Page 22 of Finding London

I can sense London stiffen in the seat next to me.

Her voice comes out broken as she says, “I’m so sorry, Loïc.”

“It’s fine. It was years ago. I was seven when they died.”

“Can I ask how…what happened?”

“Car accident.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

We’re silent for a few beats, and I’m hoping that the questions are done. I try not to think about my parents and the life I lived after the accident. It takes me to a dark place, one that is hard to get out of.

I should know that, with London, nothing is comfortable.

Sure enough, she asks another question, “So, who did you live with after they passed?”

“Various people from all over.” I feel her stare, and I turn my head to meet it.

She’s so beautiful. Her expression is one of sadness, empathy, and confusion.

“I was a foster kid, London. I went from home to home until I was fifteen when I left and just lived on my own…for the most part. I joined the Army when I was eighteen.

“You see, infants are easy to find homes for. When I was left at that fire station, I was snatched up by my parents in a day. Everyone wants a baby. Nobody wants a seven-year-old boy with major emotional baggage.”

London’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, which I find comforting and irritating at the same time. Without saying another word, I stand and make my way to the tiny coffin, also known as the restroom.

I lean against the small counter with my head bowed and eyes closed. I take in the rumbling of the engine and the gentle sway of the moving airplane. My heart is beating rapidly, and my chest screams in pain. I’m so full of contradicting emotions.

London has me so screwed in the head. I’ve survived this life by closing off my feelings, locking them all up behind my tough-as-steel exterior. It’s not an ideal way to live, but it works. Healing requires one to face their demons and let go of their pain. I might seem strong in many ways, but when it comes to that, I’m still the frightened seven-year-old boy who was left with no one. London has this way of making me want to be different. She makes me want to try, and that is scary as shit.

The announcement that we are starting our descent sounds through the speakers.Thank God for that.I exit the small enclosure and take my seat next to London.

“Loïc?”

I turn my head to meet her gaze. “No more questions, London.”

She shakes her head. “I wasn’t going to ask you any. I was just going to say that I appreciate you sharing with me. I’m a good listener, if you ever need someone to talk to. I know you aren’t thrilled to keep running into me. But I promise that I can be a good friend, if you find yourself needing one.”

I pull in a deep breath. London’s hopeful gaze penetrates into the most hidden parts of me. With just a look, she reaches places no one else has been before. It leaves me in awe but also with utter feelings of terror.

I know that, if I explore these newfound sensations, I am going to be setting myself up for devastation. I don’t have proof to back up this theory, but staring into the eyes of London, I simply know. She isn’t someone that I can come back from. When I lose her, I will never recover. Of this, I’m certain.

At the same time, with her eyes locked on mine, I’m finding it difficult to care about my inevitable future heartache. This connection gives me strength to push past the boundaries I’ve created and courage to ask the most important question of all.

I clear my throat. “I do have one more question for you.”

“Sure. Anything.” She beams, her full lips causing my heart to stutter in my chest.

“London”—I pull air into my lungs that feel as if they are suffocating—“will you go on a date with me?” I get out the words that I’ve never uttered before.There’s a first time for everything.

“Of course!” she answers immediately.

I stare at her wide grin. It, like everything else about her, does something crazy to me. She makes me insane, and it’s an insanity I’ve never felt before.

I have a feeling that I will be experiencing a lot of firsts with London. To prove my point, I lean in, and without warning, I take her mouth in mine. She lets out a surprised gasp, and then almost immediately, her lips move against my own. My entire body seems to vibrate in satisfaction.

This is the first time I’ve kissed a girl because I genuinely wanted to feel her lips and taste her sweetness. Kisses have always been a step I needed to complete before sleeping with a chick. The kiss has never been the priority, the core focus. But this right here, with London, is the motherfucking main event.

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