Freeze/Flight

Content Warnings: Violence/Crime Themes, Language

Ruby hugged her backpack tighter and lifted it, shifting to keep from kicking the kid peeking into the aisle. He kept shouting “doggie” and pointing, undeterred even as she blocked his view.

The  German Shepherd growled, and flicked an ear in the kid’s direction. Otherwise, he seemed committed to ignoring the noise. He rested his muzzle on the man next to him. 

Mr. Black Glasses—the kind either douchebags or blind people wore indoors—exhaled sharply, clearly tuning the kid out.

Ruby reached Row F. She shoved her bag into the overhead compartment, and sized up her flight neighbors.

The window seat: redhead, young, engrossed in her Kindle.

The aisle: Typical gym bro. Tank top that left him more naked than clothed.

Ruby glanced at his arms—no needle marks. If he was on steroids, he was injecting them somewhere else.

But… something didn’t fit.

He sat too straight. Not the lazy sprawl of a guy who knew he took up space, but rigid, disciplined. Shoulders squared, feet planted.

Weird.

A loud crunch snapped her out of it. Protein bar.

She scoffed and slid into the middle seat. The worst seat.

The already-tiny economy seat felt even smaller thanks to Mr. Gym Rat, who had claimed the armrest and half her leg space.

Sucked. But at least she had a ticket.

Her father got arrested the day before. Naturally, those twenty hours that followed weren’t much time to pack a life, choose what to take, and what to leave behind, besides the key—but she had to.

Took as much money as she could, got the new passport and booked a flight as deep in Asia as she found. 

In another ten hours—if she wasn't apprehended—she would be Ruby no more. 

And she'd be free.

Hard part was over too, right? She was past customs already.

Inhaling, she took a headphone case out of her pockets. She exhaled as she fumbled with the seat belt, while clutching the plastic case. 

When she was fastened, she took both headphones out. She started with the left—because her superstitions were inverted. 

But when she went to the right, she fumbled. Her fingers trembled, and she dropped the right one. 

It fell–first on the gym bro's thigh, then on the grey carpet. 

Ruby glanced at the guy—still crunching on his protein bar, typing one-handed on his phone.

He saw the dropped headphone—but went back to typing. Just like that.

And she pressed her lips together, holding back every insult she could think of. 

Who sees a neighbor struggling and just… ignores it? What was she supposed to do, then?  Try to reach it with her foot? Bend over his thighs? 

It escaped her—a click of her tongue.

He looked up, meeting Ruby’s eyes. 

Shit. 

He raised an eyebrow, as if he heard all those insults that were still floating in her mind.

No choice anymore, right? She had to ask. 

Assessing him again, she weighed him like the kind of the guy who loved a damsel in distress. So she cleared her throat.

“Would you—please—mind getting that for me? It's so far away.” She pointed to the ground.

“I would.” He looked back at his phone.

Ruby froze, with her finger in the air and her mouth gaped open. He was the reason she hated the gym. 

“Well, then…” 

She pushed his knee with her own, and bent her body forward. Trying to bypass his legs, she extended her hand. She stretched her fingers toward the headphone—just as his shoe nudged it, shoving it farther out of reach.

She rose. “Hey!”

The redhead turned, both her eyebrows to her hairline. 

Ruby cleared her throat, as she looked at the girl.

“Sorry, I was talking to him.” She pointed towards the aisle seat, and turned her head again. “Why are you being a dick?”

He swallowed the last bite of his bar and crushed the foil in his fist. 

“I don’t like strangers,” he said, kneading the wrapper.

“I’m…M…” Ruby stalled. The name on the passport—she couldn’t remember it. She closed her eyes, picturing the page. “Maddie!” She cleared her throat. “See? We’re practically friends.”

He gave the foil a last dramatic squeeze, before jamming it in the pocket of the seat in front of him. “Smooth, Maddie.”

Ruby’s hand twitched. For a split second, she considered smacking him. Instead, she redirected the motion into a casual eyebrow scratch, like that had been the plan all along.

“I—”

“Violent too, huh?”

She exhaled through her nose. “Can you just give me my headphone?”

He paused. Narrowed his eyes. “Nah.”

“You little…” 

“Actually, you know what?” He paused. “I will.” He pointed at her face. “If you tell me why you have a bruised cheek.” 

Ruby cupped her right cheek, heat rushing under her palm. She couldn’t exactly say she’d taken a Glock to the face.

But for the headphone, she could come up with something.

“Fine.” She sighed. “My sister punched me when I told her I was moving away.”

“Moving to Indonesia?” he asked, smirking.

“The deal was one question.”

He tilted his head. “Fair.”

He plucked the headphone off the floor and held it out. But as Ruby reached for it, her eyes flicked to the inside of his wrist—where ink curved along his skin in a pattern she knew all too well.

Only a certain type of people had that tattoo. And she was not stereotyping.

She just knew them.

And yet… something was off again. The ink was fresh. It sat neatly on his skin—not faded like the ones she was used to.

She took the headphone from his palm, rolling it between her fingers, as if considering.

He looked at his own wrist and smirked. “So that means I can ask another question?” 

She opened her mouth, but the dings from the airplane speaker interrupted her.

Ruby laid her head back as she listened to the safety instructions. 

She registered none of it, of course. All she could think was getting off the plane, even if it hadn't taken off yet.

After the flight attendant was done, Ruby rummaged through her fanny pack. She should've had some sanitizer, she carried it everywhere.

The man looked at Ruby again. “Really though, are you moving with just that backpack?” 

Ruby pulled a small bottle out. “You talk a lot for someone that doesn't like strangers.” 

“I'm Jason.” He waved his hand between the Two of them. “See? Practically friends.”

Not very bright, then. 

“I have checked luggage, you know,” she said, as she suffocated the headphone in hand sanitizer.

She didn't need all of it, though. The stick in the lining of her jacket was enough.

“But I could live with just the backpack, if I wanted.”

Jason laughed. Deep, and too serious for the small joke. Her fingers curled, squeezing, until sanitizer oozed from between them.

“It wasn’t that funny.”

“Mhm,” he said. “Just looks like you’re running from something.”

Her mouth twitched, but she forced a shrug. “Maybe someone.”

“Your sister?”

Ruby snorted. She didn’t have one. But she thought of the laptop at her father's house. Probably already in custody, cracked open, waiting to spit out whatever it knew.

That was something to run from.

Yes, that could be her sister.

“Yeah.” 

She cleared her throat. It would spill nothing. Nothing without the stick. And that was about to be planted with a teak sprout in Indonesia.

“Ok, now it’s my turn. Why are you flying to Indonesia?”

Jason scratched the back of his neck. “Looking for someone.”

By the look on his face—a woman. Ruby raised her eyebrows.

“What don’t people do for love?”

“Not as much as they do for money.”

Ruby cleared her throat, staring straight ahead. No flight attendant in sight. No ding of an upcoming announcement. Even the kid had gone silent. The world felt too still for a moment, and she hated that.

Jason turned his wrist absentmindedly, letting the ink catch the dim cabin light. It should’ve looked cheap. Most gang tats did. But something about it…

“What about you?” Jason asked. “Running for love or money?”

It didn't seem like a joke.

Ruby smirked, forcing herself to lean back. She was at ease. She had to be.

“Oh, you know. A little of both.”

Jason hummed, his gaze dipping lower before meeting her eyes again. A flicker passed over his face.

For a split second, Ruby almost rolled her eyes—until something cold rolled through her gut.

He wasn’t looking at her chest. He was watching her hand.

Her fingers had curled, gripping the fabric right over the USB. Instinct. Stupid.

She relaxed, smoothing her palm over the leather like she was adjusting it. Jason didn’t say anything, but the silence stretched. Long enough to feel intentional.

Then, he smirked. Like he’d just confirmed something.

She exhaled through her nose, playing it off. “Anyway, you never said who you’re looking for.”

“Someone slippery. Searched for her a long time.”

Her nails dug into her palm.

Jason yawned, stretching one arm overhead. “Hope she doesn’t get too far.”

A flight attendant stopped at their row. “Just checking seat belts.”

Jason leaned, saying something to her. Ruby couldn’t hear it. But whatever it was, the flight attendant just nodded—and walked off. No seatbelt check.

Jason turned to Ruby, expression casual. “Hey, let me check yours too.”

His fingers brushed the buckle. Click. Unfastened.

She barely had time to react before he leaned in, voice just for her.

“Crazy that you got it past customs, didn’t you think?”

Her breath caught. And she looked him in the eyes. How could she not see it? The calm, the certainty. Like he knew her.

Jason didn’t grab her. Didn’t make a scene.

He just rested his arm against her side, his wrist pressing against the exact spot in her jacket.

“It’s here, isn’t it, Ruby?”

Her face burned. 

She caught his wrist. “You can’t just touch me—”

Jason exhaled. “You think I don’t already know what you’re carrying?”

Ruby’s grip tightened. Bluff. Had to be.

But then he whispered again—

“We flipped the laptop an hour ago. Didn't need this,” he gripped the fabric.

Then, Jason let go. Leaned back, easy.

"Sorry," he said. "This plane isn't taking off with you on it."

Ruby sat still.

Nothing. She felt nothing at all. Not shock, not fear. Just a slow, creeping certainty that getting away had been delusion.

“The German Shepherd is a K-9, isn’t he?”

Jason nodded.

Cops must’ve loved damsels in distress. And Ruby bit her cheek. She's never been the damsel. 

Just slippery distress.