𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction

Chapter 3: 𝘔𝘳. 𝘕𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘳. 𝘐𝘤𝘦

Charlie has overwhelmed me with kindness. Luckily, her strong personality balances the pity factor. My initial reading of her has yet to prove faulty. So far, she's flashed me her 'tough, cool girl' side, along with her softer edges, like the sympathetic smiles she slides me when she thinks I'm not looking. At her house, a few minutes away from the base, she helps me drag my stuff down the hall and into a spare bedroom on the first floor. Charlie offered me the other empty bedroom upstairs, next to hers, but something about the room on the first level called to me, so we ended up dumping my bags there. The bedroom is plain but cozy. As is the rest of the house. In fact, Charlie's entire house is what you'd call quaint. There's an adorable porch out back that we sit in for hours before I actually spend my first night. For dinner, Charlie whips up some mouthwatering meat and cheese sandwiches. We talk non-stop about flying over lemonades in her open air sun room until dark.

She asks me a lot of questions.

Usually, being asked if I'm "afraid to go back in the air again" would come off as passive aggressive.

Not so with Charlie.

She has this ease of spirit that unwinds the tension holding me hostage.

It also helps that the majority of her questions are less awkward to answer. She's interested in my past flight experiences, where my desire to be in the air came from and what my family is like. I gladly fill her in on my horse riding, fence vaulting, manure shoveling childhood days. Some of the stories I retell get Charlie rocking back and forth in her wicker chair, laughing so hard I worry I'll kill her before I even test run a Top Gun plane.

When it's finally time we get into bed, Charlie walks with me and pauses in my doorway.

I watch a thousand different emotions wage war on her face, waiting until one of them forces the words she's biting back onto her tongue.

But Charlie's self control astounds me. "Goodnight," She says.

"Goodnight." I croak, my mouth bone dry after talking so much for so long for the first time in nearly a month. My lips burn. Without licking them, I know they're chapped and crusted in thin rivers of blood. Good thing I thought to bring a glass of water to bed with me.

That night, I spend two or more hours laying on the unfamiliar mattress, staring out the cracked window into darkness. A video reel of memories keeps me up. I watch my parents bounce my little brothers on their knees, tickling their sides, fixing their overall straps and chasing us around the pasture with our two dogs at their heels. I relive four years of my life, beginning in second grade and ending as I become a teenager and find my first crush. A boy named Will, the son of our farrier. He and I go on horse rides every morning, even school days. Sometimes, because he was homeschooled, he would pick me up on his horse and ride me to the school house. We spent most of our time together until his dad told him they were moving across the state.

As Will fades, I start to see her face.

My heart leaps out of my chest.

The window blurs and an enormous weight drags my eyes shut.

"Giddy up, Stirrups!"

Laughing I fall back against the grass and hum in content. "Hold your horses, Kate-my-dear. Stirrups is giddying up ...."

>>>>>

The next morning, I wake up to the sun rising. It's first rays peek through the sliver between the window and it's frame. Soft orange tendrils dance across the hardwood floor. Nestled into a heap of blankets, drugged on sleep and reluctant to get up and dressed, I lay silent and watch the sunlight put on a show. The spots brighten, adjusting my eyes and making it harder and harder to keep still, even if the mattress is so comfy and the warmth underneath the blankets amazing. I feel so good, so safe wrapped in this new comforter. I rub my cheek against it and make a covenant in my mind. You are my blanket buddy, you got that?