thank fuck you were the result of two anxiety ridden ER surgeons, because if they didn’t pack your suitcase full of bandages and disinfectants and what not, you probably wouldn’t have made it out alive.

when the plane crashed, a huge shard of metal dug into your skin and left you with a huge, gaping gash on your thigh, vomit rising in your throat as you looked at it.

you helped the others push the door open, holding your leg with one arm and limping around desperately to find your suitcase. something dripped down your pale face, and you couldn’t tell if it was sweat, tears or blood.

after what felt like hours of searching, you collapsed onto the ground next to your suitcase and opened it with trembling hands. it seemed like it only just hit you that the plane fucking crashed, and you started shaking all over and sobbing, almost choking as you rummaged feverishly through your bag.

eventually coming across the supplies your parents had packed for you, you looked back down at your thigh and let out another sob of desperation. what the fuck did you do to deserve this?

you tried, wiping the wound and attempting to disinfect it but your hands were so shaky that half of it was wasted. eventually you just gave in, collapsing back against a tree and gagging on your own tears like you had nothing left to give.

thank fuck for natalie. luckily she’d made it out with as much as a few bruises and minor cuts, and had been panicking in trying to find you.

you and nat had been in a relationship, secret relationship, for a few months and you knew just how much she’d give to know you made it out alive.

“can’t even stitch yourself up.” natalie snickered softly, trying to hide how worried she was upon hearing your terrified sobs and heavy breathing.

she kneeled down next to you, confusion flashing over her face as she had no fucking clue how to do this. she looked up at you with concern.

“baby, hey you’ll be fine.” she said, squeezing your hand gently. “tell me what do do. it’s okay, i’ve got you.”