August tenth. 07:00. Flight out is at 10:00. Don't want to go.
Garage doors are open. It's a bit frigid this morning, Toby's in one of my old wrestling sweatshirts, giving the occasional shiver as we load up my truck.
They can't drive me to the airport since us soldiers are taking a shuttle. They're dropping me off at base. I've already caught them crying three times since we got up an hour ago.
No word from Don already in Russia since Wednesday; don't know why I'm feeling pinched about that; there was never good cell service there. Found out yesterday at work that, though Seya was already over seas, he'll actually be at HQ in Germany. Won't even be around us in Russia. As much as the guy irritates me, I was really hoping we'd both be able to have eyes on each other.
Toby lets out a shaky sigh, and I turn as I carry my last bag outside into the garage. They sniff and wipe under their chin, and when they see me watching them, they force a smile. "All set?" asks Toby, reaching back for the door, keys in hand.
I nod and toss the bag into the truck bed. "Good here, lock 'er up."
They nod, lock the door, and give it a couple yanks before seeming satisfied, and they join me at the truck side.
"Feel like um. Like when we get to post, it'll be harder to say goodbye to you," they mutter, fiddling with the keys.
"What do you mean?" I ask, taking my blouse out of the passenger side. Got sweaty and admittedly crabby loading up, now I'm starting to shiver just like Toby. I get an unconvincing shrug in response and I take a heavy bootstep toward them as they continue.
"I just...you didn't say goodbye last time. And now I'm wondering what's worse," they reply, checking their boots. With a huff and a square of their shoulders, they look up at me, face firm. "I'll be fine. It'll be fine. You'll be home soon."
Will I? "That's the spirit." Never been good at forcing smiles.
Toby squints and puckers their lips, standing on their toes. Is that their 'kiss me' face? What the fuck is that face? It's so damn cute but I don't know what it means. I lean down anyway, aiming my cheek for their lips.
I miss and get a kiss on my neck instead. And I freeze.
Toby must see it instantly, the panic in my eyes, cause they drop to their heels and lean back with high brows. "Koop, you good?"
Shambles. Mixed words that don't make sense come out of my mouth, and they frown and step around in front of me. "Kevin. What happened?"
"I'm—neck, no neck."
"No neck what?"
"No, n—hmm..." I manage to inhale, loud and desperate, and I realize I've got an iron grip around my blouse in one hand, the edge of the truck bed with the other. Could probably break the plastic at this point.
Releasing fingers one at a time from both, I lean too far away from the truck, and I drop my blouse, and Toby's eyes are bouncing all over me. "I don't mean this in an asshole way I swear—is this a trigger? Kissing your neck?" I manage a nod and stagger away from the truck and hit the wall. "I'm sorry—"
"C'mere—" I gasp, clawing at the air, near their elbow. As soon as they take a small step and my frantic fingers reach their jacket sleeve, I drag them toward me. "Come here, c'mere, please, hug, please, please."
Toby squeezes my middle, and I grunt and thud my head to the concrete wall, feeling their slow breathing and willing my own to calm down.
It could've been three minutes of dead silence between us or an hour, but I finally sigh like a normal person and wipe a hand over my face. "Sorry, Fritzy," I mutter.
YOU ARE READING
Starts with a Match
Horror"Most people in the units, especially here on the front lines where they're sick and bored of all this shit-they call them gluts. Gluttons. Ravenous, insatiable. Zombies. Can't be a zombie if they're still alive. Which they are. They're just starvi...
