The Lives We Lead | tmr/tw • tw/tmr |

(20) It's A Big Ol' Family Reunion (With A Twist!)

Sometimes Abigail felt like her head was an airport. Ideas would fly in and park at different gates, waiting to release new troubles and baggage into her subconscious, an ever-flowing waiting room for her problems. Remorse at Terminal 3, Gate B. Overwhelming saudade boarding at Terminal 1, Gate C. Struggle after struggle entering her mind and taking up residence in her thoughts, staying far longer than originally planned as flights are cancelled and rescheduled on the flip of a coin. The TSA of her subconscious always understaffed and inadequately equipped to guard from dangers, letting poisoning thoughts creep through her life and darken her days.

It was all your fault.

Saving Thomas was the best thing you ever did. Why couldn't you just stay dead?

You betrayed everyone before--and you'll do it again. Because that's just who you are.

Even if you ever did find them, who says they'll want you back?

It took everything in Abigail's power to push those thoughts away as she sat with Isaac in their terminal, waiting to board a plane to Portland, Oregon. She packed those thoughts inside a plane and willed them away--but another plane landed just as they took off.

She didn't want you back then, so why would your aunt even talk to you now?

Isaac groaned and put a firm hand on the brunette's leg, stopping it's incessant bouncing with a glare, "Would you stop that? I can smell how nervous you are and it's making me nervous."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she mocked, too overwhelmed to reign in her attitude. "I shouldn't make a big deal out of meeting my aunt who didn't even want me, just so I can ask her what the hell I am."

"Sarcastic much?"

"You're one to talk," she grumbled, slumping down further in the uncomfortable chair.

"Okay, you got me with that one."

Abigail rested her head against his arm as a man began calling the first group of passengers to board. With great difficulty, the two friends stood with their bags, quite weary on their feet. It had been a long night--far longer than either wanted without proper sleep. Neither felt like the blood and stitches on her kitchen counter was mere hours before, such a distant memory after everything that followed.

"I hate planes," Isaac groaned with half-lidded eyes, the bubbles of anxiety building in his throat.

"Come on," she yawned. "This can't be as bad as going to France."

"Oh no, this is worse," he yawned in response, receiving an unconvinced snort. "I'm serious! The France flight was on a huge plane, three rows of seats--this one is tiny."

"You'll be fine," she patted him on the arm. "Besides, I'm with you the entire way."

Somehow, he felt immediately better about it, like a wave of calm taking over. If he had the energy in him to do so, Isaac would have felt unsettled by how easily she could calm him down. It had nothing to do with their relationship, he knew, as not even Allison could've calmed him so quickly. It had to have something to do with whatever she was, and that was all the more reason for him to get on that plane.

*****

In the cab on the way to her aunt's house, Abbie bounced her leg again while thinking about all she might discover in the next few hours ahead of her. An aunt she never knew existed. It bugged her more than she wanted to let on. Aunt Anika. Was that what she would have called her? Would she have come home everyday and tell all about the kid who got in trouble in class? About the substitute teacher who smelled funny? Would she have been happier?