Kt's Imagination

Velvet Sky {Chapter 1} Breaks Your Knees

—Kathryne’s Point of View—

At most, I knew I was sitting in a chair at an airport in California, the heavy polluted air clouding my sensitive nostrils. At least, I knew I was sitting down, and there were people, they existed just as I did.

Don’t forget to acknowledge them Kathryne, or they’ll stare again.

My flight had been delayed for two days now, because of the weather. I had decided to sleep in the airport instead of using the money in my pocket to pay for a motel. Honestly I didn’t care where I slept.

It wasn’t like I would care.

Comfort wasn’t something I bothered to think about, it was unnecessary, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable anywhere anyway, not in my condition.

It’s only been two weeks since the car wreck, two weeks since I’d been in the intensive care unit of the hospital. Two weeks of bone chilling mental agony, trapped in the prison that is my mind.

I have several stitches on my abdomen, left shoulder, and my left hand. Bandages covered all but my hand, which I’d opted to glove instead. I wore black gloves, a black long-sleeve shirt, and black jeans. I was like a walking death omen, or grieving teenager, pick one.

“Flight fifteen is now boarding, I repeat, Flight fifteen is now boarding.”

Getting up out of my makeshift bed, I noticed two things, one: someone was staring at me intently, and two: it was a guy.

If there was anything more that I hated than staring, it was when guys did it. After the crash, a lot of the guys I’d known at school had come to visit, and try to cheer me up, and it didn’t help. Another problem I had with guys, is that one had attacked me the night before the car crash.

Although, I don’t really think I could call that guy a guy, because he had smelled like a rotting, half-eaten corpse.

I boarded the plane without difficulty, it was sitting down I had problems with. I’d been advised not to bend over to much, or use my left arm, until I fully healed.

The only reason I was on the plane to France in the first place was because I’d argued with my doctors’ to let me get out of the hospital early. I knew it was a bad idea, but I had to get out of there. I was being pestered by grief councilors, and and sterile environment made me feel claustrophobic, not that I was or anything.

“May I sit here?” A male voice, it instantly grated on my nerves.

I shrugged with my right arm, leaving the left one out, it looked weird, felt weird, “Go on ahead, I don’t care,” I said casually, my tone bored.

The only guy who didn’t get on my nerves was Giovanni, the guy who’d pulled me out of the car. I liked him well enough, and I did owe him, so I was cordial.

A soft clicking sound told me that whoever it was had sat down and buckled themselves in, “I’m Adrian, pleasure to meet you,” He said coolly.

I glanced over at him bored, “Likewise,” I returned, “I’m Kathryne.”

He chuckled lightly, the sound melodic and lyrical, “That is a beautiful name.”

I didn’t want to talk to him, so I returned my gaze to the window, mulling over his appearance.

He had jet black hair, slightly spiked into a light pattern, piercing sapphire eyes with unusual red pupils set me on edge. He was slim, but not terribly, and also muscular enough to tell that he had muscles, but not so much that it was disturbing. For a shirt, he wore a white top, and for pants, black slacks. He’d been the guy staring at me earlier.

He was very good looking, although I didn’t know why I bothered to file this away, I never paid much attention to the world anymore. It had ceased to interest me after the crash, after the pipes.

A hand tapped my shoulder, “Why do you look out the window with such a sense of longing? Do you wish to fly?” Adrian asked confused, I couldn’t help but smile.

It was a cold imitation of one, never reaching my eyes, “No,” I replied softly, “I wish to fall asleep and forget.”

“Forget what?” He cocked his head to the side, like a parrot, or a dog questioning a command or food.

I did not laugh, my laugh nowadays frightened people, but I wished to, “Many things, among which are agony,” I said, still smiling; memories burned at the tip of my conscience, making my mouth taste sour.

His facial features darkened noticeably, “We should never forget our pain, for then we shall forget what caused it,” He sounded like a priest spouting off at an ignorant child, it annoyed me even more.

So I glared at him, “There are some types of pain for which there is no foreseeable cause. I did nothing to cause my agony, save for caring about my family. Now look at me, I’m on a one way trip to France with no intentions of coming back, I’ve got medical problems I still need to take care of, and I’ve got you, someone who doesn’t know anything, and is a complete stranger telling me that I’ve obviously overlooked something, because there’s no such thing as a pain that’s okay to forget!” I spouted irritably.

He looked taken aback, and replied in kind, his jaw twitched, “Pain is something we must endure, for only then do we become stronger,” Now he sounded like a wise-man annoying a child.

“So, when you go through two tragedies in a row, experience bone-chilling agony, and then have to fight for everything else, is that not okay to forget? I’d rather not constantly have nightmares about PVC pipes ripping my stomach to shreds; I have absolutely awful cramps in the morning…”

He shrugged, with both shoulders, and I can’t say I didn’t envy him for that, “Pain is pain, no matter what form it comes in. And again, we must endure.”

I sighed, exasperated, “I do hope we don’t run into each other again; we seem to have very different ideals on memories,” The pilot came on speaker, but I ignored the voice.

He snorted, and then smirked while spreading his arms wide, and saying with a very thick French accent, “Bien alors, soyez bienvenus à la France.” (Well then, welcome to France.)

“Pourquoi le merci, j’ai plutôt détesté notre conversation enchanteresse!” I shot back, with a very similar accent. (Why thank you, I rather detested our enchanting conversation.)

His eyes widened a bit, then he laughed, an honest to goodness laugh. I actually felt jealous of him, “Je l’ai plutôt apprécié moi-même,” He teased, unbuckling himself from his seat. (I rather appreciated it as well.)

A flight attendant came shortly after, “Mademoiselle, we have landed, you may disembark,” She said sharply, like she was eager to be rid of me.

I winced, no-one had used that tone with me on an airplane before, “Merci,” I replied, getting out of my seat and quickly leaving the place. I didn’t want to stick around any longer than I had to, and I had a feeling I’d been dreaming….

“Mama! That lady was talking to herself!” A young boy exclaimed, “Hush Jay, you don’t want to be rude!” His mother scolded.

Never mind, I had been dreaming…. I think.

If you have a better way of saying what I said above in French, please let me know. I used a translator since I’m not quite fluent in French. I speak English, and a little Spanish…

KT {ImmortalIncarnate}


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