Her mind awash in fear and anxiety, Abigail walked through the thick humid air and down the dark alley away from the hotel, doing her best not to trip in the unfamiliar stiletto heels she wore. Two days ago she'd been a teacher about to go on a much needed vacation and now she was getting paid to suck cock while armed thugs tried to kill her. How had it all gone wrong?
*****
Abigail had been looking forward to her vacation for months. The school year had been the hardest she'd dealt with in the 17 years she'd worked as a teacher. The middle school kids she taught had seemed even less controllable than usual. She thought their lack of maturity and social skills was probably the result of the years of online schooling caused by COVID, but despite wanting to fail at least a handful, her principal had "encouraged" her to pass them all.
Now, though, it was summer and she had planned a two-week-long trip to a beautiful tropical resort, far away from students, parents, principals, and any friends or family members who kept asking when she was getting married. When she'd turned 40 a few months ago she'd received plenty of teasing comments about still being single, but she was perfectly happy with her "old maid" status. She'd never been great at dating and was perfectly capable of living a fulfilling life without being in a relationship. And on the occasional times she needed "release," well...there was always her trusty rabbit vibrator.
"What time is it?" Abigail thought to herself as she opened her eyes and reached over to her phone on the bedside table. The black screen reflected her face back at her as her phone refused to turn on.
"Dang," she muttered to herself, plugging her phone into the charging cable as she crawled out of bed and made her way to the kitchen to get some coffee. Upon entering the kitchen her eyes went to the time on the microwave: 9:37 a.m.
"Fuck," she said out loud, realizing that she'd been relying on her currently dead phone to wake her up in time for her flight. Her flight that was leaving in almost, but not quite, two hours.
"Okay," she thought to herself, suddenly wide awake without any caffeine. "Don't panic. You can still make it."
She ran back to her bedroom and pushed the power button on the phone until it turned on. The thirty seconds she waited as the phone went through its startup process felt like it took forever but, finally, Abigail was able to open the Uber app and request a car for immediate pick-up.
Then, stripping out of the light blue panties and oversized t-shirt she'd slept in, she grabbed the first pair of underwear she found in a drawer and began pulling on whatever clothes lying on the floor of her bedroom seemed cleanest. This turned out to be the outfit she'd worn to yoga the day before: a beige t-shirt bra, a light blue tank top featuring the lotus flower logo of the yoga studio, and some hideous pink and white paisley leggings she'd bought from the clearance rack
.
Just as she'd pulled the tank top over her head and readjusted her glasses, her phone chimed, indicating her Uber had arrived.
Abigail strapped on the black and gold sandals she'd bought for the trip, stuffed her phone and passport into her purse, grabbed her suitcase, and ran out of her apartment building to the waiting car.
"Get me to the airport as fast as possible," she said to the driver as she climbed into the back seat. "I'm late for my flight."
"You got it, lady," the driver replied before pulling the car away from the curb and into traffic.
The less said about the ensuing drive the better, but Abigail made it to the airport far faster than she thought was possible.
Yelling her thanks to the driver, Abigail hurried to the baggage check, scanned her ticket, printed the bag tags, and practically threw her suitcase into the drop-off area in record time before running to the security line where, as politely as possible, she pushed her way past the other people in line not quite believing that suddenly
she
was the one who was late and being an asshole to everyone around her.
She ran up to her gate, breathing heavily, and just as she saw the large "delayed" notice above the departure time, the strap on one of her sandals broke and she tripped, falling to the floor. Thankfully Abigail was able to get her arms up in front of her face to cushion the blow, so the only thing other than her sandal that was damaged was her pride.
"Well," she thought to herself lying on the floor in a heap as an employee ran over to help her, "at least I didn't miss my flight."
After twenty minutes, Abigail was drinking some overpriced airport coffee and eating one of the driest and least appetizing muffins she'd ever encountered (cranberry-zucchini). She sat on the floor of the airport next to one of the awkwardly placed outlets, charging her phone that had entirely died about 30 seconds after she had gotten into the Uber, only having gotten up to 4% in the few minutes it had been plugged in that morning.
Now, though, it looked like she'd have the next several hours to charge it and look through the multitude of texts and emails she'd missed telling her that her flight had been delayed. She reached for her carry-on bag to pull out her laptop and after grasping at thin air her mind flashed back to the travel bag that, in her hurry to make it to the airport, was still sitting on her living room table.
She groaned. "Don't worry about it," she thought to herself trying to put a positive spin on things. "Not bringing your laptop is a good thing! Less time looking at social media and more time living! And the suitcase you checked has everything else you'll need for this trip."
Still, it annoyed her that she'd forgotten her bag which, in addition to her laptop, contained her makeup, travel-sized toiletries, a book she'd wanted to read, and a change of clothes, all of which she really would have liked to have at that moment.
*****
Six hours and three additional delays later, Abigail settled into her seat on the plane and couldn't help but feel her excitement begin to rise. "Okay, so you slept in, forgot your carry-on, haven't showered, are wearing yesterday's clothes, spent more than six hours in the airport, and look like crap, but you're still going on vacation," she thought to herself. "This is going to be great."
Her mind wandered to the beaches she would soon be relaxing on and the books she would be reading. She figured everything would be smooth sailing, but that was before the pilot came on over the intercom and said there was a mechanical problem that they'd hoped would be an easy fix and they'd be taking off as soon as possible.
Abigail sighed and pulled out the thriller novel she'd bought a couple of hours into her long wait at the airport to pass the time. She'd almost bought a different book, one she'd been looking forward to reading for months, but she couldn't bring herself to buy a second copy of a novel she already owned, albeit one that was sitting in her carry-on bag at home. Three hours, two mechanical problems, and the longest runway taxi Abigail had ever experienced, the plane finally took off, nine hours late.
An hour into the flight, just as the thriller was starting to get exciting, a flight attendant passed by with the beverage cart offering free alcoholic beverages as an apology for the flight delay.
Abigail ordered a glass (or plastic cup) of red wine, thinking that her luck was beginning to change, and was seconds away from taking the glass from the flight attendant when the plane suddenly dropped and both the glass and the entire bottle the flight attendant had been holding in her other hand fell onto her. Both Abigail and the flight attendant grabbed for the bottle, but they only managed to knock it around, dousing Abigail's shirt, leggings, face, and hair in the sticky, red liquid.
As the flight attendant apologized profusely, offering handfuls of napkins to her, the pilot made an announcement saying they were about to encounter some turbulence and the seatbelt signs were being turned on.
"Great, thanks," thought Abigail.
Twenty minutes later, when the 'fasten seatbelt' sign had finally been turned off, Abigail headed to the bathroom to clean herself off as much as possible. Despite her best efforts, vibrant scarlet stains stubbornly clung to the fabric of her clothes, leaving a very visible reminder of the mishap.
"Really, really wish I had that change of clothes now, " she said, staring at herself in the airplane's bathroom mirror. The stains seemed like they were adding insult to injury as she'd spent the last few hours in the airport feeling nervous about being seen in the outfit she'd pulled on that morning. While her yoga outfit wasn't particularly revealing, it was far tighter and hugged her curvy figure in a way she preferred to avoid.
She rinsed off her black-framed glasses in the sink and did her best to clean the wine out of her long, curly, dark brown hair. Failing that--the sink not being designed to let someone wash their hair--she ended up putting her hair into a messy bun using an assortment of bobby pins and elastics from the bottom of her purse.
Returning to her seat, somewhat drier but still fairly sticky, Abigail hoped to escape back into the thriller novel only to discover it had also been soaked by the wine spill, and the pages were thoroughly stuck together. Sighing, she began flicking through the in-flight magazine, hoping she could find something to read.
*****
When the plane finally arrived at her final destination Abigail was exhausted. She hadn't been able to sleep due to a crying baby in the row behind her and, despite all her high hopes for the vacation, all she wanted to do was get to her hotel and go to sleep.
Abigail walked through the mostly empty airport in the middle of the night and stood next to the other passengers at the baggage carousel waiting for her bag to show up. Her heart sank as she watched bag after bag appear and other passengers from her flight pick them up and leave the airport. Finally, the baggage carousel came to a halt and Abigail had to accept that her bag wasn't there.
Abigail had wondered what else could go wrong on this trip, and now she knew. She didn't even want to imagine how her streak of misfortune could continue. She let out a frustrated sigh, feeling utterly disheartened.
Barefoot (walking in one broken sandal hadn't worked and she'd thrown them in a garbage can while waiting at the baggage claim) and wearing wine-stained clothes, she set out through the empty airport hoping to find an employee who could help her at this time of night, though by this point she had to admit her expectations were low.
Approaching the lost luggage desk Abigail was relieved to find an airport employee and almost jumped for joy when, after a few minutes, the employee found a suitcase that matched the description she'd given. "That's my bag!" she cried before the employee even had a chance to ask.
The dark blue suitcase, purchased several years prior but never used, now looked the worst for wear. The once pristine exterior was battered and covered with scuffs and scratches, seemingly showing signs of its adventurous journey without her.
After listening to Abigail's brief description of the contents of the bag (Abigail had to admit it was mostly books, though it also contained shoes which Abigail was desperate to put on), the airport employee asked for the key to the lock holding the suitcase closed. Abigail searched through her purse looking for the key only to feel a pang of panic as she couldn't find it.
"I...don't have it." She felt like she was about to cry.
The employee looked at the disheveled woman standing in front of her, barefoot, her clothes covered in red wine stains, and about to cry. "Look, I shouldn't do this, but just take it," she said, pushing the suitcase towards Abigail.
