papercut. prologue.

Airports.

Hate them.

That easily explains why I am slightly shaking. I keep wrapping my mossy green scarf around my neck. I feel as if I am about to choke but I do not.

Cold. It’s cold.

Faces.

Who knows how many, they whizz by not looking. Who am I to them? I am just a person like the others who are standing, sitting or doing something else which doesn’t concern them. I’m nothing. They do not know me, well, maybe one of them saw me in Starbucks yesterday or was the person on who I tripped trying to jump for that special, extraordinary book.

My height, I wish I was taller. But no, I am slightly above average. The slightly seems to be added, so that I won’t be depressed that much. Today it’s not about my height.

She’s not here.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. She won’t be here. Why should she?

More faces. I feel dizzy. Why do people think airports are happy? The thought of loving someone in a big fat plane with strangers, which could be one of the future lovers slowly going to the rank of husband/wife.

Of course you get the scene in Love, Actually with Hugh Grant hugging Natalie or whatever her name is. Even the guy who played Snape which got a role of this complete idiot ends up with his wife. Or that movie with Jean Reno? He ends up with the make-up artist.

In reality airports depress me.

They scare me.

I do not know where I am. I just go in the line, feeling myself freeze. My whole body is shaking, my vision is blurry. I need to see her. My throat is killing me, as if a cold rock is stuck there, not letting me breathe. Do I need to?

Escape. We all escape from while to while. Isn’t this what I am doing now? Isn’t university fun? Cheerleaders and jocks making out everywhere, booze, cigs maybe drugs. I have no idea. Well, I doubt I’ll have cheerleaders or jocks there. Drugs and cigarettes I guess. Art University. Well, unless some posh Queen Bee decided to be an underwear designer. But jocks? Hey, her boyfriend. Right some moron well-built guy who does not care about her asides from making out.

They check if I’m a terrorist. Well, I believe I look suspicious. My whole body is shaking, my eyes are clouded with tears and I look hungrily at faces expecting to see my ex there.

“Thank you. Are you alright sir?”

I nod, I have no power to speak up. I don’t have to. She smiles. Blue eyes. What colour were her eyes? I walk away trying to get her face off my thoughts. I don’t want to think about it. Enough. I’ve had enough. I do not need her. I do not need her.

The word love seems to cross my thoughts. Did I? What is love anyway? Who loves through all of their lives? Who lasts until ‘death do we part’? Many cross that tradition out of their relationships. Why promise something impossible? Why give meaningless vows to express the current passion. But the passion is already seen, through the future making-out session after the dull 'I do'. But then, I’m the one who chickens out, I get bored. I get annoyed. I get jealous. I’m the one who breaks and suffers in the end. I never loved. I don’t want to. I don’t want to get broken.

I want to love.

That sounds like I’m a wimp. That sounded like a teenage girl looking for a boyfriend to make her friends green with envy. Chose the blonde tall dude from high school. Depends on how popular, the better and that equals the amount jealous people. The status rises like a rocket. She’s known as his girlfriend. She’s considered as in the crowd, but not so long. Sooner or later it breaks leaving her either in the crowd or not. Different cases.

I exhale calmer than before and head towards the elevator. Everything is blurry. Maybe I’m crying, maybe not. I feel numb. I feel numbness hit me with force and the nothing. No pain, no nothing. Like in a dream, in a nightmare with no exact feelings, just the soft and painful darkness swallowing you. I’m deaf, I either nod or shake my head slowly, as if in slow motion to answer the questions which are addressed towards me. I don’t care.

I do.

I don’t.

Does it even matter?

I just want to sit in my seat, please, please let it be near the blasted window.

My iPod is in my bag. I feel the need to put on my headphones and pretend to sleep. Then I won’t be bothered by surprised gazes, curious faces and offers to help. Help? With what? They don’t seem to bother with letting us inside, just yet. I want to scream at them. I don’t bother with finding another word to replace ‘scream’.

What the hell are they doing anyway? I can easily see the fucking plane through the bloody window. Why can’t I just head inside? I try to hold myself and look at the long line behind me. They don’t seem to mind.

But I do.

I want to get out of here.

I want to stay.

I won't get a fancy card. No one expects me. Besides my roommate. Maybe. Thank you for paying half the payment… whoever you are. Dangerous? I don’t care. Hell with it. The flight attendant smiles at me. I manage to force out a crooked smile. I think it’s crooked, to her maybe broken or shredded into a million pieces.

The phrase broken kisses pops into my head. It sounds so damn poetic. So damn girly. I was happy that they were letting us in that I even felt like giving her one. Thank you.

Instead I just nodded and walked on, stepping into the corridor which leads me into the plane.

Chapter 1