Phoenix: The Beauty in Between (A Beautiful Series Companion Novel) (21 page)

As a result,
I’m thinking of leaving the country. I think it’s time to go and
find my father.

I want to know
who this ‘Daniel Ashdown’ is. The address for him on my birth
certificate is in the UK. So I searched Facebook for every Daniel
Ashdown on there and contacted them, asking them if they knew my
mother.

Finally one
replied, saying that he had, and everything is moving forward from
there.

He’s agreed to
meet me. I don’t know what meeting him will do. But I feel like I
have to go.

I’ve been
frugal since starting to work. I’ve spent only what I needed to
over the years. I guess I’ve been afraid of my life blowing up
again and having nothing to fall back on. I’ve saved a lot and can
afford to go to the UK for a few months without working. Although I
think I will get a job as soon as possible – with my funds limited,
I don’t want to risk running my money down too low and being unable
to find something.

The one great
benefit of my birth father being British, is that I can get a
British passport. I have dual citizenship.

I spend my
evenings online, pouring over information about the UK. I search
the area where my father lives, and where I think I might like to
stay. The idea of having a new start in life and leaving every
person who ever knew me before, is glorious to me.

For the first
time in years. I’m actually smiling.

My life in
Australia has been packed up and either stored or given away. I
don’t need it anymore.

On the other
side of the world is a new life. It’s there waiting for me. No more
looking over my shoulder. No more seeing places that remind me of
what I’ve done, or who I was – it’s all going to be new.

With a duffel
bag that I purchased from the camping store, filled with the
basics. I set off to the airport.

I haven’t told
a soul where I’m going. I don’t want anyone to know where I am. As
the cab approaches the international departure building at Sydney
Airport, butterflies dance excitedly through my entire body.

I check my bag,
and get my boarding pass. Then go and sit in the waiting area near
my departure gate, while I listen to my music and leaf through a
fashion magazine. Glancing up occasionally, I watch as other
passengers take the seats around me. I smile to myself, as a
striking looking man sits not far away from me. He actually looks
as though he should be pictured in this magazine with a tall skinny
girl draped over him and pouting. He seems at odds with the normal
looking people around him.

Around forty
minutes later, a voice comes over the loud speaker, and tells us
that our flight is boarding. People around me begin to collect
their things and line up, as their seat numbers are called.

I’m nervous,
and keep looking at my ticket, scared that I might forget my seat
number and miss my call. I’ve never flown before, so this is all
very new to me.

Finally the
woman’s voice says the group of numbers that features my own, and I
move quickly to get on board. I’m desperate to start this journey.
This journey means everything to me.

As I take my
seat on the plane, I struggle to keep the grin off my face.
Surreptitiously, I slide my hand into the back of my shirt and
touch my tattoo. Proud that I’m getting out and feeling as though,
finally, my old life won’t touch me or her memory ever again.

Five hours into
my flight and my optimism is starting to fail me. I’ve been sat
next a rather large woman who has a penchant for mind numbing
conversation. She’s now told me her entire family history and has
started to ask me about mine.

Of course, I’m
not going to share my history with her. Instead, I tell her the
modified version I’ve been using lately.

“My family are
all dead,” I reply after doing my best to avoid her questions for
nearly twenty minutes. I get that she’s just trying to make
conversation to pass the time. But the flight from Sydney to
Heathrow Airport is almost a day in length.

I don’t have it
in me to talk to her for that long.

“Oh… I’m so
sorry to hear that,” she stammers out, now not sure what to say.
She looks at me, her mouth moving up and down like she's a goldfish
caught out of water. Her jowly cheeks are wobbling, and her eyes
are darting nervously around as she searches for something else to
say.

“It’s fine. I
just don’t like to talk about it,” I tell her, looking out the
window at the passing clouds. After years of saying that they
kicked me out, I’ve stopped, I’ve taken to telling people that they
all died in an accident. It’s easier that way. People ask too many
questions when you tell them you were evicted from your own family.
Besides – it doesn’t make me sound so great. What does it say about
me? The one that was cast out. It says no one loved me enough to
fight for me, that I’m too much trouble to put up with. It’s better
if I say they’re dead – it makes me lucky to be the one who’s still
alive. Better still, it stops the questions.

Staring out the
window, I watch the clouds roll by below us, like a fluffy white
and grey blanket that I so desperately want to touch. The woman
turns her attention to the guy sitting on the other side of her and
starts to ask him questions about his life instead. I've made her
uncomfortable. I have probably made everyone within earshot
uncomfortable.

Pressing the
buds of my headphones inside my ears, I scroll through my music and
select an album. I’m really into 90’s alternative music right now
so I choose Custard’s
Wahooti Fandango
. ‘Teensville’ starts
floating into my ears as I close my eyes and lean my head against
the window. I keep the sound at a level that is just enough to mask
the sounds of the plane but quiet enough to lull me off to
sleep.

***

In my dream,
there’s a bear growling outside. I’m aware it’s a dream because
Australia doesn’t have bears in the wild, so it confuses me to hear
one. My consciousness moves forward as the rumbling sounds vibrate
through me. It’s the sounds of the plane and…. snoring? My eyes
flutter open and I remove the buds from my ears, the album I was
listening to long since over, and turn my head toward the
exasperating noise.

The woman who
was talking to me earlier has her head tilted back, her mouth is
wide open and the noise is emanating from her throat. I squint at
her, willing her with my mind to stir enough so the noise will
stop. When she starts making a small choking sound, I flinch,
surprised and slightly impressed with my new mind control ability
as she quiets and her breathing evens out.

I breathe out
slowly - glad the noise is over; and move to replace the buds in my
ears. But I’m paused, my reprieve all too brief, as my skull starts
vibrating when she starts up again – so much for my awesome mind
control skills…

I cross my eyes
in agitation and reach my hand toward her, clamping my fingers on
either side of her nose. She makes a guttural sound, and I withdraw
my hand quickly, looking out the window and pretending nothing
happened. I start counting seconds as I wait to see if it worked,
feeling safe when I reach a full minute in silence.

“Thank god,” I
say to myself as I lean my head back against the window. The second
I begin to relax however, she starts up again.

The guy on the
other side of her starts laughing. As I lean forward to look at
him, I realise he’s the one I noticed in the waiting area before we
boarded. He’s laughing so hard, that I find myself smiling without
even meaning to.

He's quite
frankly, the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on, but looks
almost too large to be in such a small seat. His long legs are
angled so that one is in the aisle, and the other is wedged in the
minute gap between the seats in front of him. He has broad firm
shoulders that span further than the width of the seat. His hair is
light golden brown and a little longer than I like on guy, but it
kind of suits him. He’s wearing a good day or two worth of stubble
- which I’ll admit is a bit on the sexy side. But it’s his eyes
that are most striking. They look like someone took the clearest,
bluest part of the ocean and dropped it into his irises.

“I’m sorry,” he
says, “I’m not laughing at you. I've been trying to make her stop
snoring for ages. I’m laughing at the situation.”

He’s smiling at
me; his smile is textbook perfect and creases the corners of his
eyes that are watering a little from his laughter. It’s a killer
smile - if I hadn’t sworn myself off men years ago, I think I’d go
all fluttery over him. But I don’t.

Instead, I
decide to get up and go for a walk to stretch my legs. He gets up
to let me out and makes some comment about my shirt that I ignore.
He even holds his hand out to steady me as I climb over the large
woman who is seated between us.

I don’t take
it. I just look at it. He’s trying to be nice. I know that. But I
can’t let men be nice to me. Not when I’ve come so far. Not when I
know that I can do this on my own.

As I walk
toward the back of the plane I feel his eyes on me. It makes my
skin prickle with an attraction I don’t want to feel. I pull at my
shirt to make sure all my skin is covered.

Covertly, I
glance over my shoulder at the beautiful man who is still standing
in the aisle as he leans forward and rubs the back of his neck,
with a strong lean arm. He looks the epitome of the perfect man -
strong, healthy, and based upon my short interaction with him, he’s
been brought up well.

I walk until I
reach the back of the plane where there's a little alcove with a
window. I'm so tired that I rest my forehead against the glass and
just look out at the nothingness that is the night sky.

“Hey there,” a
deep rumble of a voice says from behind me, I tilt my head to the
side, still pressed up against the glass - it’s the guy from my
row.

Sighing, I turn
and face him, not saying anything. I just look at him and wait for
him to speak – he obviously wants to have a conversation, and I'm
doing my best to seem uninterested. I want to get this done and
over, as quickly as possible.

“I hope you
don’t mind,” he says, putting his hands in his jean's pockets,
suddenly looking unsure of himself. “I needed to get away from the
noise too.” The corner of his lip turns up as he studies me. I
notice his eyes scan the length of my body and automatically fold
my arms across my middle protectively, feeling betrayed by my body
as it flashes hot under his gaze.

“Why would I
mind?” I ask him flatly. “It’s not like I own the plane.”

He gives me
what I think might be his most dashing smile, but he still looks
unsure of me. “I’m Elliot by the way,” he tells me, extending his
hand to shake mine.

My eyes travel
down to his outstretched arm. I don’t want to take it. When I look
up at his expectant face, his eyes narrow slightly, but he keeps
his hand stretched out towards me stubbornly.

“I won’t bite,”
he assures me, and I’m not so sure about that.

Giving in, I
reach out and take his hand. “Paige,” I nod, trying to keep my
cool. Although, I have to supress a gasp as our palms connect. It’s
as if his life force just travelled up my arm and mingled with
mine. I snatch my hand back quickly, hiding it behind my back, as I
try to ignore the tingle his hand has left there.

A slight
longing throbs inside of me. The one that wishes for the life I
could have had, instead of the one I got. But I squash it down as
quickly as it surfaces.

I can’t allow
myself to seek the comfort in the arms of another person again.
It’s caused me nothing but pain and rejection, from the moment my
mother stopped holding me as a child. I’ve longed to be held. For
as long as I can remember, I’ve had this yearning inside me for
comfort, for caring. For someone who gave a damn.

That longing
has caused me to make colossal errors in my life. I’ve fallen into
situations that a stronger person would have refused to be a part
of – and all because I was searching for comfort, searching for
love – for acceptance.

But I didn’t
find it, and I never will. For the rest of my life, my only comfort
will come from my beautiful Phoenix, as she wraps her wings around
my body and holds me tightly.

I will live a
life filled with regret. I can’t have any other. For some reason,
after all I’ve done. I’ve been given a second chance. Phoenix was
my angel. She saved me. But as a result, she lost her life.

That cost was
too great, and it’s more than I can bear. I wish she had lived
instead of me. I feel so undeserving of her sacrifice.

She was
perfect. She was innocent. I hate that I’m here and she’s not.
Because I can’t live anymore. I can exist. I can survive. But I
can’t live, and I can’t feel – not in the way a man like Elliot
would make me. I can’t get caught up in that again.

When I was
young, I had dreams. Dreams about happily every afters and a life
filled with love. Now, I have nightmares. My dreams are all long
since dead and buried. People like me – we don’t get happily ever
afters. We’re lucky enough just to be alive.

The End
– Paige’s story continues with Elliot in
A Beautiful
Forever.

More books in
the Beautiful Series and its companion series, The Beauty in
Between -

A Beautiful
Struggle

(Too Close)

A Beautiful
Forever

(Commitment)

(Phoenix)

A Beautiful
Melody

Next in the
Beautiful Series

Phoenix: The
Beauty in Between

A Beautiful
Melody

Books by
Lilliana Anderson

The Confidante
Trilogy