60 Nothing

I do remember a rather blurry memory of saying 'yes' to something in my drug-induced stupor and someone calling me 'Emira' to get past the airport security.

I also remember crying and saying something repeatedly against the lines of "I want to get out of here" and "I want to go home".

There was a really muggy conversation from someone next to me that I can't recall along with some questions from airport security that was bypassed with my answers that I can't remember either.

"Miss?" the flight attendant called again.

Her voice immediately drags me from my morbid thoughts.

I realized that I was probably wasting her time sitting here with my head in the clouds since all the other flight attendants were staring at us.

I'm sure they probably thought that I was either crazy or a prostitute.

Notice how both options were rather grim.

"Where is this?" I asked after clearing my throat awkwardly.

My lips were dry and cracked from lack of water ever since the whole kidnapping incident.

And I don't consider semen to be water.

Gross.

Thank God that none of it got in my mouth.

"We are in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan at Manas International Airport. Do you need help with that?" she politely asked with patience, that I clearly didn't have, after noticing me fumble with the seat belt like an idiot.

Please excuse the fact that my brain was currently on a leave of absence.

I shook my head, watching my dirty matted hair flap about in front of my face before I finally unbuckled the seat belt.

I shakily got back onto my feet, almost stumbling onto my face because my legs were rather numb from sitting for so long.

Offhandedly, she made a move to catch me but pulled her hand back as quick as she had made that gesture.

And I can't really blame her for it. Just one look at me and I bet that most people would shy away too.

My cheeks burned hot with embarrassment, probably 10 shades of red at my mortifying predicament.

"Ky...Kyr..Kyrgyz..." I stuttered, trying to repeat the word and failing rather miserably.

"It's Kyrgyzstan," she repeated before motioning towards the open door of the aircraft, where the other attendants were waiting patiently in an orderly manner.

Kyrgyzstan?

Where the hell is that?

"..." I wanted to ask again but I'm sure that I will still have no clue as to where this is anyways, so I didn't say anything after that.

Geography was never my strong point.

I forgot everything I didn't use after I left school.

Glancing around at all the empty luggage storage compartments, I was unsure of how to proceed.

Because it was obvious that Zanthos didn't want to give me anything to work with.

There was nothing in my pockets after I dug through it in hopes of finding something—anything.

No money.

No phone.

No identification.

Nothing.

.

.

.

I don't even know how I managed to walk off the airplane and into the airport.

My mind was still slightly buzzed from the after-effects of the drugs and thinking took more effort than I had thought.

Shakily, I managed to seat myself on one of the waiting chairs.

I noted how everyone stared slightly before quickly diverting their gaze.

This made me wonder what the people sitting next to me said or did when they realized that I was their seating partner.

I sighed deeply, shaking my head to clear the drowsiness that just wouldn't let me concentrate.

On top of everything, I had no passport.

This means that it was impossible to get back on a plane and head back home unless I miraculously sneak in with the luggage.

But that's probably not going to work.

So in other words, I am stranded.

Now that I think about it, I should have just stayed on the plane and refused to leave until they take me back.

But then again, they might just call security and drag me out like they did to that one guy on the news.

I was stranded in the middle of nowhere in a country whose name I can't even pronounce!

What kind of cruel joke is this?