B&B: Bed & Besties (Analise’s POV)

*Zoey’s note* This is a collab with my newfound bestie, Nainika Gupta! She’s such a fun person to talk to, she’s an amazing author and a HUGE inspiration to me, so you should go follow her! We’ve had so much fun writing this together, and we’re excited to be sharing it with all of you. Hope you all enjoy it!

https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/author/nainika-gupta/

This was not how I had expected my perfect vacation to go. First off, I’m freaking double-booked with some girl from New York! Second off, the girl who had ever so rudely came barging into my hotel room is the same one who I sat next to on the plane. The one that kept gawking hungrily at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had packed for myself before leaving my house. I mean, girl. Have some self-respect! Pack your own PB&J!

***One day earlier***

   “Miss Analise? The mail has come.” Francis, my butler announced as he walked into the kitchen.

      I reached out a hand for him to gently set it in my arms. I skim through each paper quickly so that I can see myself on the cover of another Victoria Secret catalog, along with the promising, bright orange brochure that falls out of the pile. I realize quickly that it is a ticket to my favorite hotel in Cancun, Mexico. The one with the absolute best spa and indoor in hot tubs. 

       While reading the front, I’ve got to say I was rather confused with the wording: “Thank you for reading, hopefully, you have fun times!”

        I read over the word times.

        Maybe it’s a typo, I thought to myself, these things happen all the time.

          I’m happy to finally take a break from this exceedingly large- sometimes too large-mansion, especially knowing that it’s in good hands with all of my kind maids, housekeepers, and Francis. My boss, fortunately, agreed to let me take time off work for the week that I will be absent, as long as my best friend Cara Delvingne - yes, the Cara Delvingne - covers for me. I feel more than relieved to have a whole week to just kick back and relax in the tropics of Mexico.

          I yell for my trusty maid, Anastasia, to help me pack for my upcoming flight as I race up the stairs. 

          “Coming, darling,” Anastasia calls in her rich English accent.

           I open the door to my large, extensive closet so that I can pick seven outfits and bikinis, yet none of my thousands are appealing enough. 

           “I’m here, miss,” Anastasia announces. 

           “Thank heaven you’re here,” I sigh, “I can’t find any outfits to take with. Can you please just pick some for me? Don’t let me forget to take Fuzzy Wuzzy!”

          “I’ll put him in your suitcase,” chuckles Anastasia. 

            Yes, I am a twenty-two-year-old girl who still sleeps with stuffed animals. Big deal! I mean, you can’t just sit there and tell me that you don’t adore their big, dark eyes and scrunched up, tiny little noses! Besides, you never know what might be lurking around your windows in the dark of the night. Whatever that may be, Fuzzy Wuzzy will protect me from demons (and spiders) that crawl around once the sun sets.

                                   ******

             “Hello and welcome aboard, miss,” the hostess greets me as I step up and board the plane, “do you need any help finding your seat?” 

             I catch a spark of recognition in her sea-green eyes and know that it’s because I’m one of the most “famous” supermodels in Hollywood. Heck, I’m friends with Taylor Swift for crying out loud! I take a glimpse at my plane ticket, and I read the letters bolded across the top. 4B, it reads.

           “No thank you,” I grin, “I know where I’m going.”

            I walk down the plane aisle carefully in my red high heels, dragging my small carry-on roller behind me. Once I walk over to my seat, I notice that a big, striped purse is taking my spot. My eyes shift over to the girl sitting next to the purse, reading a magazine.

           “Excuse me,” I say politely. She looked up at me, only she didn’t stop. Her wide, hazel eyes stay on me unblinking, and she doesn’t say a word. 

         “Could you please move your purse?” I continue.

         Silence. 

        I clear my throat, bringing her back to life.

        “Um, sorry, what?” she blurts. I try not to cringe, but I still roll my eyes.

         “Could you please just move your purse? I sit at 4B.” I repeat. She quickly sets her purse on the floor beside her.

         “Are you Analise Michaels?” she asks, obviously trying to sound professional.

           Ugh, I think to myself, probably another crazed fan. She better not follow me to my hotel!

           I realize that she is looking at my picture on the front cover of a Victoria’s Secret magazines. Of course, I had to be on my cycle that week!

          “Oh ew,” I laugh a little, “that’s such a horrible picture of me!”

          The girl raises an eyebrow.

          “So, what do you do for a living?” I ask her, trying to make conversation.

          “Oh, I’m a creative marketing designer,” she beams, “and I’m the head of my company, believe it or not! I just started working there, too…”

           I listen to the woman go on and on about how great her job is until take-off finally starts. I pull out my purse from behind my seat and grab a foil-wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the front pocket. I didn’t have time to eat anything for breakfast before I left, but that’s alright. PB&J is my favorite breakfast food anyway.

           I can feel her nauseated gaze stronger than I felt the needle penetrating my ear when I pierced my cartilage. I turn to look at her light caramel-colored hands that are fading to white as they ball up into fists. I look up and see her eyes shut tightly like a small child throwing a temper tantrum. It reminds me of the first time I flew upon a plane when I was five, clinging tightly onto my father’s arms as takeoff took place. I can’t help but smile a little.

        “Don’t like flying?” I ask, amused. 

        She shakes her head softly.

        “At least not the taking off part. It gives me the heebie-jeebies,”

         I try not to break out into hysterical laughter - that would be impolite - so instead I snort. 

          “Well not everyone likes flying,” she mutters.

           And with that, she whips out her earbuds, still with a cord, though she has an adapter, and pulls out a Vogue magazine. I should probably warn her that I’m on the inside of that same magazine as well, but she’s the one that got butthurt, not me. So instead, I pull out my brand new iPhone and some Airpod Pros so that I can flip through social media. 

          We don’t say anything else to each other for a while, content to let the silence stay, well, that. Silence. We’re about an hour in, and I notice that her cheap little purse is presently drenched in water, a broken plastic bottle lying beside it. I do not wish to disturb the girl reading so intently beside me, but I figure she would be grateful if she knew now. 

            I tap respectively on her shoulder, to which she looks up. She holds one bud in between her two fingers, annoyance flickering in her unique hazel eyes. 

            “Yes?” she says with a somewhat demanding tone.

            I point over to the incident that had taken place in her purse.

            “Is that a problem?” I query. 

             The poor girl lets out every cuss word in the book. I offer her a white luxury napkin with I love you written in golden Cyrillic italics from inside my purse, which she accepts with much gratitude. She pulls out every last soaked item in her purse in grief. Poor Thing. If only I’d brought along just one more purse to spare her, but alas; they’re all either tucked far, far away in my suitcase or a mansion in California. 

              For the rest of the flight, we sit in a peaceful sort of silence. I pop a single airpod into the lobe of my ear to listen to some of the Biggest Hits of 2021 on Apple Music. Once I finish listening to Drivers Licence by Olivia Rodrigo, we finally land in Cancun. 

             “We have arrived at your destination,” a voice announces over the intercom, “you may now unfasten your seatbelts. Have a great time here in Cancun!”

             “Have a great vacation,” I say, smiling at her. 

             “You as well,” she responds.

              I slap on some white sunglasses and a dress coat to make myself disappear from the public’s eye. I need to be outside of the airport as soon as possible so that the limo I had called to pick me up doesn’t abandon me. I make my way through the crowd with my head down low as I pick up my Louis Vuitton suitcase from off the railing. 

              Once I spot the long, black limousine, I’m on my way out the door. 

                                                   ****

             “Buenas tardes, señorita,” a voice greets me as I walk through the glass doors of the hotel.

               “Gracias, señora,” I thank her, “¡usted también!”

               I step onto the wine-red carpets and walk confidently over to the manager. 

               “Hello, sir,” I address him, “Earlier, I had booked a reservation. I was the one who won the bargain.”

               “Oh, of course, my dear,” he choruses, a wide smile draped across his caramel skin, “Let me just pull up your reservation on the computer, and we’ll get you to your room.”

               He types something into the computer in front of him and his smile fades. He sees me looking at him, his smile returns.

              “My dear, did you say that you were the one who won the bargain?” the man asks. 

               “Yes, I did,” I precaution, “why, is something wrong?”

                 “No, no,” he falters, “there’s nothing wrong! It’s just that I had forgotten to tell you that you will have to share the bargain with another woman whom you will be sharing a room with. Is that alright with you?”

                 No. I won that bargain fair and square. I’m not about to share it with a stranger, and I’m not sharing a room with them either!

                 “Yeah, that’s fine,” I lie, “could you please hand me my keycard? I just need to powder my nose, and I would like to be sure that I don’t forget my card.. ”

               “Alright,” he intones, passing me an orange and blue keycard, “here you are, my dear! You are in Room #132.”

               “Okay, thank you!” I smile falsely.

               My plastic smirk dims once I walk down the luxurious hallways and into a bathroom. I want to scream my lungs out. I can’t believe I have to share a room with some random lady that I’ve probably never met! Oh well. Just my luck, I guess. 

          I step back into the homeroom of the hotel and stop midwalk as I catch sight of a familiar face speaking anxiously with the manager. A short girl with light caramel skin, dark hazel eyes with green flecks in the right one, and straight reddish brown hair. It’s the clumsy one I sat next to on the plane. Maybe she's a crazed fan after all! She’s come to kill me!

           “Ah, there she is!” the manager exclaims, pointing to me. 

            The girl turns to face me, and her eyes seem to grow darker. 

           “Analise,” she says easily.

           “You,” I respond just as collected.

           She holds out her hand. 

           “Astrid. Astrid Bennett,” she introduces herself.

            “Don’t care,” I retort, walking straight through her. 

            Okay, I know that I’m being rather rude, but think about it: this woman could be a serial killer worming her way into my hotel room, ready to abduct me! 

            Okay, she’s not a serial killer, but I still don’t like her. She’s a klutzy little rat who’s getting on my last nerve.

           “What do you mean you can’t change our reservations?” I whine, tapping my pink acrylics harshly on the wooden table. 

         “Like I said, miss,” the manager sighs “The reservation was already booked, and there are no vacant rooms.”

          I don’t want to go to another hotel either, I think, This one’s my favorite! 

           “Alright, fine. We can share,” I conclude, looking at the girl. 

           “Glad to hear it,” the woman says dryly.

           I raise a brow, “Is there a problem?”

           “No, no, no, not at all,” she says sarcastically.

             Girl, you better watch your back, I muse.

            “May I please have my room key?” the girl asks the manager, “I want to get in before the cold does.”

            I huff at her petty little insult, and hold back from returning the favor. 

           I go outside to check and see if the bellboy has come to help me pack. Sure enough, as soon as I go outside, there he is walking inside the building with my luggage in his hands. 

         “Miss Analise,” he calls. 

         “Hello, Liam,” I welcome him inside the hotel. 

         I open the door to room number 132 using my keycard, Liam trailing behind me. It’s absolutely breathtaking. The pastel colors all compliment one another and the two, fluffy queen sized beds beg for my attention. Outside of the wide window where Miss Attitude stands is the perfect view of the ocean.

         “Wow,” I gasp. 

          “Don’t you, like, have an even better view than this back in L.A.?” she asks.

          “Well, yeah, but this really is something else,” I reply in awe.

          I hear her make another snide remark under her breath, but I decide to just ignore it.

                                        ****

          I have just finished using the bathroom, when suddenly I spot a large, black figure bolt across the bathroom floor and behind the toilet. Horrified but curious, I carefully lurk behind the toilet to see what kind of a monster has followed me here. I shriek. The horrible figure is huge and covered in fur with eight fuzzy legs.           

                I leap to the ground, crawling backwards on all fours to get away from that hideous creature. I’m pretty sure that it can smell fear. The door opens instantly, to where Astrid stands, ready to save the day. I point shakily towards the man eating beast hiding behind the toilet, just waiting to attack.

             She walks delicately over to Satan’s cave and screams louder than I did, racing out of the lavatory with me right behind her. We jump onto her bed and under her covers for safety, and allow ourselves to calm down. I feel myself going bright red in the face.

            “So,” I say, clearing my throat.

            “So,” she repeats.

            “I hate spiders,” I shiver, pulling myself deeper underneath her blankets.

            “I hate them too,” she agrees, “do you wanna know why?”

             I hesitate before nodding solemnly.

             “Well, once my parents were in India and they were bitten by this black widow and their legs and arms swelled up and their stomachs bloated and froth was coming out of their mouths…”

             Well, this conversation has officially given me PTSD!

               “I’m just joking! Jeez, lighten up,” she laughs.

               I open my mouth as if to say something, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I giggle like a little girl.

              “I guess I am pretty uptight, aren’t I?” I chuckle.”

              “Yes. You are. Just a little bit.” she says sarcastically.

              I laugh before looking beside her and seeing the absolute cutest soft, stuffed tiger that I have ever seen! I pick it up in adoration. 

             “Wait, you sleep with stuffed animals too?” I ponder.

             “Don’t judge me, Missy,” she exclaims, snatching the tiger out of my arms.

              “I sleep with Fuzzy Wuzzy!” I tell her.

              Astrid tilts her head.

              “Seriously?” she inquires.

              I nod my head.

              “Jeez,” she mutters. 

               My mind returns to the spider’s shimmering black body, his eight fuzzy legs stretched outright ready for competition, his eight eyes watching my every- you know what? We’re going to stop there.

               “Well,” I say finally, “I’m never going back to that room. Should we get something to eat?”

              I put on some pink slippers over my 

pink toenails, and we walk out of our hotel room to go into the kitchenette in between all of the rooms. She stands on the very tips of her toes to reach up and grab two bananas with her left hand, one for me and one for her. After she passes me a banana, she walks over to the condiments and pulls out the ketchup. She adds just a little bit of ketchup to the top of her banana, and then takes a small bite. 

            There’s no way, I think to myself. How can she know?    

“What?” she asks accusingly, “Does it look disgusting?”

              I shake my head, taking the ketchup out of her hands. I add a little bit of ketchup to the top of my own banana, like I’ve done since I was a child, and take a big but curtious bite. 

             “I like ketchup on my banana too,” I shrug.

              Who knew we were so much alike? We’re basically the same person!

                                        *****

              I discover that time really does fly when you’re having fun. We spend the rest of our week enjoying the hot rock massages, the ones that we both were looking forward to, and the sunny beaches that we could see from the window. Which, by the way, I catch the fact that her room has the better view, something she lords in my face. But we do become fast friends, and as we stand outside the gate for boarding, we program each other’s numbers into our phones. 

   “Best friends forever, right?” I ask her. She smiles at me. 

   “Of course,” she says, hugging me. Then, finally, to the amusement of the rest of the passengers, we board the plane back home.