Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

11. The Treatment

Your girl loves to travel, but she hates the airport. Can you relate? Everyone is rushing and if you're not moving fast enough – so help me God – don't look at the person behind you. You're on their list. Everything is meant to be organized, but nothing ever is. TSA feels they have more authority than they actually do. Some people take a hint of rule and run light-years.

Let me just find the English boy and get the hell out of HERE! Combing through the crowd, I walk on the tips of my toes as I try picking him out. He wouldn't check-in without me, right? He has my boarding pass. 

Finally, I spy a guy rocking a man bun using his luggage as a seat and the raised handle as an arm and chin rest. The moment he sticks out his phone, mine begins to ring. Why didn't I think of that?

Wanting to continue the streak of sneaking up on him, I silence my phone. Disappointment reads upon Marcel's face as he rests his cheek on his arms. After making my way through the congested crowd, I take the opportunity to flick his bun.

"You didn't think I'd show?" I ask.

"Took you long enough. I almost fell asleep." 

When Marcel doesn't lift his head, I walk to the other side of his white tee. "Here." I try handing him money, but he doesn't take it.

"I invited you." He lies.

"I invited myself."

As Marcel sits up, his face possesses a red print from leaning on it. "And I allowed it. Buy yourself something pretty in Amsterdam." 

"Get up." I pinch his arm. 

When he snatches away from me, Marcel ends up tipping the four-wheeled suitcase. Here you go with this crap. After his black Converses go into the air, I pick up the suitcase as giggles and concerned whispers fill the section.

In disbelief, Marcel says, "No fucking way." I chuck it up as he rolls over laughing.

"Get up. You're so embarrassing." I have no control over my giggles as I take his arm with both of my hands. "I'm blaming you for this."

"You're blaming me? I've been assaulted." He picks himself up and nudges me away as he secures his backpack. It's the softest shove. It felt like a gust of wind... a breath... baby breath.

"May I have my ticket?" I hold out my hand. His brows rise. Will you stop it? Closing his eyes, this dude shoos my open hand as he walks around me. "Oooo attitude."

"Excuse me, security!" He calls, sprinting. Wishing to shut him up, I chase after him, but he shouts, "This crazy woman is chasing me!"

I hope he gets arrested.

ON THE PLANE

Somehow, this fool didn't get arrested for running through the airport yelling like a maniac. Will I survive a weekend with him? We shall see. All I see at the moment is the sun rising from beyond the clouds.

"What would interest you in Amsterdam?" Marcel questions from the aisle seat. His knees press into the chair in front of him as he sinks in his.

"How many times have you been there?"

"Countless times." He watches the clouds.

"How do you feel about museums?"

Marcel slaps his hand on his forehead. What did I say? He sucks his teeth as he looks into the aisle then delivers a sharp side-eye. "Oh, God. I have a nerd on my hands."

"What?" After his judgemental stare, I put away the screenshots on my phone. I'm hurt. "I want to explore the Rijksmuseum and the Anne Frank House." My voice shrinks as I go on.