The Billionaire And The Waitress (gxg)

46 - a high

     "WE need a truce."

     Muse crossed her arms and stared. Her bare arms prickled. She didn't know if the airplane was cold, or if the effect of the words had chilled her. 

     The mirror version of herself blinked back at her, as if to say, Go on. 

     But Muse only hugged her arms closer to herself. The exhaustion had seeped into her bones slowly sometime in the twelve hours they had been flying, and she felt it now all at once: weighing her down, dragging her body to the ground like an anchor. She wanted to sink down and curl her knees to her chest. She wanted to melt into the tiled floor.

     The bathroom in Adrien's private plane glimmered with a thousand shiny surfaces. A thousand glassy images of herself, curly hair and tired eyes. 

     "We need a truce," Muse repeated softly to herself. She saw her lips move at every angle, saw them form the words a thousand times.

      She was so tired. Her and Adrien had been fighting for what felt like forever. The night of their wedding had been the start of their downfall, and they had been plummeting ever since. Yesterday was undoubtedly the worst of their arguments. 

      Their relationship had hit rock bottom. They needed a truce. They needed something, considering they hadn't spoken word to each other in the twelve hours of being on the plane together.

      The silence had only been broken at times when James, the chauffeur, and Aida Jane, climbing out of the pilot's cockpit, had cracked jokes about joining the mile-high club, or played "I spy" with the chef, Joycie, in the kitchen.

      The thought of Aida Jane filled Muse with the urge to punch the mirror. Then she wondered if Adrien had fucked Joycie too. Why was she even bothering with a truce?

      "Because you can't spend your entire honeymoon giving each other the silent treatment in front of Grey," she reminded herself out loud. "Because, at this rate, you'll end up killing Adrien with your bare hands."

      A week-long truce would be good. It would make the honeymoon more bearable.

      It would at least have them on speaking terms again.

      Neither of them were good at communication. They both definitely had attachment issues. Yesterday had made it crystal clear they could never work together. But a chance still remained that they could be civil to each other for a week.

      If Muse had told her past self of twelve hours ago this, she would have slapped herself. But she'd spent too much time staring out the plane window, at the misty white-grey clouds, with only her thoughts as company. She could have slept―and Adrien had offered her the bed, because there were four bedrooms, which meant one for Aida, one for James, one for Joycie, and one for the both of them―but she'd only shaken her head at Adrien.

       Muse didn't know how long she'd been in the bathroom. She didn't care. There were three other bathrooms aboard the plane Adrien's other employees could use.

       "I don't care anymore," Muse told her reflection.

       Her reflection stared at her blankly.

       "I'm starting this truce because I don't care. I don't care about Piper, or Aida, or Joycie, who Adrien probably slept with"―bitterly, she added in a pitch that resembled Grey's voice―"because that's just who she is. I don't care." 

      The mirror images of herself all had wide, shiny eyes. She nodded, and they nodded back in unison.

      Then, before she could lose her courage, she unlocked the door to the bathroom and stepped outside. The smell of roasting meat and potatoes frying greeted her, meaning Joycie was preparing another meal in the kitchen.