Tessa turned her head, looking away from Scott. She stared at the headrest in front of her. He could have babbled something—maybe filled the silence with a feeble excuse, but he didn't. The stewardess standing in the aisle asked if Scott wanted a drink. "No, thanks," he replied. "Would you like something , ma'am?" "Red wine, please," Tessa replied, a plastic smile on her face. Normally the window shade would have been pulled down, shielding any visual of the ground moving out from beneath her feet as the plane surged down the runway. But tonight, Tessa pushed the visor as high as it would go, gazing casually out the window at the lines on the landing strip. They moved faster and faster, until they were nothing but a blur, and she felt the lift of takeoff press her back into the airplane seat. The glass of wine remained untouched in her hand. It sloshed in her glass and dripped onto her fingers. She pulled one to her lips, kissing the sweet alcohol. This was her poison. And yet, as she stared at the blood-like color, she had no desire to take another sip.
