Stalked By A Serial Killer

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Or Maybe Not

Chapter Thirty-Eight: "Or Maybe Not."

"OKAY, DUDE, you really got to hurry up. It's been over two minutes and you're not making any progress. Let me through then diddly doo with your stuff, or hurry the hell up."

"I'm going to take my time, thank you very much. I almost have it." She growls. I groan, and move my hands to grab her stupid bag that isn't, in fact, making any progress whatsoever. As my hand makes contact with her bag, she slaps my hand away, which makes me tense up. "Don't touch my shit!"

"Move or I'll move you!" I shout frustratedly at some smart-mouthed chick my age, who's taking her long ass time getting her luggage off the top box above her seat, while everyone is ahead of her and already off the plane. I've already had to tell her nicely for the past minute to quicken her speed up, but she replied snootily every time, and now I'm getting mad. The worse part is, is that Tyler, Bryce, and Megan managed to get ahead of her before I did, meaning I'm the only person left on this plane besides this turtle-speeding bitch. I can't move past her because she's on the chubbier end of the scale, and I'm not skinny enough to pass her. I can't even climb over the seats. I don't have anyone to help fly this time, and considering the plane ride sucked because I didn't have Tyler's heat, made me even grumpier, and the fact that it's dinner time and I'm tired, doesn't help my case, and truly makes me more snappy and prone to causing problems.

If this girl doesn't move, then her luggage strap trapped in the one beside her cubby isn't going to be our only issue.

And frankly, I would rather not end up behind bars tonight, especially if Gordon finds out.

"How about you shut that whore ass mouth of yours before I make you?" She snaps back, dropping everything in her hands and getting up in my face. At this point, my cranky, tired self is very on edge, and so help me God, if she moves closer even a centimeter. . .

I close my eyes to take a breath. Don't snap, don't snap. She isn't worth it, don't snap. "Hurry the fuck up before I lose myself." I say calmly, and she scoffs, but that just about makes me lose it. I push her forcefully against one of the seats, and regardless of the fact that she's a good six inches taller, it doesn't matter to me. I'm tired, impatient, annoyed, and now, I am mad. I told her dozens of times nicely to hurry her fat ass up, and she retorted rudely every time. I have no more patience to keep, and with her, I really don't care. I told her more than once, and she snapped each time. We're both tired, and that makes it even worse. I'm worried right now, because I keep going in and out of consciousness, and me fighting her isn't the safest.

I was a fighter before joining the police, and I'm an even stronger one after.

Someone better get in here before I cut this chick.

"You are going to move out of my fucking way, or else." I growl, and she doesn't look a bit fearful, which agitates me even more. I let go of her angrily, and back up, trying to calm my breathing that has started to increase majorly, and I know that I am an erupting volcano, but yet I am very destructible right now.

"Jo?" I hear someone call from the furthest end of the plane. I'm too mad to even respond. I'm so close to punching this chick just to go home. I do, however, turn my attention to the noise, but I don't see anyone. Before I can bring back my angry self, there's a sudden burning feeling against my cheek, and it takes me by surprise. It takes me just a second before I realize she had punched me in the face, and it's that moment that I'm facing her, that I see Bryce and Tyler appear behind her.

I look at her with slits in my eyes, in which she's smirking victoriously. "Morgan, don't do it–"

Before I even heard them, my hand slaps perfectly at her jaw, and she backs up quite a bit. My memory blacks out, so what happened after I bitch-slapped her is a blur. Though what I do next, I remember. Feet are running towards me by the time I make the next hit, this time a punch, which knocks her out. It's too late when one of the boys grabs me and drags me away. I don't fight back; all I wanted was to move peacefully past her, and she just wouldn't bulge. She asked for it, and now I know that I'll be facing charges, which I do and don't care about. I'm going to tell the pilot, because I've grown since my rebellious days and have learned to just face the consequences and get them over and done with than to act guilty. And with her state, I'm definitely not going to be considered innocent.