A few years later, I saw him for the first time at his funeral. Mother, Aunt Margie, and I were the only ones in attendance.

I watched as her cold façade crumbled that day. I still like to imagine they were in love once. They were in love enough to create a life. Mine.

I wonder if Noah will ever feel like I do now.

“Flight 2737 is boarding at gate twenty-three,” comes over the loud speaker, interrupting my thoughts. “First class passengers, please come to the gate.”

I look around for the others and see no one. I am sure Madison said we are all flying together, but I guess I am wrong.

I sit in my assigned seat. Row four, seat two. It’s an aisle seat, more legroom if I actually needed it. The seat next to me is empty. So are the ones across from me and the two in front of me. I am a lucky girl, I think as I dig through my purse and pull out a Blow Pop.

Gum never helps with the pressure in my ears at takeoff.

When Noah was a baby, Margie was flying with him out West to visit some friends. I breast fed Noah—not because I was concerned with it being a healthier option, but because it was cost effective—so I expressed enough milk for her for an entire week. Right before they left, he got an ear infection, and the doctor told her that, if he sucked on his bottle during takeoff and landing, it would help alleviate the pressure.

The next time I flew, I decided, if it worked for him, it would work for me, and it did. Now I won’t fly without a stash of Blow Pops in my purse. Another thing I won’t fly without is a sleep mask.

I have been stuck too many times next to a chatty person who thinks, because I am polite and smile, I am going to be their entertainment for the entire flight. The mask wards off those problems completely.

“Final boarding call for flight number 2737 from LaGuardia to Houston,” is announced.

I unwrap the sucker, readying it for takeoff, place the mask over my eyes, lean back, and try my best to relax.

I yawn as I hear shuffling. Then I smell a familiar scent, and I hear a groan.

“You have to sit by the window.” River chuckles.

“Like I give a shit right now,” Finn says in a low grumble.

“Ask her to switch seats,” River huffs as I hear a bag being shoved in the overhead compartment. “You awake, Sonya?”

I lift the mask from my eyes to find Finn shoving his bag above my head.

“Yeah,” I say quietly.

“Finn hates to fly.”

“Dude, shut up,” Finn says, then looks down at me. His eyes are bloodshot, his expression blank. “Excuse me.”

I move over to the window seat.

“See? She doesn’t bite.” River chuckles.

“Could you take your seats please?” the flight attendant asks River, then turns and looks at Finn. “Sir?” she stammers when she meets the glowering face of darkness.

He nods, pulls his sunglasses down, and sits.

The plane begins moving.

“You got any gum?”

“No. Shit, man,” River sputters. “Fuck. Billy, you got any?”

“No. Just yawn a lot,” he grumbles, leaning back in his seat.

Finn’s knee taps mine and he rasps, “You have any gum?”

“Blow Pops,” I say, holding up my sucker. “You want one?”

River chuckles under his breath.

Finn looks down at my mouth. “Yeah.”

River leans forward and looks across the aisle. “Blow Pops?”

“If you suck on it, it helps—” I begin.

“That’s what I have always told them.” River laughs. “Blow Pops, blow jobs. It’s a sucker, man; treat it as such.”

Finn’s lips curl up at the corners as I dig in the bag on my lap and hand him three.

He gives two to River for him and Billy before he turns back and looks at me. I know he is, even with his shades on.

I pull my sour apple Blow Pop from my mouth. “Can I help you?”

His lip curls up again. “You could, but you won’t.” He says it so sinfully there is no way I can even pretend it was intended any other way.

I look past him at Billy and River, hoping they didn’t hear what he just said to me.

“You wanna sit over there? Try that side of the stage next?”

My mouth falls open. I am completely shocked that he just said that.

When he reaches over and pushes my lower jaw up with one finger, I snap my head away from his touch. He then proceeds to take my sucker and hands me his.

“I like apple better.”

“I’ve already had that in my mouth. Give—”

He huffs, and I stop talking, looking away.

I am already exhausted, and we haven’t even left the ground. Exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster I have been on since I found out I was pregnant, not to mention the events that happened two months after that.

His knee nudges mine again, but I don’t react. He does it again, obviously not taking the hint that I would prefer to be left alone.

Once I look at him out of the corner of my eye, he pops the Blow Pop in his mouth, lowers his glasses, and leans in to me as he pulls it out.

“I’ve tasted better.” His eyes lazily gaze down my body, causing me to squirm inside, but I hold it together. He takes the Blow Pop and rubs it across my lower lip before I am able to react, and the inside squirming is dying to come out. “So have you.”

“Enough,” I whisper. “That’s enough.”

He rolls his blood shot eyes and lets out a slow sigh. “Not yet it’s not.”

“You’re high. That’s your problem, you know. You hate me when you’re sober, so why not make that your reason to ‘just say no.’ ” I air quote the anti-drug catch phrase.

His eyes dance in amusement. They are lighter, clearer, less mucky, and how messed up is that? He’s high!

“I’d rather be like Nike and just do it.” He makes the swish with his finger, and I can’t help staring at it. It’s long and thick and— “You liked it.”

“I’m not a piece of ass,” comes out louder than I intended, and he looks at me more sternly. Then I whisper, “I told you that the other night.”

“Then you came all over my face.”

When I gasp, he pulls his shades down, turns around, pops the Blow Pop back in his mouth, and then grips the arm rests as we ascend into the air. I quickly unwrap another sour apple Blow Pop and pop it in my mouth. Then I look out of the corner of my eye to see he’s smirking.

“That flavor suits you better.”

I am angry at him, but angrier with myself for the choice I made to drink the other night, knowing damn well what I was getting into.

“You don’t know me,” I grumble as I reach in my bag and pull out the thin blanket I carry when I fly.

“Whose fault is that?” he asks softly.

I don’t reply. I cover myself up, pull down the sleep mask, and curl up, facing the window.

I can feel the buzz wearing off too damn soon. I wish I could sleep like she does. I wish I could forget the taste of her, but I can’t.

Destruction is a bitch. I could never outrun her. She follows me, swallows me whole. Avoidance is a gift, one I cherish while creating. Right now, that gift is hiding in the shadows of destruction, avoiding the madness inside her path.

I’m on her path, regardless.

I lean over and River nods.

“What’s up?”

“I need to sleep,” I say, knowing damn well it’s a bad fucking idea, but no fucks are given.

River reaches in his backpack and pulls out a bottle. “This will help.” He opens it, taps a pill out, and hands it to me. I pop it in my mouth. “You’ll get four hours.” He pops one in his own mouth and winks. “Sleep well.”

I recline my seat and take in several deep breaths, smelling her, trying to find something good to focus on that will help me relax my mind: my childhood, my first love, my dog, my friends … None of my memories are calming.

After waiting twenty minutes, my body is totally relaxed, but my mind still remains far from it. I want to shut it off.