[center][h1][color=IndianRed]Joel[/color][/h1][/center]

Joel's throat constricted at the sight of the man ([@Inertia]), something inside her stirring. A connection felt present between them, like a loose cord slowly twining and twining till they would be joined at the hip. Her hand subconciously went around her throat, probing at her bruises. 

[i]"Did you guys die?"[/i]

Her heart sunk to her toes. She felt like puking, the taste of raw dirt and blood in her mouth. She could still feel the soil beneath her fingernails; it seemed like a permanent line of black and brow would rest above her pink cuticles, no matter what she did to get it out. 

Joel suddenly realized these men must not have seen the news yet. She hadn't either, but the last time her parents visited, they told her that the local news wanted an interview about her 'Miraculous return.' She declined immediately, begging her parents protect her privacy. 

"Technically," she responded. It felt better to tell these people (did she ever ask their names?) what happened than telling medical staff or her parents. "I was starved of oxygen for a while. Should have permanent brain damage." That's as much into detail as she was willing to go; she didn't want these people look at her with pity and sympathy. She wanted to be treated the way she was before. "I'm Joel by the way."