A Beautiful Forever - By Anderson, Lilliana Page 0,3

fluttery over him.

Elliot

I can’t stop laughing. Tears are streaming out of my eyes, and I wipe at them as this girl keeps looking at me. She’s a stunner, with masses of curly dark-brown hair, olive skin, a full pouty mouth and amazing eyes – they kind of look like a piece of amber. They're hazel in the middle, flecked brown with a thick dark edge before her whites come into play. They’re pretty awesome, and I don’t mind that she’s studying me, because it gives me a good look at them.

I just wish I could stop laughing because I feel like a fool, but I’m so tired I can’t seem to control myself.

I take a deep breath to try and still my shaking body. “I’m sorry,” I say again once I calm myself a little, “I think I’m becoming delirious from lack of sleep.”

“So you’ve been trying to stop her as well?” she asks me, ignoring my fits of laughter.

Wiping the last of my tears away, I nod and tell her, “She took a tablet a while back and no matter what I do she still snores.”

“Great,” is all she says as she sits back forcefully in the seat, she’s quiet for a beat before saying, “Listen, I need to get away from her before I go mental. Can you get up, so I can climb out?”

“Sure,” I say, moving my legs to the side and standing in the aisle. As she stands up, I notice that she’s a decent height – probably hitting just above my shoulder. She’s wearing almost the same as me, light blue jeans and a fitted t-shirt, although where mine is plain black, hers is white and has a picture of two chickens dressed up in Mexican styled clothes leaning up against each other and the words ‘LOS POLLOS HERMANOS’ written in a circle around them.

I recognise the logo from Breaking Bad, “I love that show,” I say, indicating her shirt with a nod of my head.

Without responding, she puts her foot on her seat and hunches over as she climbs over our snoring companion and on to my chair. I put my hand out to steady her, but she doesn’t take it. She just steps down from my seat and says ‘thanks’ before walking towards the back of the plane. I catch a glimpse of a tattoo when she adjusts her shirt, before my eyes drift below it to her arse as she walks down the aisle. It’s one of those firm round arses that sways as she walks, whether she’s meaning to do it or not – it’s hot, and kind of mesmerising. I feel a slight shift in my pants as I’m suddenly wondering if I could get her to join the ‘mile high club’.

I laugh a little through my nose as I scratch at the back of my head and retake my seat, she wouldn’t be into that I’m sure. She showed no sign of attraction what so ever, most girls would have gladly grabbed a hold of me if offered my arm. Besides, I need to stop that shit, I’ve lost count of the amount of girls I’ve screwed in that last couple of years, and I’ve become sick of it. It’s fucking hollow.

It was so easy for me. I'd go to club and ask a girl to dance and the next thing I knew I was taking her home and screwing her brains out all night long. Some girls expected more from me the next morning, others just got up afterwards and left without a word. I didn’t give a shit about any of them, and I know I hurt the feelings of more than one, but I wasn’t thinking about them. I only cared about myself.

Eventually, I took a girl home and realised I had been with her before, I’d been with her quite a few times actually, but I still didn’t know her name. I told her that I couldn’t go through with it and paid for a cab to take her home. That was when I decided I was done, I’d had enough of night clubs, and I’d had enough of treating women like my own personal harem, picking and choosing them as I saw fit. It was crappy of me, and I hate myself for it.

So, that’s why I’m heading to London. I’ve secured a three month working visa, and I’m going over there for a change of pace. Maybe I’ll find myself again while