It's All About You ⌘ Joe Sugg ✓

Chapter 46

"Well... That turned out to be a pretty shitty trip if you ask me." Joe says as our tiny mosquito plane rumbles down the unkempt tarmac of the local airport. I snort in agreement and keep my eyes fixed on the buildings and trees rushing past the window. What was supposed to be the party of a lifetime turned into perhaps the worst few days of my life.

"Do you think the internet is going to find out about this?" I say, my mind speculating about how they would react already. I am sure they would be supportive, however I would rather leave this whole thing behind me.

"I don't know... As far as I know there isn't any published story about it, but there could be something on the internet. If so, we'll soon find out." I nod while he speaks, knowing that he's right. It would only be a matter of time before one tiny scrap of news would accumulate into something widespread.

It's Thursday morning now and our flight is on course for London. It gives me a sense of comfort to know that we're going home - back to my slightly messy but organized apartment where I can truly relax. I brush my fingers gently over the cut on my stomach and the stinging feeling is now reduced to a tingle. Even when the pain is entirely gone from it the cut will remain a scar for the rest of my life - it will be a constant reminder of the man who did it to me.

Despite having a deep, uninterupted sleep at the hotel the night before, I still feel exhausted. As the plane glides over the channel between the island and the mainland, my head droops over to Joe's shoulder and I fall asleep effortlessly.

~~

The plane lands and Joe drags me down the aisle, while I struggle to keep my eyes open. Both of us only had one small carryon so it doesn't take us long to go through arrivals at Heathrow. In no time at all we are outside, back on the dirty pavement of London's busiest terminal.

"I wander where Caspar is... He's supposed to be picking us up." Joe says while fiddling with his phone. Caspar is not one to be dead on time so I am not surprised that he is late. However, just as Joe starts dialing his number I see his skody old car roll up to the pick up station with Caspar grinning behind the wheel. We both see him and rush towards the car with our luggage trailing behind us.

Caspar gets out the car and consumes Joe in a massive bearhug which looks like it could break a rib. I'm sure Joe is used to it though because his arms are gripping him just as tight. If I didn't know better I would say Jaspar is real. They retract from their manhug and Caspar turns to wrap me in his slothlike arms. He is squeezing so hard that my cut is starting to throb from the pressure.

"Caspar! I'm injured here, remember?" I manage to sputter out even though my lungs are being compressed - he immediately lets me go.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!" He sounds genuinely scared that he was hurting me, but I just laugh and wave him off. Joe and I put our bags in the trunk and climb into the car, ready to finally return home.

When our apartment block comes into view the grand pillars and whitewashed walls bring a smile to my face. Although we've only been gone for a few days it truly feels like a lifetime has passed. Joe and I lug our bags to the lift with Laura and Caspar trailing behind us, asking constant questions about my police interrogation. I tell them everything I feel comfortable admitting - everything except that menacing smirk and piercing gaze which haunts my nightmares.

The lift rumbles up to our floor and that sinking feeling that overtakes my stomach has an uncanny resemblance to what I felt a few days ago. In those few moments where I came to the conclusion that I might die. I shake my head discretey, trying to physically rid myself of those thoughts.

I part ways with Joe and the rest of the gang in the hallway - I need to quickly go back to my apartment, my bag dragging behind me. I open the door and am relieved to see that the place looks untouched - meaning there was no unwanted visitors while we were away. Clothes are still draped over the couch and an empty coffee mug still stands in the sink. I never was the domestic type.