Page 16 of Mark

“My god, you are such a bitch. No wonder you are alone. I’ve done nothing to you. Nothing! But if this is how you treat people…”

I snatch my headphones off his lap as I growl low in my throat. “We’re done talking. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Oh, because you know I’m—”

I place my headphones on, pressing play to tune him out. I may have only known him from all our interactions back at home, but I feel like I got to know him as a person during this flight. He’s more infuriating and annoying than I pegged him out to be. And for them to label him the calm one is a joke, considering most of his family act like they’ve got a screw or two loose. Not that there’s anything wrong with them. They are great people and are funny as hell. I’m known to be the loopy, outgoing one in my friend group, but even I couldn’t keep up with their hyperactive behaviour.

As for Mark, I’d rather sit with my sister and her fiancé than listen to another second of him yapping. He is maddening. No one has ever been able to get under my skin the way he has.

Thankfully, in ten minutes, I won’t have to see him again until we’re back home. Because if he ends up on the same flighthome as me, I’ll book the next one out. There is no way I’m going to put up with him for another eight hours straight. Not without being arrested or sectioned anyway.

When I hear his voice screeching over the music, I turn up the volume on my iPod and stare out the window.

Nine minutes.

Just nine more minutes.

*** *** ***

I groan when I pull my suitcase off the conveyor belt and see damage to the front and back.

“Fuck!” I growl, hoping this holds until I can get a new one.

I pull out my phone and head towards the exit, weaving through the crowd to avoid bumping into someone.

There’s a text on my phone when I unlock it.

Mum: We’ve booked you a car. Driver will be outside holding a sign with your name on it.

Since I’ve just spent eight hours being tortured, I don’t message her back or call her. I just need five minutes of tranquillity before having to use what’s left of my strength being fake happy for this cruise.

A young gentleman is waiting outside, holding up a sign. I head over to greet him. “Hi, I’m Freya.”

“I take you to port. But need to wait for my friend to get food,” he explains with a heavy Spanish accent.

“That’s okay. Do I have time to go in and grab a sandwich?”

“Yes. Yes. I wait here,” he tells me, nodding.

“Would you like something?”

“No, no,” he refuses with a bright smile. “My friend get mine. We drive all day. Work.”

I nod, letting him know I understand. “Okay, I won’t be long.”

“I’ll take case,” he offers, taking it from my hand.

I hesitate for a moment before letting it go. He doesn’t seem like someone who would run off with my suitcase, so I head back inside, moving over to the food stall place near a small café. I grab a sandwich and a couple of drinks. Ten minutes later, I’m back outside in the blistering heat, greeting the two men waiting to take me to the boat.

When the new arrival opens the door for me, I smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s forty minutes to port. I’m Xavier. This is Mateo. He is training, which is why you have two of us.”

“It’s nice to meet you both. And thank you for picking me up,” I reply as I slide into the back seat.

A few minutes later, I’m taking out my sandwich, grateful the two up front don’t try to make small talk. I groan after taking my first bite.

“Hungry?” Xavier asks with amusement.

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