Dear Tressi [✓]

1

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The tap dripped blood. 

The sound filled the silent airport bathroom.

Tressi shook her head. Water. It was just water. Not blood. Opening the tap, she ran her hands underneath the steady stream. She remembered doing it even as a child—the action calmed her somehow.

Her childhood however, had been anything but calm. She shook her head again as if to force out the mental pictures. 

Looking at the mirror, she could see her dark circles thrown into prominence against her pale skin. The harsh light of the airport bathroom didn't do her any favours; her reflection showed a tired face drawn with exhaustion. She splashed some water on it, hoping it'd help wash off the weariness—it didn't. But at least the sheen of sweat was gone.

The prospect of going back hadn't crossed her mind even once in the last six years. Tressi did not have the slightest desire to see her mother. She hadn't seen her since she'd run away, and had absolutely no wish to mend the broken fences. In fact, she wasn't even sure of the welcome she would receive. 

But it had to be done.

The nightmares, the inescapable memories, the paranoia—it all had to stop.

It all had to stop, because it could have so easily been two pink lines...

Tressi shuddered.

It had been a close call—too close. She wasn't pregnant, but she so easily could've been. And what sort of a mother would she make, when all she'd done in the last six years was run, repress and regret. 

No, the pregnancy scare was a wake up call; it was time to stop running.

Her husband Des—who still didn't know about the pregnancy test—wouldn't like this at all, but at this point, it felt like she didn't have much choice. 

She had to know.

Des was away at a conference for the weekend and she had booked the next flight to Lapec, leaving a note, should he come back early. He'd be livid but they'd work through it. She had to see her mother. 

One last time. 

One last time, she would see her mother, visit Edda's... resting place. The thought was too painful to even form. As always, whenever she thought of Edda—her sister—tears streamed down her face and she fought the urge to scream.

She splashed water on her face again. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to calm down before walking out of the airport bathroom.

The announcement to board her plane came on and Tressi rushed to her terminal. She pulled her short, ebony hair away from her face and clipped it at the crown of her head.

"Sorry," she muttered as she bumped into a stranger, who was awkwardly maneuvering his suitcase in between the narrow seats of the waiting lounge. 

Walking into the plane, she felt more anxious than ever. She barely glanced at the cheery hostess who wished her a good flight, and made no effort to smile back.

This was it. She was going back. And Des didn't know.

Instinctively, Tressi took out her phone and checked for messages from her husband—there were none. His flight wouldn't have landed yet. The absent notification made her miss him terribly at that moment. She wished he was there with her.

The cramped seats, uncomfortable belt, and the food tray that was stuck so it couldn't be fully closed, took up ten minutes of her attention and then they were off. 

She sat looking out the window watching Minty get smaller and smaller. 

Des would've fiddled with her seatbelt, making sure it was tight. He would have insisted on taking the middle seat and would have stuffed her suitcase in the too-small overhead bin.

Just like Edda.

She couldn't think about her sister without thinking about her murder. 

The urge to scream had come back again and she tried to push the thoughts away. Desperately needing a distraction, Tressi grabbed the earphones in front of her and randomly clicked on a movie. Long periods of sitting still made one think, and thinking was the last thing she wanted to do.

The clichéd rom com and the familiar storyline didn't hold her attention for long. Soon, it was noon. She hadn't had anything since morning except for some coffee in the waiting lounge. She could hear Des saying, "You must eat something, you know. You're quite difficult to handle without adding 'hangry' Tressi into the mix." He would've tried to make her laugh.

She sighed.

Forgetting that she was on a flight, she checked her phone once again for messages from him, before realising that she was mid air. She thrust her phone back into her handbag and tried to focus on the plot of the movie playing out in front of her, but that didn't stop Des from popping into her thoughts.

She recalled the time they first met; he had come to audit her school.

Tressi taught English at Loscho higher secondary. She had been up for the position of vice principal, so she felt helping the school coordinate with the auditors would win a few points in her favour. It had, but the thing that had been against her, was her age. 

At twenty-three, she was too inexperienced and so nothing had changed. Except that now, Des was a part of her life.

Des had changed her life in a way that she never thought anyone could. His easy-going nature and inborn charm was impossibly attractive; he opened her up to new possibilities.

She was shaken out of her reverie by the air hostess with the food trolley, who asked her if she'd like something to eat. There wasn't much to choose from, except for sandwiches. Tressi made a face—airplane sandwiches were the worst.

Tressi chewed on the cold rubbery sandwich and realised she couldn't look out the window anymore as the sun was in her eyes. Closing the shade, she washed down the tasteless sandwich with some juice and tried to pay attention to what was happening on the screen in front of her.

But by the time the end credits rolled, Tressi couldn't remember what the story had been about. Her neck felt hot and the sandwich made her feel queasy. It felt like she was boxed in, flying economy. Her stomach lurched again, and she knew she had to get up right away.

Trying to go to the bathroom, she had to prod the amply built man next to her—he was oblivious to her attempts to get out. Murmuring an apology, he got up to let her pass.

Tressi could feel everybody's eyes on her as she made her way to the restroom. Once she entered the dingy cubicle, she closed the door and let out a sigh.

Running her hands under the water, she waited for the nausea to pass. Getting sick on a plane was the last thing she wanted.

She removed the clip from her hair and tried to pull it back tighter. Not bringing a hair tie was a mistake she was going to regret. But having packed in haste, it'd been forgotten. She wished her hair was long enough for her to pull it into a bun—it pricked at the back of her neck, adding to her irritation. 

Frustrated, she looked around for a paper towel, but found the tray empty. Clicking her tongue in annoyance—a habit she'd picked up from Des—she grasped the free end of the toilet paper and tore off four squares. She then dunked them in the water and squeezed off the excess moisture. When she swiped the damp tissue across the back of her neck, it soothed the prickling sensation and her skin felt instantly better. Adjusting her dress, she walked back to her seat, ever conscious of the others' eyes.

Tressi had just settled down when the pilot announced descent.

She was coming home.