With his hard and chiseled face of perfection, his full and defined lips that are definitely molded for long and alluring kisses, and a cockiness that radiates off his body from miles away, he’s always managed to leave me breathless and aroused with a single glance.

Behind him, a few reading lights in the cabin blink off, and a few TV screens begin to play the second in-flight film.

“We need to talk, Gillian,” he says, his voice tight. “Now.”

“I’ll pass.” I try to slam the door in his face, but he holds it open and pushes me inside—locking the door behind him.

For several seconds, neither of us says a word. We simply stare at each other like we have so many times before, with pain and disappointment hanging in the air between us.

“I have nothing else to say to you, Jake.” My voice cracked. “Nothing else to say.”

“Good.” He hisses. “I’ll do most of the talking.”

“Well, that’s quite ironic. You don’t normally talk at all.”

“Are you fucking someone else?” His words come out so harsh and clipped, I’m not sure that I heard them right.

“What?”

“Do I need to repeat it?” He glares at me, closing the gap between us. “Are you fucking someone else?”

“We haven’t spoken in weeks.” I grit my teeth. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, and this is the first thing you ask me? How about, ‘Hello, Gillian. It’s been a long time since we last spoke. How are you?’”

“Hello, Gillian.” He mocks me, locking his eyes on mine. “It’s been a long time since we last spoke. How are you?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “Are you fucking someone else?”

“No.”

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“That’s the same goddamn question.”

“Then give me the same goddamn answer.”

“No.” I cross my arms. “No, I have not been seeing someone else, but I will be soon. And you know what? It’ll be someone who doesn’t make me feel this way every few weeks, someone who doesn’t get a sick thrill out of disappearing on me for weeks at a time or leaving me wondering at all hours of the night because he won’t open up to me. Best of all, it’ll be someone who will respect me and not act like loving me is a burden.”

“I’ve never said loving you was a burden.”

“You’ve never said you loved me at all.”

Silence.

“Gillian...” He sighs, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. “Listen to me.”

“Screw you. Let me leave, please.” I push at his chest, attempting to get away, but he holds me still. “Let me leave right now, Jake.”

“No.” He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close, using his free hand to wipe away my tears with his fingertips. He caresses my back and kisses the corners of my mouth, softly biting my bottom lip like he usually does, right before he fucks me. “You know that I never want to hurt you.”

“Do I?”

“You fucking should.” He bites my bottom lip again, much harder this time, and then he whispers against my mouth. “I need you to give ‘us’ another chance.”

“What makes you think I would be stupid enough to do that?”

“Because I’m not the only person here who has ever made a mistake.” He runs his fingers through my hair, his lips brushing against mine. “I recall the start of this being quite fucked up.”

“It’s still fucked up.” I look into his eyes. “You still refuse to let me in, you still won’t talk to me and tell me the simplest of things. I’ve been nothing but open and honest with you, and yet, all this time later—” The rest of my sentence ends on his lips and his tongue slides against mine—begging me, teasing me, overpowering me.

I try to resist, to push him away, but it’s no use. His kiss is an instant taste of the high I’ve been missing, a reminder of just how good we can be when we’re together. Slowly giving in, I begin to whisper questions against his lips as he claims my mouth again and again.

I ask if he’s having sex with someone else, he says no. I ask if he’s dating anyone else, and he punishes me with a squeeze of my ass and a rough and abrupt “No.” I start to ask where he’s been these past few weeks, why he always slips away from time to time, but he ends my questions with an even deeper kiss that sends tingles up and down my spine.

“We can talk tonight,” he whispers. He grabs my hand and presses it against the front of his pants, letting me feel how hard his cock is. “We can talk about whatever the hell you want to talk about tonight.”

“Tonight as in ‘the morning’ when we actually land in Paris, or ‘tonight’ as in right now?”

“Tonight as in right after we leave this restroom, as in right after I make you turn around against that door and remind you who your pussy belongs to.” He covers my hand with his and silently commands me to unzip his pants. “Is that good enough for you?”

I nod, he claims my mouth with his one more time, and another string of arguments is suddenly snapped—soon to be long forgotten shreds, just like all the others. As his hand slides up my skirt and wetness drips between my thighs, I know, once again, that all is lost.

All is us.

All is turbulence.

How many times did you burn me?

Three, four, five, maybe ten?

Was it me who burned you?

Yes, it was you, again and again.

I should’ve walked away, so you could’ve followed suit.

But I think you knew all along that I never wanted to...

TERMINAL A:

BOY MEETS GIRL

GATE A1

JAKE

Dallas (DAL)—> Singapore (SIN)—> New York (JFK)

There were only three things I hated in this world more than my cruel circus of a family: The new changes in the airline industry, the fact that the airline industry was the only industry I could ever see myself working for, and the fact that ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs on hotel room doors apparently didn’t mean shit anymore.

Twice this morning, unwelcome knocks had come to the door at the absolute worst moments. The first time was while I was having sex, while the woman I’d invited up to my room was bent over my coffee table with her ass in the air—my cock thrusting in and out of her pussy. The second time was while I was flipping through the morning newspapers, using the flame from my final cigar to burn through all the lie-infested pages.

And now, within the same three-hour span, another set of knocks were tapping against the door.

“Mr. Weston!” This time there was a voice, a female voice. “Mr. Weston, are you in there?”

I didn’t answer. I continued standing under the hot streams of the shower, trying to think of any possible way I could get out of this.

“Mr. Weston, it’s me! Dr. Cox!” The shrill voice came again ten minutes later. “I know you’re in there! If you don’t answer this time, I’ll have to assume something is wrong and call the police!”

Jesus Christ...

I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Not bothering to grab a towel, I walked through the bedroom suite and opened the door, finding myself face to face with a red-haired woman in an all-white suit.