"Now boarding flight 608 to San Francisco, California. Now boarding..." The woman's bubbly voice echoed around the tired passengers and grated over Veila's aching nerves, wrenching her out of her nervous thoughts.
"...Now boarding all passengers. Please have your identification and tickets ready."
Veila stood on her tired legs, stretched, and dragged her heavy bag to the waiting line. She was surrounded by grouchy people of all ages who pushed and shoved in line. Air whistled through her lungs as Veila tried to calm herself. She was so close to snapping at the woman who stood behind her in line.
The middle-aged bitch shoved her bag into her back with each step forward, and it was pushing her anger through the roof.
With another deep breath, Veila reminded herself that she was getting on this plane to make a new start, not letting herself continue being led by her anger and impulses.
After many deep breaths and attempts to count to ten later, she stood before a short, redheaded woman with a bright smile and a barely covered hickey on her neck. Veila held out her ticket and passport, trying not to stare at the little mark, "Veila, what a beautiful name."
Veila grimaced.
She had pronounced it wrong, but over the years, Veila had become used to Veeeela, Viola, Velee, and even the occasional Veeleea, so she muttered a quiet thank you and tugged at her long-sleeve shirt until she was allowed to move forward.
"Have a great flight," the woman told her, smiling as she returned her passport and ticket.
The seat she booked was on the back of the plane. Not too close to the bathrooms, but far enough back that, hopefully, it would be quiet enough to take a nap. After stowing her bag, she curled into her seat and tried to stare out the window to calm her nerves.
Watching the workers on the ground, she lost herself in their movements, relaxing as her thoughts drifted away from the unknown for the first time in days.
A voice startled her, and she met the tired eyes of an awkward older man as he took a seat next to her, "Hello," He shoved a bag between his legs and then gave her a quick once-over.
Her eyes trailed over him quickly. He was dressed in all black with heavy biker boots, "I'm Veila," she told him cautiously.
He looked like a serial killer or a biker. She didn't know which one, and she didn't want to find out.
"Why are you on this plane?" He asked as his eyes bore into her.
Taken back forwardness and inched away as far as her seat would allow, "Got a job," she was lying; she didn't have one yet, but she would soon, hopefully.
He blatantly looked at her chest as he spoke, "Hmm, teacher? Or some kind of whore?"
"Excuse me?" She asked, trying to use her arms to cover herself. Nothing seemed to make her invisible even with her comfy clothes covering every inch of her body.
"Teacher then," he grinned creepily and turned away.
Her mouth was hanging open now, completely shocked, but he was already done with their brief conversation. He turned away from her and relaxed in his seat while she tried to process his words.
She had just been called a whore. By a man she had only just met, and she didn't know if she should feel offended or treat it as a compliment that he obviously thought she was pretty enough to make a living having sex.
He must be from a generation that thought it was okay to believe that kind of talk was okay with a stranger.
Her eyes fell to his bag now, and she managed to read his last name, Bachman. Her mind started trying to fill in the gaps, pondering his name.
George?
William?
Stephan?
The flight attendants began speaking then, breaking her out of the little game she had created. They droned on and on about flight safety, exits and turning phones off eventually and Veila laid her head down against the window and drifted off through take-off.
Faceless bikers and weird serial killers with large boots haunted her dreams. They stalked her through her new city and stole away her new friends while she was helpless. She had no voice to scream for help in her dreams, which seemed to fuel her anxieties more than the large, scary biker men.
When a hand closed around her throat, her body was shaken awake by her weird and creepy seatmate.
"We're landing," he grunted out.
Her body shook from the sudden wake-up call, "Oh, th- thanks."
He looked at her for a moment, "You snore."
"I do not," she told him, affronted.
He smirked, "You do. You were sleeping on my shoulder."
"Oh," Veila felt her blush creeping, "Sorry."
The plane jerked, and an announcement told them they were descending. She couldn't help but fidget while they waited, feeling nervous as her destination finally neared. Her mother would be so proud of her for finally branching out and leaving New York City. For finally leaving the family and trying to do something on her own...
On the other hand, her father would have been trying to keep her home, and when that failed, he would have insisted that she bring someone with her to keep her safe. At least they would have been saying all these things if they had still been around.
Her father and her mother had died in a fucking fire. They had been on a date like they had done every Thursday night for ten years when the theater they were in caught fire and trapped dozens of people inside.
Every day for weeks, she had cursed herself for not doing something, anything to keep them home that night, but her older brother insisted that there was nothing she could have done.
It wasn't until three weeks ago, with her therapist, that she realized he was right. There was nothing she could have done, so instead of sitting around with her brother as she tried to manage the family business, she took her life's savings and a considerable and generous inheritance she had been given after her parents passed and moved across the country.
Her brother disapproved, but he quickly gave in when she promised to keep in touch and visit often.
She wasn't even moving to a big city, so she didn't know why he was worried. She was going to a lovely little town. She had already found an adorable house near the main street, and with three schools nearby, she should be able to find a job with no problem.
"Come on. Before they kick us off the damn plane."
The man's voice startled her. She hadn't expected him to wait but followed his lead and grabbed her bag. Veila did her best to keep up with him through the airport, and when she started to fall behind, he slowed and let her catch up until they stepped outside. Except for her short strides, it was a breeze getting through the crowds because no one wanted to look him in the eyes, so they received a large berth to the taxi pick-up.
From there, it was easier. She was able to hail a taxi like a professional. Her strange new 'friend' was nearby the whole time, like he was watching her while she loaded her bags into the cab. As the driver pulled away from the curb, she noticed him watching her again.
He lifted a hand and gave her a lazy wave.
Slumping against the seat, she relaxed and tried to shake off the weird encounter. Not her strangest by far after living in New York but it was still odd.
The city passed by her in a blur, two hours of bad country music and a driver who couldn't take a hint when he asked if she liked his song choices. Small talk was already a pain, but forced small talk in a cramped car was worse. There was no escape, nowhere to go, and because she was in a new state, she didn't want to risk pissing him off and ending up stranded on the side of the road.
By the time she saw the sign for Charming, they had already talked about his five kids, his wife he wasn't attracted to anymore, and his new mistress who had 'a banging bod.'
"Turn left here. It should be the little green one on the corner," She told her driver, interrupting his rant about lax immigration threatening his job.
"Alright, we're here. It was a wonderful ride with you, miss. I don't even think I should charge you. It was the best drive I've had in a long time," he gave her a suggestive look in the mirror and smiled.
Veila looked at him flatly, and after a few minutes of awkward silence, he spoke again, "Two hundred ninety-five."
She took out three hundred and handed it to him before jumping from the vehicle and snatching her bags from the trunk before he could rush off.
He muttered under his breath as she walked away, but the only word she could catch was 'whore'.
She rolled her eyes, slammed the door, and jogged away from the awful taxi. Twice in one day, she was starting to think that maybe she needed a career change.
On the corner of the street, 10703, her little sage green house stood two stories tall with witch shutters and a big white door. It was beautiful, and it was all hers. It had taken most of her savings, but it was worth it. It was her home now, and she couldn't wait to start her life.