Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Unable to handle watching him, I spin, fists pumping as I storm through the airport. I don't have a plan but I have to get away.
I could call my dad... he'd buy me a ticket back without a thought. Exactly the reason I don’t want to. My dad is incredibly kind. He's done so much for me. He also has high hopes and if I beg him in tears to save me, I'll feel like a failure. A real piece of shit.
I scan my contacts again. God, I need more friends. Can I call Sally? My mood lightens. Sally hates Drew. And she's still in the airport, I'm sure she is. I don't know if she can do much but maybe she'll have an idea. I dial; she picks up after a few rings.
"Hey, what's up?" Her voice is cheerful and carefree.
"I've been fired," I blurt out, tears streaming down my face.
"What? Oh my god, Filia. What happened?"
"It's Drew," I explain, my voice shaking. "He told our boss that I assaulted a customer and now my ID won't work. I can't even get into the lounge to rest."
"That guy is such a dick. Where are you right now?"
"Near Gate 24C," I say, sniffling.
"Stay right there. I'll be over soon."
I rub my eyes, beginning to perk up. I'm still crying but also smiling, I must look crazy.
"Thank you, Sally!"
"Don't mention it!"
I settle onto a bench, cross my legs, and wait. Sally will help me––she's so nice! If she buys me a ticket home I'll pay her back as soon as possible. I'll sell whatever I own to do it. Or maybe she knows somebody in Rome I can stay with until the flights get cheaper.
Half an hour goes by. I check my phone, frowning. Where is she?
Getting nervous, I send her a text.
No response.
After another hour I call her. She doesn't pick up.
It's now 6 in the morning. My jetlag is off the charts––I'm ready for bed. If I wasn't in such a panic I'd pass out on the bench. Instead, I return to the employee lounge,putting my forehead to the glass and squinting. No sign of Drew or Sally.
The ball in my guts grows.
Did she leave without coming to talk to me? Why would she do that? I don't know if she was supposed to work the same flight as me next, that stuff changes so much. It's possible she's not in Rome anymore and she didn't even give me a heads up.
Dejected, I fumble in my pocket. My phone is dying, do I have a charger on me? My fingers brush something hard––I pull it out. My heart thuds.
It's the business card Marco gave me.
I stare at the card, my mind racing. My options are limited and my resources are almost nonexistent. Maybe Marco can help me. I take a deep breath and make the call.
My heart nearly pounds out of my chest waiting for him to answer, and nearly explodes when he finally does.
"Hello?" His voice is groggy, as if he just woke up.
"Marco, it's Filia. From the plane."
There's a short pause before he responds. "What's going on?"
Licking my lips, I consider how to begin. I go right for it, too tired to think straight. "I got fired from my job and I can't afford a flight home. I don't know what to do."
"I see. Where are you right now?"
His tone is soft but demanding.
"I'm at the airport in Rome, I never left."
"Okay. I'll come pick you up."
I'm taken aback. "What? Really?"
"Yes. I'll be there in half an hour."
I can't believe it. Marco, a complete stranger, is willing to help me out. I don't know what he wants in return, but at this point, I'm willing to do anything.
Half an hour later I'm waiting outside by the curb. It's busy as people arrive from all around the world, or are dropped off to rush toward their gate. I realize I don't know what Marco's car looks like. I feel silly for not asking.
Suddenly, a sleek black car pulls up in front of me. Marco steps out and greets me with a warm smile.
"Get in," he says, motioning to the passenger seat.
I slide into his car, noticing how clean and modern it is. It must be new. It still has that new car smell, which is nice but not quite as amazing as the smell of Marco as he slides in and sits beside me. His hand lingers on the gear stick between us for a moment.
"So, do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks quietly.
I glance down at Marco’s hand, his fingers splayed wide, just an inch from my thigh. His skin looks soft and I have the urge to reach out and touch him, to gently lay my hand over his. But that would be ridiculous. I don’t even know him, not really.