40. April

CHAPTER FORTY

april

The ride to Heathrow seems to pass by every sightseeing spot I didn't see up close, foolishly assuming I'd had the time for it later.

Must be a nice farewell for those who visited these places. For me, it's a perverse reminder of what I chose to do with my time in London instead. Still, I don't have it in me to regret it. Riding Liam was more fun than the London Eye, that's for sure.

My phone rings, and seeing the name of my best friend on the screen is all it takes to set off the waterworks. I wipe them away before accepting the video call and smack on the phoniest smile ever.

"Hi Cal, I'm on my way to the airport."

"Babe, are you crying?"

"No," I sniff, then break upon the next breath. "It's over, Cal," I cry. Fuck me, I can't keep it together for five second s. "I quit, started packing, and told him to go." I'm ugly crying now, putting that water resistant mascara to the test, and Terry hands me another tissue box. "And then he left," I sob.

"The bastard! He did what you told him to do?"

I snort at her. "Not funny, girl." I blow my nose and watch poor Terry squirm in his seat, probably wishing he was deaf right about now. Terry, I, and the relentless soundtrack of my tears have been sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for the past thirty minutes. My dignity has long flown out the window.

"Is this what heartbreak feels like?"

"Yeah, babe. It sucks. Welcome to falling in love. It has its highs and lows."

"Why would anyone put themselves through this?"

"Because every other feeling he caused made that one worth it."

Damn, the woman knows how to pack a punch.

"God, I hate it when you're right."

Callie's heart jab evoked memories I'll be spending the near future trying to avoid. A new batch of tears is unleashed, but my tissue is saturated with previous weeping and yucky fluids I don't wish to dab on my eyes. I bin it and curse at the cars moving at a snail's pace.

"I was so sure I could steer clear of getting attached. I always have. How did I let this happen? Aren't I supposed to be smarter than that?"

"Love makes us blind and stupid, A."

"Stop saying love, Callie. It can't be love."

"Why not? It didn't pass through your scrutiny? Do you want to bring your heart down to the lab, slice it open and take a closer look?" My best friend scolds me over the phone. I don't recognize this dynamic. I'm the scolder. She's the fool that falls in love. "Babe, you don't need to hit certain milestones for it to be love. Take a good look at yourself. Only love can hurt like that."

Terry doesn't leave my side until we get to the immigration barriers and he can't go any further without a ticket. I give the big man an awkward goodbye hug and he squeezes me back. I'm so on edge I almost cry again in his arms.

When it's my turn to talk to the man in the little booth, he makes a funny face as he scans my passport. He scans it again, face scrunching up even further, then he signals for one of his colleagues to join him.

They speak so low I can't hear a word of what they're discussing. But it is about me, so I butt in, "Is there a problem, officer?"

"There is. There's an issue with your visa. If you don't mind following Officer Morris, so you don't hold up the line. We'll clear the situation in a second."

"What's wrong with my visa? And why is that important? I'm leaving your country and don't plan on coming back anytime soon." He looks at me as if I've personally offended him. Oops, guess I hit a patriotic nerve. "Of course, lead the way."

There are still two hours until my flight. I'm sure whatever this is will be resolved by then.

Officer Morris does not lead the way. Instead, he makes a show of manhandling me out of the line. He's scrawny but tattooed enough for me to know he can endure more pain than a punch from me could cause. Still, I wrestle my arm free from the guard and cling to my dignity, walking side by side with him. Do I even look like a menace at the top of my 5 foot 1, red Rudolph nose, and puffy eyes from crying?

His uniform with shoulder straps makes him look like a pilot wannabe, not a security officer. I smirk at the total lack of authority this dress up costume lends him and he takes me by the arm again.

Before I have the chance to pull it back and give him a piece of my very confused mind, he uses more force than necessary to push me inside a room and close the door between us.

I'm still catching my balance and adjusting my sight to the darkness when I turn around and watch him snickering.

It's a childish gloating. His small-dick version of who's-laughing-now. I'm forced to watch the face I now regret not punching across the small window that is the only source of light into wherever he's put me.

He locks the door, and that turns the lights on. And with that stupid smile on his stupider face, he closes the window he was looking at me from.

I'm alone in a room where yellow lights are too bright and migraine inducing. It's a prison without bars to match my phone reception. I shake it in my hands, standing on the tips of my toes, then raise it higher, as high as I can, as if an arm's length would make any difference.

My shiny new phone only serves to count the minutes I've been in here. A single chair and table keep me company. They're terrible hosts and are as informative as the officer who brought me in.

I fool myself into thinking I could knock one of these paper-thin plasterboard walls with a few good kicks and run through the airport yelling ‘fire, fire!' .

Yeah. That would probably get me into a real jail. But I've been trapped for… no, it can't be. Seven minutes only? Either my phone or my mind are playing tricks on me.

My breathing gets heavier, or maybe it's the air. I stretch the collar of my top down and blow inside it, trying to cool off my heated skin. Grabbing the heavy metal chair, I drag it to the wall with the single vent to the room, convinced it's not working. It shrieks the whole way there and I have to press my lips together not to squeal along with it.

Climbing on the chair, I barely reach the vent, which is doing a slow and poor job, but it's circulating enough air that I can convince myself I won't suffocate to death.

Then I measure the room with my steps, the crisp click of my heels sounding louder than they should, bouncing from wall to wall. I hum my favorite song until I spoil it. I bring the chair back to the table and sit to practice breathing exercises. Nothing soothes me or placates the involuntary jerking of my right leg.

I rest my palm on top of my restless thigh and take one more deep breath, eyes shut. When I raise my head and lids back up, I'm sure the air has gone sparse and I'm oxygen deprived, hence my hallucination. Because I'm seeing Liam's neck on that window that's once again open.

Ha. If this is the last thing I see before I die, my neck kink is worse than I thought.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he growls. Oh, no. I've gone mad. My made up Liam is talking to me. I can't resist the cliche urge and step on one of my toes until it hurts.

Yeah, I'm not seeing things. I'm just plain stupid. Good thing I'm sitting down, or I might have fallen like a ton of bricks.

"What are you even talking about? I've been trapped in this room for hours." My words echo louder than intended, so does the clapping sound of my palms as they meet my hips as my arms flap beside me. "And what are you doing here?"

Liam glances at his watch and corrects me. "You've been here for less than fifteen minutes." By the new placement of the eyebrows on his face, he finds my distorted time perception amusing.

The gorgeous bastard. Life would be so much easier if smugness didn't look so good on him.

I stare at my useless phone before arguing. Feels impossible, but he's right. Wait. How could he know that? I can feel my eyes trying to bulge out of their sockets as realization strikes me.

"You trapped me here?" I rise to my feet so fast, the chair flies away behind me. I make my way around the table to stand as tall as I can in front of him.

"Did you really think I'd let you go? Just like that?" Oh, finally a bad look on Liam. I like confidence. But this is condescending, and I fucking hate it. I hate so much, it borderline makes him unattractive.

How dare he? My nostrils flare as I try to inhale and convince myself there must be a better alternative to killing the man in front of me. I feel myself deflating as I try to reason with the most unreasonable person I've ever met. "Liam, it's not up to you. I quit. I'm going back to the States. Please let me out of this room. Maybe I can still catch my flight." I face him, not an ounce of doubt in my face or voice. "If not, I'll board the next one. You can't stop me from going."

"I said no." He pushes his body from the door and strides toward me with that dangerous lopsided smile of his, extinguishing the distance between us with two steps. I wasn't thrilled about going home, but his manic behavior is definitely making things easier. I've clearly escaped a mad man.

I must be a bit mad myself, since I'm not running to the other side of the room.

"No, Liam. You said ‘go'. I heard it loud and clear."

"Then let's see how good of a listener you really are. What did I say yesterday?"

"No. You don't get to play games now." I push him and he doesn't budge. "Let me go. Open that door."

"April. I'm a powerful man. I managed to blacklist your name at immigration in a matter of minutes. But I don't know if I can get away with spanking you on CCTV and get it erased before someone leaks it."

Why did my breathing quicken at his words? Fuck, I need therapy. His eyes lower to my pink cheeks and his dirty half smile tells me I've been caught.

"Fine, I'll remind you. I told you that I'll grant you your wishes. If you want to go home, I won't stop you."

"Hummm…" I make a scene of opening my arms, palms facing outwards, showing him where we're standing, in case he hasn't noticed. "That's exactly what you're doing."

"No, Doc. I just had to slow you down a little."

"What? Why? Please start making some sense."

"So I could come with you. If you'll have me."

I step on my toe again. Harder. Yeap, still real. Closing my eyes, I list the symptoms of an aneurysm to myself. No, that's not it either.

Liam's fingers tip my chin up, his lips descending on mine before I can formulate another hypothesis or open my eyes to prepare for his onslaught.

"Will you let me?" he asks between invasive laps of his tongue. I don't decide to kiss him back, but muscle memory makes my lips move without my consent. "Can I please come with you?"

He breaks the kiss, but not the distance. His eyes bore into mine, his hand threading through my hair, holding my head and stare.

His voice cracks, revealing more than his determination, but a bit of his despair, too.

"We can't be over just yet, April. Tell me what you want. Anything you need. Ask me anything and it's yours. But please, April." His pause pierces my heart before his next words do. "Please don't ask me to give you up. That might be the one thing I can't give you."