Chapter Text
“Enough is enough. You’re nineteen years old. Stop acting like a child and come home, little bird.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Come on, Raven, it’s time to stop pretending that you belong anywhere but Ark. Deep down you know it’s true. Ark will always be your home, and you know it. Just turn the car around and—”
“I’m never going back there, Nygel. You hear me? Never. So go ahead. Close my accounts. Send your dogs after me. Call the cops. Do whatever the hell you want, but just know this,” Raven glanced at the stack of manila folders sitting in the passenger seat, “One day, I’ll tell someone the truth about you and your ‘Reputable Foster Home’.”
With that, she hung up, not interested to hear any of the threats Nygel was sure to respond with. She had heard them all before.
Her nerves were on fire, adrenaline sparking up and down her veins, exploding in her heart. Fingers drummed up and down the Jeep’s steering wheel anxiously. Adjusting the rearview mirror, she made sure no cars were following her. None were. An elated, surprised laugh bubbled out of her, and she cranked the dial of the radio until the music was as loud as her excitement.
She was really doing this.
She was really running away.
“Sir. I’m going to need you to step out of the bathroom.”
Bellamy cursed under his breath. “Give me a minute, would you?”
“Sir, the plane is about to begin its descent and we need you to please take your seat, immediately.”
We? Why did airline stewardesses always seem to speak in the plural?
Wincing, he applied the last bit of concealer to his cheek. The bruises had faded to an ugly yellow, hints of purple still lingering in the middle and near the edges. His nose still hurt whenever he touched it. It started bleeding again twenty minutes ago, which was why he locked himself in the bathroom for so long in the first place.
He shrugged the plain US ARMY sweatshirt back on, tucking his dog tags beneath his one-size-too-small white undershirt. No matter what he wore, nothing seemed to fit like it should anymore. Normal clothes seemed to stick onto his body strangely, sticking out at weird angles or not clinging to where they needed to. Bellamy wasn’t sure if he would ever get used wearing anything that wasn’t his uniform.
“Sir. If you do not open this door in the next—”
He unlocked the door and slid it open. “Okay, okay, I’m out. Happy?”
“Always.” The stewardess’ lips curled upward into a tight, practiced smile. He could have sworn he saw her pearly white’s glimmer like she was in a toothpaste commercial. “Now, if you could please take your seat.”
Bellamy made his way to his seat, climbing over not one, but two screaming kids, an old, sleeping man whose teeth were slipping out of his mouth, and an annoyed man with grease stains on his Cool Story Babe, Go Make Me A Sandwich t-shirt fighting with his frustrated (in probably more ways than one) girlfriend.
Buckling his seat, Bellamy leaned his head back and sighed tiredly. It wasn’t that he hated third-class. He just wanted to get off this plane as soon as possible.
Being in the air brought back too many memories. Bellamy closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He tried to focus on the screaming children instead of the sound of helicopters and yelled orders threatening to overcome his senses again.