Reaching Insanity (Matt Smith fanfic)

Part 1

After what seemed like forever, the roaring plane engine came to a halt, the landing gear had finally hit the solid earth pathway and glided to safety after the constant hours of being in the air, on top of the world. I had never ridden in a plane before as pathetic as that may sound; I thought I’d needed to, nevertheless alone. Yet here I am, having just turned 19, and about to get out of a plane that picked me up on the other side of the country… alone. Okay, sure the entire flight was crowded and full but without the usual people in my little home town, it just felt lonely. Mom said the second I left Marylyn Missouri I’d be home sick, I assured her I wouldn’t be, and as always, she was right. A short Bing sounded from the overhead speakers and the pilot’s muffled voice pushed out of them soon after.

“You may now unbuckled your seat belts, put your tray tables up, and follow the arrows in the boarding area to the baggage claim, thanks for flying with us here at West Gate, have a nice day.” I exhaled, not sure if it was of relief or stress that the entirety of the situation had finally set in. Everyone that was packed into the plane slowly arose, stretched, popped their baggage out of the overhead consoles, and made their way to the exit door, one by one exiting the big red and blue plane. Once there was only about ten people left, either old, asleep, or hopefully not dead, I grabbed my messenger styled purse out of the console and made my way to the luggage claim.

It took forever for all of my bags to finally circulate around to me on the carousel and it was even worse dragging them through the airport over every door stop and random litter on the ground, and piling them all by the doors of the airport. I exhaled sharply and sat down on my pile of bags, my mother told me that she had a taxi arranged to pick me up fifteen minutes from now so I’d just have to wait here in this loud flurry airport. It’s a good thing that my mom is the way she is, she is a curriculum teacher after all; her job is nothing but order. Of course having your strict mom in school with you is as nagging as it sounds, but she gets things done, especially in my life. And as you may have guessed with my own mom roaming the halls during every single one of my high school days I’ve always been just that: single. Although I can’t complain, the lack of distraction has brought me to where I am today: the opportunity, the future, the beginning of the rest of my life, whatever you prefer to call it. My entire life I have been an A+ student, (a B here and there but hey, who’s counting?) ahead of the game, and that’s what brought me here. All the way from the Midwest Marylyn Missouri, to the promise land, California. I know what you’re thinking sun, surf, and skin, right? And as a newly 19 year old girl just out of high school, I somewhat wish that that was what I am thinking. Frankly, my heart is set on what I came here to do, attend AP Art Program courses for a year before I actually settle down into a college, well a university to be exact. Oh, don’t get me wrong, my family? We are far from rich, that’s why I have to take a year off before college to finish up getting money and gathering scholarships, so I’m filling my next year with classes that will give me enough knowledge and money so it’s not an entire year to waste. Plus I’ve been looking into this program my entire life; after all it is my graduation present. Again, we are not rich at all, just your average, Teacher Mom, Trooper Dad, Middle class family. Which is why exactly that none of us could afford to have me rent a place out here, since we don’t have any margin on our dorm room fund for my university next year. Although we aren’t rich we tend to have pretty decent luck, my mom’s brother moved out here too after he got out of college and never left. He has a job in some kind of FBI morgue place, I’ve never been quite sure; I just know he gets good enough pay to live on the outskirts of the city. Our original plan was for me to move out here and stay with him, but Mom found out that Wesley, my uncle, has some ‘skanky’ girl living with him and she refused to let me be around that kind of… influence, as if I’d become tempted to be a whore-ish burnout, HA. That alone almost collapsed the entire plan on top of itself. And then again, with the luck, so Wesley has always loved me especially since I’m his only niece and he’s long past having kids of his own, so he got back with my parents on the topic. To my apparently continuous luck, Wesley has an old friend of his that he had made a pretty good bargain with. His friend is an older gentleman who lives only a few miles out of the city near the campus of my classes, he has a duplex (two houses in one) and Wesley said that if I didn’t party to much, which clearly wouldn’t be hard at all, and didn’t bother the man that I could live in the duplex with only a small rental fee that was easily affordable. My dreams seemed to sort themselves out before my eyes, not only would I get all my AP Art classes in, but I’d spend an entire year in California, not living in an apartment or a dorm but an entire floor of house, all to myself. I silently thanked the lord for the millionth time, and then for the millionth and first time as the bright cliché yellow taxi with the number that I was told it would be pulled up in front of the airport. The driver stepped out and I waved him over, he was middle aged, around forty like Wesley. I suddenly got excited to finally see him for the first time in years but it’d have to wait until I’ve settled, called the parents, unpacked, called my best friend from home, Daniella, and called Wesley ahead of time. Oh yes, I get my organization from Mom, sadly it’s only in my head and I can’t keep anything clean even if it were to save my life, I’m horribly organized; Hence, my pile of overflowing bags that me and the taxi driver were currently fumbling with.

“Where to?” he asked once we got settled into the cab, I rummaged in my coat pocket until I felt my fingers brush against the crumpled piece of paper, I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to the driver.

“8 miles out, West Lane Street, house number 425.” I smiled up at him, he seemed gruff but nice, like a father and nodded and smiled in return through the review mirror. A slight nervousness filled me as the sudden thought of living so close to a random stranger came to my mind, of course it’d just be like an apartment complex but with only two apartments. I hope we don’t need to run into each other too much, I mean I’d love to make friends, but not with a 60 or 70 year old man. We got to West Lane Street pretty quick and drove down the street for a good two minutes, I watched the letters on the mail boxes raise from 419, to 420, 422, 423… nothing looked like I had imagined, they were all just house, fancier than usual I’ll give it that but nothing around looked big enough to be a duplex. To my surprise the taxi came to a halt, the house looked just like any house with cobblestone and some cottage characteristics but much bigger, it was bigger than the previous houses… but nothing near a duplex. It wasn’t even two stories like Wesley had said.

“Umm, it’s West Lane Street, house 425.” I cleared my throat awkwardly at the driver.

“This is it Miss.” I looked out again, not sure whether or not to ask to be taken back to the airport and sent home, part of me really felt like doing it. I’ve only been here a good 30 minutes and I already want to go home. Your nineteen years old, get it together. I encouraged myself and popped open the door kicking my legs out in a swift motion, trying to hide my uneasiness.

“Will you wait here for a moment?” I asked the driver and he nodded with another cheery and quick smile, he then poked his hand out of the window and I snatched the crinkled note from his palm. For about the tenth time today I took a sharp exhale and as calmly as I could, strode myself up the walk way to the front door. I sucked in my breath, shook my hair back, and firmly knocked three times at the door. Then I waited… And I waited… And I waited. There wasn’t even a slight sound, I began to shuffle my feet as a nervous heat rose up my legs and seemed to wrap its warm hands around my next, I stuck my fist up again and just before I rasped my knuckles against the door it swung open. It was defiantly the wrong house.

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m looking for West Lane Street, house 425. I must have made a mistake with my directions,” I smiled and turned to go. A man, maybe late twenties to early thirties, had his arm propped up on the door frame, leaning against it, his feet crossed at the ankles, his eye brows were raised at me in a sort of humorous way. He was lanky and his very appearance just seemed… awkward, he just looked awkward. 

“This is house 425, West Lane Street.” I stopped taken aback at his voice, it was laced with a thick English accent, it seemed to juts float out of his mouth, almost mesmerizing, I guess I am not used to hearing such thick accents back in the middle-of-nowhere-Missouri. “You’re not lost.” His head bobbed back as a short huffed chuckled came from his lips. “See?” He tapped his finger on the crinkled paper in my hand and I looked down at it, dumbfounded. “I’m Matt Smith.”

And there, scrawled in my mother’s hand writing a crossed the bottom of the note read:

 Matt Smith.