Lovewrecked

So you can see why I assumed they wouldn’t let me go. How could they when I’ve been working for them for ten years? I was as hardworking and loyal as they come.

Apparently though, that wasn’t enough.

I was deemed easily replaceable by the head of marketing for Yogalita—after all, they were more successful than we were and they were the ones that bought us out—and that was the end of that.

I was out of a job.

A job that had become my identity.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do with myself. It was like I didn’t even know who I was.

Yes, I had money saved up over the years, and I knew the right thing to do was start applying for other jobs. But I couldn’t bring myself to do that yet. It’s like I’ve been in mourning, even though I’ve tried desperately to not dwell on it, to try and use this as a good opportunity for change, to look at it as a blessing in disguise. I’ve always tried to see the sunny side of life.

But that sunny side is hidden by a layer of clouds I can’t seem to see through. As much as I try, I’m not seeing the light.

Adding insult to injury, I obviously then caught Chris cheating on me with my friend. Both of those relationships dissolved so fast, it made me realize how precarious and empty they were to begin with.

“Excuse me,” I say to the couple that is blocking the aisle and taking way too long to put their stuff away and get in their seats.

The guy turns to me and gives me an apologetic smile. He’s cute and he knows it, and that smile is way too friendly for someone who looks like he’s in a serious relationship with the girl currently trying to sit down.

He apologizes and steps out of the way, and I swear to god he winks at me as he does so.

Ew. Even on my best days I have disdain for guys like that, but ever since the breakup, my tolerance is at an all-time low.

I bend down and grab my suitcase, hoisting it up over my head to put it in the bin.

“Let me help you with that,” he says, moving closer, even though it’s obvious I don’t need any help at all. Working in athleisure wear has ensured I work out a lot and I’m a lot stronger than I look.

Meanwhile, I can’t help but glance at his girlfriend who is sitting down in her seat and glaring at me, as if I’m not to be trusted. I’m distracted enough that the suitcase slips out of my hands and before I can stop it, it falls and bonks the guy right in the head.

Ow.

That’s gotta hurt.

“I’m so sorry!” I cry out, awkwardly trying to regain control of the suitcase.

The guy holds onto his head where the wheel hit him, wincing in pain, trying to smile like he’s fine.

I quickly manage to shove the suitcase into the bin and apologize again, just as his girlfriend says, “That’s what you get,” to him in a smug voice.

“That’s what I get for trying to help?” he asks her, voice raised, as if that hit a nerve more than my falling suitcase did.

Oh boy.

I swiftly get in my seat by the window, shove my purse beside me, and bring out my noise-cancelling headphones. I can tell the couple is about to get into a fight and I don’t want any part of it. My own wounds are too fresh.

It’s a thirteen-hour flight across the Pacific, the longest flight I’ve ever been on. After dinner is served, and I’ve had some complimentary red wine, I’ve watched every move I want to watch, and it’s time for the Skycouch.

I take off my headphones, the cabin lights already dim, and bring out the information card that tells you how to create your bed.

I’ve only read the first sentence when I notice the row in front of me is starting to shake.

Repeatedly.

The dregs of wine in the bottom of my glass start to slosh back and forth on the tray table.

There is some turbulence, so I don’t think much of it.

But the seats don’t seem to be moving with the turbulence.

Wait…

Are they…?

And then I hear it.

A low moan.

Oh my god.

They can’t be…

“Oh god, yes,” the girl’s breathless voice comes from the seat, and through the tiny gap between the seats I can see bodies moving.

Oh my god.

They are.

They’re having sex right in front of me!

Even though I know they can’t see me, I can feel my cheeks immediately go to Tomato Zone One. I’m notorious for blushing easily, and if it gets really bad my whole face will match my dark strawberry blonde hair and all my freckles will meld together.