Inhabited

Chapter 11

My stomach growls, reminding me it's been a while since I've last ate. Exactly how long, I don't know. I pat my pockets, but my phone isn't there. And my carry-on bag isn't with me. I'm sure it has my phone in it, but exactly where it is, I don't know.

I look around the area we've hauled up in for the time being. I don't see Nate anywhere, or even Sully. The guy who had helped me breathe is just feet away, crouched and helping someone else. A twinge shoots through me and I grit my teeth. But it's dumb that I even feel an ounce of jealousy. I have a boyfriend, one who wants to marry me. Why the hell am I even concerned about some rando that saved me?

My phone. Right. Snapping my attention back to myself and my device, I look around again. A few people sob. A little girl sits against the trunk of a tree, a gash sliced across her forehead. It's stopped bleeding by now, but she's still sobbing and I know that has got to still hurt. A woman sits next to her, wrapping an arm around the little shoulders and presses her lips to the girl's head.

Pulling my eyes away from the two, they fall on the opening that gives view to the puff of smoke still billowing into the sky. Black smoke, yet to puff out. My fingers twitch, but I'm not stupid enough to even try sneaking off to go and find my phone in that mess. Yet, anyway. i'll have to wait until the smoke clears up, when it turns white to tell me its out. Then, I'll slip away as long as nobody is watching me.

Knowing my brothers, they'll eventually sit me with a babysitter because they claim to be unable to trust me. Yeah, well, they aren't entirely wrong.

I just want my phone back. I want to call for help or something. I want to do something to help. Instead of just having breathing issues and making other people worried and scared for my life. That's not fair when they have others to watch out for plus their own selves. I need to worry about me and that's that. But my brothers and Maisie are always so adamant on making me be watched when it comes to certain things.

And this is no doubt going to make them overreact. It's a little bit annoying if you ask me.

Shaking my head, I have to pull myself from the tumbling thoughts once more and take a seat again at finding myself standing, lingering like a goof. I can feel eyes on me, scrutinizing my every move. Probably people my siblings asked to watch me. Or its them as is. Might even be my paranoia. At this point, I don't think it really even matters.

Rubbing my chest, I lean back cautiously. When I feel nothing behind me, I let myself sink to the ground and look up into the green canopy. It swirls a little, giving puffs of blue here and there. My stomach growls on reminder, desperate for food.

Pushing myself back to a sitting position, my eyes scan the people milling about. A few cough, some rub soot off their faces, but a small group in particular catches my eye. They look around my age and are huddled together. Five of them, maybe a couple more. As they move around one another, I lose track of counting them at least twice so I give up. But it's a decent sized group and I swear they're my age. I could be wrong. I've been wrong about it before. I'm not tall for my age, but I'm not entirely too short either. Medium sized, is what Grayson has always said about me. The perfect steak. Which is his strange way of trying to convince me I shouldn't be ashamed of my size. But when you can reach half of the cabinets but not the other half, sometimes it is a bit embarrassing. At least shorties don't have the differences in what they can or can't reach. They either can't or they can, there is no in between. Tall people can reach it all. No in between there either. Me, though? I'm right smack in the middle and have to play to see what's within my reach.

Wiping myself off, I start toward the group. They're laughing. Even though they all look pretty beat up and a bit wore out. They're still laughing, probably relieved that they still have each other. My head throbs, but I try to ignore it. Because now isn't the time to let myself crumble. My stomach churns. I can't tell the difference if it's because of the pain radiating through my body or the hunger trying to rip through me.

As I draw closer, their laughter fades and eyes dart up to me. Frowns replace the smiles and I know I've interrupted something, but it's too late to stop myself now.

"Can we help you?" The girl closest to me asks once I reach hearing distance.

I grimace at her sneer. "Do any of you have food?" I blurt, feeling the heat on my cheeks from the question.

She blinks, quirking an eyebrow. "Where were you sitting?"

My eyebrows furrow. "Huh?"

"Where were you sitting?" She repeats, but her words are slower this time, emphasized like I couldn't understand them the first time. "In the plane."

I understood very well the first time. I just don't get why she asked that question. "I – ugh-" an alarm suddenly blared in my head, yanking the words back before they could form upon my tongue.

My gaze flickered down their clothes. They were torn, but I couldn't be sure it was even from the crash itself. They all looked dirty, a few covered in soot, their shoulders tight. It was the hardness of their eyes that drew me back. I recognized the steely gazes from kids on my block growing up. The ones who went to the local public school, always sneering at me when I left the house in my school uniform.

"The ugh – economy section." I lie.

"We didn't see you." The girl narrows her eyes.

I square my shoulders and jut my chin out at her. "Did you see everybody though? There's a lot of seats on the plane. I didn't see you either, I could've been in front of you or behind you for all you know. And for all I know too."

She crosses her arms, pursing her lips. After a moment, her shoulders drop and she unfolds her arms, holding her hands up. "Alright, you've got a point there. It's not like we looked at everyone's faces." She laughs.

My chest tightens and I wheeze a little, rubbing at my chest again.

"You okay there?" One of the guys ask.

I shake my head as my vision blurs, but only for a moment, clearing up when I blink a few times. "I just – I have asthma and the smoke..." I trail off, waving a hand as if that's going to do any good on my explanation.

But they nod as if they understand anyway and I exhale roughly in relief. But great. I watch as the boy pulls his bag forward and pulls out a chewy granola bar with chunks of chocolate chip. I have to hold myself back from preening at the store brand label. Beggars can't exactly be choosers right now. Can they?