Softly,

I can tell it’s been too long since I last cried. Only because I’m currently muffling my sobs into shitty, 1-ply toilet paper in an airline bathroom, trying to calm down before someone comes knocking. I don't think I could bear to put on my polite, sterile, stewardess voice right now. The train of thought ends when another sob wracks my body. The crying isn’t a release, it’s just hard, forced and painful.

‘Definitely pent-up.’ the part of me that isn’t crying thinks. ‘Shut your goddamn mouth.’ says the part that is.

I need to focus, I need to stop crying and get out of here. I try going through the scene again:

-

I was on drink cart duty, the easy shift since most people are asleep by this time of the flight. I caved and gave an older man his third glass of tomato juice because he reminded me of my dad. I stupidly left the bottle of it open on my cart.

Right before I reached the stewardess quarters I must have fumbled, tripped over a passengers foot or something, because I went flying to the floor, tomato juice promptly spilling all down my front. Mortified tears stung my eyes. I looked at the mess. My boss would be upset. An entire bottle bottle wasted? And my uniform, oh god, my blouse...

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Amelia’s curly haired head poke out of the stewardess’s quarters.

“Juliet was that-?” Oh Jules.” Her voice was full of pity. She rushed over and set the cart back upright. Amelia pulled me up with a hand on the small of my back. I tried not to think about how it lingered there. I gave her a half smile. She gave me a genuine, toothy one in return.

“I’m gonna grab some towels for the floor and ah-“ She gestured vaguely at my once white, tomato-stained top. “While I'm at it I’ll grab you a new uniform.”

She left me to get changed in the restroom. Restroom was a generous term, the tiny room I was in, where the sink, toilet and door all overlapped was undeserving of it. I took my bracelets off, meaning to wash them off. I took off my wedding ring too, running my thumb over the diamond. It didn’t suit the times anymore. Daniel had gotten it when big gems were all the rage with girls, even when he knew I wanted simple. More of a performative trend than a meaningful one. I couldn’t help but think I would’ve forgiven Daniel if I even remotely liked him since our wedding.

As I found out, I couldn't get the shirt over my head without bumping the ceiling. I stood there like a little kid for a minute, trying to wiggle it off myself before giving up and pulling the clammy material back on in disgust.

“Heeere you are m’lady.” Amelia said, holding a fresh uniform through a crack in the door. I gave a breathy laugh at the nickname. She loved to make fun of our older captain, Steven. He’d call me sweetheart and doll and I’d make disgusted, barfing faces at Amelia behind his back until she burst out laughing. I took the clothes and hesitated.

“Hey Amelia, could you- you’ve been a big help already but I can’t, er.”

“Can’t what, Jules?”

“...Can’t get my shirt off.”

There was a beat before she asked: “And you’d like me to help with that?” Her voice wavered a bit but I pretended not to notice.

“If you wouldn’t mind.” I said, softly.

She slipped in, and clicked the door shut behind her. My back was to her but I watched her every move in the mirror. She offered a hand and I flipped my shirt inside out on my forearms, letting her tug it free. The rush of cool air conditioning on my back along with Amelia’s warm breath on my neck suddenly made me aware of how exposed I was. I also felt her hands on my wrists, rougher and bigger than mine but not without a gentleness to them. My shirt came off at last. I sighed a breath of relief I didn’t know I’d been holding.

“Thank you, Amelia,” I said, my voice sounded strained even to myself. “that was all I need...ed.” We locked eyes in the mirror. Her chest was rising and falling quickly and her hands were still resting heavy on my forearms.

Amelia flipped me around so I faced her, her eyes wide with something I couldn’t define but I recognized wholeheartedly. Moments passed. Neither of us moved, just breathed.

I knew what was about to happen. I also could imagine the consequences. Then I glanced at her lips, supple and slightly parted and decided I couldn't stand another second of not kissing her.

I pushed off the counter and connected my lips with hers. There was no gasp, no surprise at all, actually. I think we both knew this would happen eventually.

Her warm lips parted to take a breath and I took the opportunity to swipe my tongue across her bottom lip. Her rich brown eyes fluttered open to study my face. I held her gaze and I did it again, the innocent flick my tongue. With that she pressed herself against me so my bare back was flush against the cold plastic of the sink. Her hands caressed my hips then slipped under my thigh, hiking up my leg for better access.

I couldn’t control my hands like she could. Up and down, again and again. They moved sporadically from the back of her neck to her broad shoulder blades to her sides to her-

I caught the sight of my wedding ring in the mirror. Ugly wedding ring.

Tears pricked at my eyes, I shoved Amelia back and she stumbled into the door. I clenched my teeth like a barrier. Fear clouded Amelia’s soft brown eyes and she opened her mouth to ask but I beat her to it.

“Get. Out.” I spit at her. She had this broken look on her face and I had to dig my nails into my palm to keep from reaching out and kissing her again.

“Juliet, I’m sorry-”

“No! You’re not!”

“I swear, I am.” “You didn’t want-” she gestured vaguely between us, around us. She sighed. “this.”

I exhaled through my nose, gently, as not to let the tears fall. She seemed to understand that, at least. “Just go. Now.” More emotions graced her features, settling on forcedly neutral. Amelia gave me one last look, one last chance, and slid back out of the lavatory. I stared at the closed door for a long time.

-

I don’t stop crying because I stop being sad, I stop because I’m out of tears. I stand up and face the door, resisting the urge to check how puffy my eyes are in the mirror again. My hand hovers over the doorknob, but something’s missing. Wedding ring. It’s still sitting on the sink. I pick it up but I can’t bring myself to put it back on my finger. The big, fat diamond is glaring at me, daring me. Big, fat, ugly, trashy, diamond.

Flushing with sudden resentment, I throw it in the trash bin and it skitters around the bottom. I realize I don’t have to wear it anymore. I won’t be home for nearly two weeks, who’s going to care? Not me.

Somewhere in my mind I know this is going to mean a serious conversation

with Daniel. I don’t know if it’ll involve a recount of what happened with Amelia yet (It probably should but I don't think that part). With another look at the ugly ring, it’s hard to care about the consequences.

I take a deep breath, I open the door.