Ataraxia : Ex Love, Ex Life

Standing in a bit of a lumpy circle, the wedding party traveling from the city down to Puerto Rico had been chatting with the newcomer by the seating area of their gate.

"Have you looked at your weather app? The humidity will be so bad."

"Ah, you're right. Look at that temp - I already can't wait to go swimming and this airport is cold!"

"Maybe you'll join us."

The young man offered his interest again.

"Maybe. I'll have to see."

"If not, I can't promise I'll be able to enjoy it, Miss Laurent."

Another of them chimed in with a wink. Renée knew what a casual flirt sounded like. Frankly she was more comfortable with that, than the sweet but direct young man. She could fight back!

"If I do show up poolside, I'll make sure *you* won't enjoy it."

Her fingers ran through her shortened hair, still not quite used to the style. But the no-nonsense cut in her eyes was still effortless enough to make it clear she wasn't completely kidding.

"Yeah, you all might want to be careful. She's a woman who could put your name in her books."

Marcus added, both to back her up and simultaneously lower the tension.

"Ah, you're right. If I was a cop, I'd want to have a positive image. Let me make sure to write down your names and descriptions in case I feel the pull to come up with... interesting revenge plotlines."

Renée whipped out her notebook and the rollerball pen she chose to travel with. It felt foreign in her hand, but she felt that living without her favorite fountain pen was a small price to pay to make sure it didn't get lost or damaged.

"Oh? So I'll be immortalized on paper and take up free-rent in your head for a while. Sounds like a win to me."

The flirt continued before his shoulder was clapped by the grip of one of the few in the party not in island wear.

"Alright, quit it. You're barking up the wrong bent tree."

The man was in a clean pressed suit and looked to be the oldest among them. There was also the matter of him being the most familiar of them all here, for Renée. Her ex interned at his father's law firm and they were family friends.

 Because of that connection, they'd met and talked in the past. Which is why he both knew and could obliquely out her preferences without a care... even if they weren't labeled as friends.

"Thank you, Simon."

He nodded politely and she chuckled before looking apologetically at the young man.

"I was starting to wonder if this dress was interfering with my 'not interested in males' field. That is, I'm not opposed to sharing a drink and talking. Just don't expect me to be a prize."

"I get it. Sorry. You're a good-looking woman, though."

"She's also witty. Really hard not to want her attention, I get it too."

She ignored the flirt still trying to horn in on their conversation. Instead of rolling her eyes at him, she just caught the other's gaze and released a self-assured smile.

"Take this from a lesbian - you're perfectly charming and handsome yourself. I'm sure there will be plenty of straight women who notice."

"I appreciate the compliment, even if it is a consolation."

He waved her off with an easy smile as the rest of the group fell back into their own talk. It was only a few minutes more before the gate attendant called for boarding and the group lined up. Renée waited at the back of the line with her bag.

It was a small crowd, so they'd be through the procedure in no time. It heightened her nerves instead of easing them. Her heart was still pounding away inside her chest.

The closer she got to the plane, the more certain she was. The hints from Leana, Simon's presence... there wasn't even any room to question who she was going to meet after they landed.

[Ayla.]

She was ready. Wasn't she? To see her ex in person. To be seen by her.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

The attendant gestured to the open door. It was her turn. Renée blinked and moved forward. Her feet followed the routine and soon she was at her seat. The author sighed and settled in, taking her tablet out and flipping through her editor's notes during the pre-flight.

The words blurred together, but her fingers still moved. Her thoughts were scattered. Renée wasn't sure how long she stared at the screen or when the stranger woman had sat beside her. But the stewardess was calling for devices to be off and packed away.

Renée put her stuff aside and stared blankly out the window. It was hard to focus on anything. The whine of the engines dug into her skull. The sickening sensation of lift. That stone feeling began to settle in her gut.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?"

Her fingers were digging into the armrests and she hadn't noticed

"You're fine. This is just a normal flight. Take a deep breath."

The stranger's words were warm. Her voice was calm and reassuring. Renée closed her eyes and did her best to follow the suggestion. To pretend she was working through a fear of flying instead of her other mental problem.

"There you go. Just relax."

"Thank you."

"No problem. If you need, we can chat. Talk about what you're thinking about."

Her voice was soothing but still not intrusive. It reminded her of the person she usually worked through these things with. But not enough to open up.

"No. No, it's okay. I'm good. Thank you. It's not usually this bad."

"It's fine. Just focus on your breathing and let me know if you need more assistance."

Renée did her best to keep it steady. The woman was kind enough to stay quiet, leaving the author's mind to wander. She had spent many years working through her form of PTSD alongside her therapist. But it wasn't related to airplanes.

[It does have a little to do with being in the air and dying, but I'm not about to tell a seatmate that I have a vivid memory of being taken into the air by a giant bird and my insides being eaten at its nest.]