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Heather tried to ignore it. She really did.
Sure, being in a rickety old plane stuck with people who hate her and barely eating anything wasn’t the best of conditions, and she didn’t pack enough of her medication so she had to break them into smaller pieces in order for them to last, but she was getting by.
At least, that’s what she thought.
Heather crosses her arms, glaring at the very people who tried to eliminate her. The air was thick with tension, and it felt like if anyone said something it would end in Heather strangling someone. Which would be good for television, but she held restraint at scolding her teammates.
She watches as Gwen rubs her hand, still in pain from being stabbed with an epipen as Courtney sits next to her and observes the wound quietly. She notices Cody sleeping already in a ball, sucking his own thumb as Sierra sighs adoringly and starts to play with his hair.
Heather finds herself reaching up to touch her new golden tooth. She had expected it to have fallen off already, given the shows barebones budget, but it stayed firmly on. Maybe once she leaves this mess of a show she could sell it and get an actual replacement tooth. Or maybe keep it. She didn’t mind how it looked on her.
She winces however as she feels something strange on her body. Her head whips down, but finds no vermin on her. Heather’s eyes narrow in annoyance, but the feeling comes back. Again, and again. This time it’s stronger.
Her body locks up as she realizes what’s happening. No, no, no, no. She did everything in her power to prevent this, why now!? And to have it in front of her teammates and on live television is even more terrifying.
She needs to hide.
Courtney eyes her in confusion as she jolts up, body tense. “Are you okay? Did something bite you?” She asks as Heather stares back like a deer in headlights and steels her nerves, despite her growing panic.
“No, I’m fine. I don’t need to be coddled, unlike Gwen.” Heather responds, staring daggers at Gwen as she looks up and gives Heather a nasty look. Courtneys look of worry sours into a scowl as she scoffs and turns back to face Gwen, likely to shit talk about Heather, but she doesn’t care.
She notices out the corner of her eye as Alejandro stares at her, eyes strangely aglow with worry. Heather stares back at him, also noticing Noah glance at her with confusion. She pauses for a moment, almost feeling stuck before shaking her head and running off.
They can’t know.
They’ll hate her for it.
Heather quickly walks down to cargo hold, her chest tightening in fear as she falls to her knees, spasming. Her hands fly to her arms, as she starts to erratically scratch at them. She can feel them crawl and writhe inside of her, squirming and wriggling under her skin and in her organs and it makes her want to puke.
“You can feel them, can’t you?”
Her breath hitches as her sharp nails break into her skin, blood starting to drip onto the metal floor. She can’t stop. She needs to get them out of her skin. Heather chokes out a small cry as she curls into a ball, feeling the sensation move to her back.
“Get them out. Get them out. Before they crawl and rip and tear at your organs and everyone sees you for the pathetic monster you are.”
Heather tries her best to sit up, her hair sprawled over her face and blood covering her arms as she combs through the pile of luggage. She eventually finds her own bag, a leopard print duffel bag with encrusted gems, and opens it and starts to dig through her perfectly organized bag.
And she finds what she wants. What she needs. In a small bag, she pulls out a razor blade. She had promised herself that she would stop. That she wouldn’t “spoil” her body with those ugly wounds when her mom found out she was cutting herself. But Heathers desperate, desperate to rid herself of the bugs that are crawling all over her and in her and be normal like everyone else.
Well, as normal as cutting yourself because of your “freakouts” could be.
She peels off the paper cover, revealing the perfectly sharpened blade underneath. Heather catches her reflection in the sparkling blade, and she looks pathetic. Almost as pathetic as the time she tried to overdose after getting publicly humiliated after the first season of this stupid show.
Heather carefully places the blade between her fingers, pulling up her shorts to reveal her own scarred skin. Her own old scars, from years before stare at her, almost mocking her and enticing her.
“Come on. You know what you have to do. Don’t fight it.”
She takes a sharp breath in as she glides the blade across her thigh, feeling it cut deep into her skin. Blood gushes out, falling down her legs and onto the floor.
But the feeling stays. It’s not enough.
So she does it again. And again. Cutting into her own flesh hoping, praying that this feeling can leave her. Tears fall from her face, mixing with the blood on the ground as she sinks the blade back into her thighs.
And she finds release. Release from the stress of being back on this pathetic failure of a shitshow, from her annoying teammates, from that stupid new contestant Alejandro she has a strange fondness for, from everything. It all melts away as she leaves deep cut after deep cut into her own body.
Heather drops the blood covered razor on the floor, her right hand thoroughly soaked in blood. She sits in a pile of her own blood and tears, combing her fingers through her hair in order to calm herself as she cries. A sharp, pathetic cry leaves her mouth as she stares at the mess she’s made.
And she was supposed to be perfect.
What a joke.
She grabs a towel from her bag, something she packed in case this very thing happened, and starts to clean the pool of blood before it stains the other bags. Heather needs to make it look like nothing ever happened in this room, to her. What would they think of her when they realized she was nothing but an insane child who wasn’t given enough love? Everyone would laugh at her, they would never take her seriously again.
She can’t let that happen. Ever.
After cleaning the blood on the floor, she moves to cleaning her own wounds. She’s done this many times before, so the process is nothing new to her. She makes sure to clean the wounds well with alcohol, as getting the wounds infected would let everyone know how pathetic she is. And she could get septic and die from it. That also.
The sting of the alcohol reacting with her raw flesh on her arms and the cuts on her thighs almost revitalizes her, the process falling into a familiar rhythm. She wraps her arms and thighs in gauze and bandages, making sure that they won’t fall. She pulls a hoodie from her bag, and puts it on, perfectly hiding her wounds. She throws the bloody items in a plastic trash bag, closing it and stuffing back into her luggage.
Heather shakily stands up, putting her hair into a short ponytail. No one will know. They will never know.
That all falls apart when she turns around and finds Alejandro staring at her, eyes wide in shock.
“Heather?”
Fuck.
Her body tenses up in fear and rage as she tries to call him out, insult and threaten him into never telling anyone about this. But all that comes out is a small choke, as her resolve crumbles. Her body collapses on the floor as Alejandro swiftly catches her from hitting her head, bombarding her questions. “Heather! Mi amor, are you okay? What happened to you? Did you get hurt?”
She shoves a hand in his face as she looks away from him, trying to wipe away her tears. “I-I’m fine. It’s none of your business. Aren’t you too busy trying to make everyone swoon over you?” She tries to bite back, but her voice lacks any strength or venom.
Alejandro ignores her weak insults, placing her on the ground gently as he checks over her body. His hands are quick and agile, as he pats her body and tries to pull up one of Heather’s sleeves. Heather panics and grips his wrist tightly.
“Don’t.”
“But- Heather please!”
“I said, no.”
He steps back, his body tensing up as he sits down next to her. His eyes drift to her still-open bag, before looking back at her. He slowly slides a hand over hers, squeezing it softly.
She doesn’t need his comfort or his help. All she wants is to hide until everyone forgets about her, especially Alejandro. She glares at him, but doesn’t pull away from his hand. Heather wipes the tears from her eyes, trying and failing to get her composure back.
Alejandro shifts his body closer to hers, squeezing her hand again.
“Please, tell me what happened.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why? What are you scared of?”
“I’m not scared of anything. All you had to do was mind your own fucking business but noooo, you just had to check up on me!”
“I was worried about you!”
“Oh, don’t play that card. We both know you just want to get dirt on me so you could use it against me and get me eliminated!”
A moment of silence hangs in the air, as Heather stares at back at Alejandro pointedly. His eyes stare back at her, looking like a puppy begging for attention. His gaze softens as he lets go of her hand. “Fine.” He breathes out, standing up and turns to walk away.
Great. She just pushed away the only person who seemed to care about her. “I hurt myself.”
“Intentionally.”
Alejandro pauses and turns back to face her. He stares at her for a moment before responding “Why would you do that to yourself?”
Heather bites her tongue, looking down in shame. “I…don’t know.”
He takes a moment to sit back down, directly facing her. He reaches out a hand for her arm but pauses, looking back up at her, waiting for approval. She looks back at him and sighs, nodding. His right hand holds her own, his left hand grabbing the end of the sleeve and pulling it up. He lets out a small gasp as his fingers trail the bandages wrapped around her arm, blood already peeking out from the wounds.
His eyes gaze back up at her as he breathes out “I am…sorry for not noticing this earlier. I should’ve been there for you.”
Heather laughs at this, before pausing. She’s never seen Alejandro like before. Cunning, yes. Flirtatious? All the time. But sincere? Never. It feels odd hearing it come from him, but also comforting. She places her hand on top of his, loosening her body before moving and placing her head on his shoulder, as his arms move to wrap around her body.
They sit together like this for a couple minutes, enjoying the quiet hum of the plane in silence.
Her head jerks up however as she hears the cargo door open, and the familiar scowl of Noah as he walks in, staring confusedly. “Are you two lovebirds done- Oh.” He pauses as he spots the bandages on her arms, and for a moment Heather freezes and turns to glare at Alejandro, who is in turn staring at Noah disappointiedly.
Great. Now two people know about her “habits.”
“Am I…interrupting something?”
“No,” Alejandro responds, letting go of Heather to face Noah, rubbing his eyebrows. “But you could’ve knocked before entering.”
For a moment, a flash of shock and shame appears on Noah's face, before he quickly falls back to his sarcastic mannerisms. “Sure.” He moves to sit down next to Heather, and grabs her arm unexpectedly. Heather opens her mouth to bark out a threat at Noah, but pauses as he looks over her bandages, sighing disappointedly.
“Is something wrong?”
“These bandages aren’t enough for how deep your wounds are. You’ll need to get them sutured at a hospital when we get to our next destination. Let’s just hope Chris chose a country with good medical practices…” He explains as he pulls down Heathers sleeve, adjusting her gauze to better cover the wounds.
“Unless…you want them to get infected?” Noah says, looking up at her curiously.
“What? No! Of course I don’t!”
Noah stifles a chuckle as he quips “Just checking.”
Heather stares at the both of them for a moment, her head spinning. Why are they being so kind to her now? Only a couple hours before they were conniving and likely scheming against her team, willfully praying on her downfall. But now they seem, genuine. Its strange.
“Why are you both being so kind to me? Is this supposed to be some kind of intervention? It better not be.” Heather questions, stiffening her body and glaring daggers at the both of them. They both pause as Alejandro sheepishly smiles and explains “Well, you have been acting strange lately. And we-“
“Not we. Just you, Alejandro.”
“Ah, yes. I got worried and asked Noah to help me check up on you when we both saw you storm off.”
She stares down at the ground, almost ashamed as she listens to Alejandro explain. Both of them? Caring about her? It was hard to wrap her mind around it. But now thinking about it, they’ve been on her mind the entire season already. It wasn’t love, no, it was something, different. Something she couldn’t figure out yet.
“Also,” Noah chimes in, playing with the ends of his shirt. “I too have a history with cutting myself and such. That’s why I know so much about wound care.”
Heather hums in response, still staring down at the ground. “You guys promise to not tell anyone? Because if you do, I will make both of your lives a living hell for the rest of the time we’re stuck on this godforsaken plane.”
They both nod quickly, Alejandro smiling in approval as Noah mumbles something about a mutual bond.
For once, she smiles and truly relaxes. They sit together for a while, just talking. She didn't really care about what they were talking about, it was something to distract her from what happened earlier, and she was okay with that.
This show may be completely insane and a major safety hazard, and sure, her entire team hates her. But at least she doesn’t have to do it alone.
Not anymore.