30. A Pretty Little Prison

Aella

The jet is like a floating glass cage at 30,000 feet. We’re in the same space, but worlds apart. Roman is across from me, typing something into his laptop. He doesn’t even look up when the flight attendant serves us. His apathy is a stark contrast to the fire I feel inside, burning and consuming me.

While he is physically here, it seems like he's in a different reality, one where emotions and accountability are not significant.

The tension is palpable, but he seems determined to pretend everything is fine, like he didn’t drag me here under duress. The audacity he has to act as if he’s the one wronged here is infuriating.

I keep my gaze fixed on the window, watching the clouds go by. They’re free, floating wherever the wind takes them. I’d kill to be that unanchored right now. To be anywhere but here, with the one man who has become the epitome of all the cautionary tales I’d ever been told.

Thinking back on it now, I don’t know how I was so dumb. He has the tattoos of a Russian