The Writer 'Enjoys' A Bumpy Ride

The breakfast I had in the morning was firmly lodged in my throat, but I never threw up – courtesy of my father’s stainless steel stomach.

I could feel my body temperature dropping steadily, like it always does when I’m agitated, scared, terrified – all those pleasant things.

There was a small corner of comfort, though, even though my brain wouldn’t admit it, Raine’s hand was pleasantly warm.

I cracked open an eye, and saw that he was completely unperturbed. Mr. High and Might was keeping his cool on a violently shaking plane, whilst I was turning green and several people around me were…eugh, barfing.

When a bitter smell reached my nostrils, I felt the urge to get up and run, but instead I did something that always worked when I was with mama.

I buried my head in his shoulder, and found that he actually smelled … nice.

“I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

I nodded meekly, continuing to (trying) ignore the sick sounds coming from all around me, and silently begged it to stop.

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