fast, like a freight train running out of control. Just as I was finally able to control my breathing, the pilot came on over the intercom - alerting us of our descent into London.
At last…I was home.
I kept my eyes closed as the plane started its nosedive. In my opinion, this was the worst part of flying. My hands gripped the handrest, no doubt causing my fingers to turn white from my tight grip. Finally, the plane jolted as we once again met the solid ground. I opened my eyes, glancing down at my hand where the withered fingers of the women beside me were patting my wrist gently. She smiled reassuringly before giving me a thumbs up.
As soon as the stewardess opened the door, I was out of my seat and sliding past my neighbor, grabbing my carry on - which consisted of two small bags. I slipped out of the plane as fast as was humanly possible, my claustrophobia finally getting the best of me. After being free of the plane, I realized how hungry and in need of caffeine I was. Glancing to my right, I noticed a Starbucks. I was elated to see it, living in America these past three years I'd become addicted to their coffees. After waiting in line, I grabbed a coffee and a large blueberry muffin. Releasing a sigh of relief, I glanced around me, quickly finding a table in the back.
Sitting down, I placed my headphones in and turned up the volume - successfully forgetting the world around me. I needed to make a plan, I'd left all of my possessions - apart from my three bags - in California. Looking in my wallet confirmed my worse fears, I was on the verge of being broke as well. I had two hundred dollars and an almost maxed out visa to my name.
He'd taken everything from me. I placed a hand on my neck and rubbed in a circle, trying to relieve a bit of the stress. No not everything, not yet. I still had my life, and I was going to make sure he never found me again. That's why I had to leave in such a hurry. If he would've found out about my plan to come home, I would have been killed or worse, forced to stay with him. I could feel my nerves were getting the best of me, so I slipped into my bag and grabbed a Valium for good measure. No one needed to see me in that state.
Ok, I had to think now. I had to figure out my plan. I knew I'd chosen to escape to England because I needed to feel safe and at home again. My family wasn't really an option, they had disowned me when I decided to move to America with him - a brilliant mistake that was. What people do when they believe themselves in love. Never again will sentiment be my downfall. Since my family was not an option, there was only one other person I could trust. Luckily, he himself had just returned home.
John Watson was my first love and best friend. I looked through my texts from him - finally finding the one I wanted. He'd very recently sent me his new address telling me to stop by for a visit whenever I came home. Be careful what you wish for John. With the address in hand, I made my way to the exit, hailing a taxi.
"Where to, love?" the cabbie asked, eyeing me in the rearview mirror.
I took a deep steadying breath. "221B Bakers Street," I said.
Well here goes nothing; John Watson, here I come.