DEMI
I scrunch my nose at the smell of the strange metallic scent of travel that clings to every terminal in the world. Anna and I are seated in one of the chairs at the airport, near Gate 14. While she sits calmly, I stare at the huge window that looks out over the runway. My foot taps uncontrollably against the floor, like it has a life of its own.
My run my sweaty palms over my jeans and heave a breath. Why does every second feel like agony? When Anna notices how tensed I am, her hand lands on my thigh in a soft, steady pat.
"Hey," she murmurs, squeezing gently. "You're going to drill a hole through the floor at this rate."
"I can't help it," I whisper. My voice sounds less confident than I meant it to.
