Page 2 of Leave Me Behind
The other guy is also dressed in black with his hood pulled up, but he’s staring out the window. He doesn’t seem concerned about his surroundings. I stand there, annoyed, but people are already getting impatient behind me, so I settle for the middle seat.God, I hate flying.Everyone is angry and tired and so,sogoddamn rude.
The aisle guy doesn’t bother moving his legs or lifting his head, so I swallow the curse words building in the back of my throat and try maneuvering around him. I’m already regretting wearing the thin black leggings I threw on this morning as my thighs brush his knees. In hindsight, I should’ve worn sweatpants.
As I’m stepping around his feet, my back foot gets caught between his and I fall forward. My backpack falls into window-seat guy’s lap and aisle-seat guy half catches me with a strong hand that splays over the center of my stomach; the other is wrapped around my inner thigh.
Instinctively, I snap out of his hold and shoot him a death glare. It’s short-lived. Because now that he’s looking up at me, I can see his lovely face. There is a frosty edge that radiates from his pale blue eyes. The set of his sharp jaw and blank expression don’t add any warmth to his demeanor. A thin one-inch scar resides beneath his left eye, making him appear tired. Another crosses the bridge of his nose and two small scars rib his lower lip on the right side, almost appearing like piercings. The hollows of his cheeks are lined with muscle that defines the bone structure. He’s easily the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
My senses return to me as I remember that civilians won’t take kindly to my trained responses of profiling.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Thanks,” I say as casually as I can before sitting in the center seat. He doesn’t respond and leans his head back against his chair. I glance at him and see sound-canceling headphones peeking out from beneath his hood. I don’t think twice about the small encounter. I just want to get this final flight over with so I can sleep before the nightmare begins tomorrow. The window-seat guy gives me a brief smile and hands me my bag. “Sorry about that,” I mutter, not bothering to look any higher than his lips.
I pull out my own sound-blocking headphones and shove my backpack under the seat before getting comfortable. Well, as comfortable as one can get on an airplane. I loathe flying, always have and always will. Anxiety used to pulse through my veins when I’d get on a plane, but I’ve been trained rotten out of the fear of it.
It’s a six-hour flight to California. At some point, I fall asleep and am startled awake by turbulence.
Alertness instantly snaps me into focus before I recall that I’m not on a chopper. Any rivets in the air set me off. I’ve grown used to sleeping light. I snap my head up and look around urgently, pulling my headphones down around my neck as I blink away the drowsiness from my nap. I find that everyone is either silently reading, watching a movie, or sleeping.
Relieved, I look at the window seat passenger next to me. He’s staring at me with a curious expression. My eyes widen as I take him in. It’s dimly lit in here, but even if it was completely dark, I’d still be able to tell that he’s handsome and,wait…I could swear he was sitting in the aisle seat before I fell asleep. Black hair peeks out from under the rim of his charcoal gray beanie, matching his dark brows. His eyes are a darker, softer blue than they were earlier.
But there’s no scar under his left eye, across his nose, or on his bottom lip.
“I’m sorry, weren’t you sitting in the aisle seat earlier?” I ask him hesitantly. He doesn’t look like the nicest guy. So I’m surprised when he drops the analytical stare and gives me a small smirk.
“Nope. That’s my twin,” he says smoothly. His voice is husky and pleasant. Not too high, not too low, but perfectly in the middle.
I’m struck by his charm; it takes me a moment to collect my thoughts. “Oh.” My brows knit and he seems amused by that.Twins?His eyes flick down to my lips and then back to my gaze. Is he a model? He certainly could be one. I’m eager to ask him questions that I normally wouldn’t. There’s something inviting about his wry smirk that taunts me.It reminds me of Sergeant Jenkins.I quickly push the thought down—thinking of Jenkins only brings a deep ache to my heart.
“Yeah, he doesn’t talk much, unlike me.” He winks. “But that turbulence spooked you, huh? You were passed out cold with your head on my shoulder.” He chuckles, and my heavy soul lifts a bit.
Hold on—I didwhat?
Heat races to my cheeks and I lean as far away from him as I can in my seat, feeling entirely too close and embarrassed. But there’s no escape, our thighs are literally touching.
I’m mortified. “I’m so sorry.”
He chuckles lightly and shrugs. “It’s fine; I just wasn’t expecting it. You must be tired from traveling. What’s your final destination?” My heart flutters with that boyish grin he shoots me. His lashes are long and thick, making those ocean eyes all the more irresistible. He looks to be in his late twenties.
“I don’t think you can sayfinal destinationon a plane.” I return the charm with the movie reference and let a small laugh slip. “Coronado, Cali. You?”
He shifts in his seat to face me more as he grins devilishly at my comment.
“Same, actually. I travel a lot for work, so I’m used to long flights.”
I nod, thinking better of mentioning that I am too.
He takes my pause as me not wanting to respond, so he mutters, “Eren.”
“Huh?” I glance back up at him and he smiles softly again.
“My name is Eren.”
“Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Eren. I’m Nellie.” I use my nickname instead of my formal name. I offer him my hand awkwardly. Do people still shake hands? I’m used to saluting. Everything feels surreal out here on the civilian side.
It’s not like I’ve had time to familiarize myself with society. I showed my true colors to the world when I was orphaned at fifteen. That’s when the underground military faction first laid their hands on me. It’s been ten years since then.
That’s how you come to be in the company of elite killing machines. The dark forces take people like me who did something unspeakable and put us to use, rather than throwing us in prison. We don’t exist, not on paper. We’ve been long forgotten by the people we used to know.
