Like always, I step out onto the runway with Maverick and Goose at my sides. Our helmets aren't yet on, so the sun beats down freely on our scalps. The warm tingle on my cheeks soothes my nerves. I toss my head back, soaking up every last ray of sun. It's a perfect day. The sun is blazing in a baby blue sky. Hardly a cloud is to be seen, and those that laze about are harmless white puffs. Cottonballs in the sea. I crack open an eye behind my aviators. Goose is scratching his head and muttering about the heat. Maverick claps him on the shoulder. I smile. Their friendship reminds me of Vixen and I.
Or, a strangely overdosed-on-masculinity version of what our friendship was.
Is, She corrects. Hello! I'm still here!
My apologies.
She scoffs. You can't even think about anything but Maverick anymore.
I roll my eyes, Isn't that what you wanted? Dropping all those hints?
For the longest time I took her remarks as a joke. A way to lighten the mood, expand my horizons, nudge me into some meaningless relationship so I'd feel something stronger than fear. But she was rooting for us the whole time. Vixen knew exactly what was at play and she was acting in the role of fairy-godmother. A little nudge here, a little magic making there. All to set Maverick and I on a path doomed for a massive head-on collision.
A matchmaker-ghost-fairy godmother.
Seriously?
I stifle a laugh.
You're never gonna let that one go are you?
Nope, I reply.
"Hey, there's Viper."
Mav touches my shoulder and points to our instructor, suited up and ready to go by my jet, The Archer 1. The other jets are all Archers, ranging from 1 to 10, with the exception of Maverick and Goose's jet, Ghostrider, which is from a group of previous jets. Since it's the last one standing, we all have forgotten the number. It's practically peeled off the metal anyways. The Ghostrider is further down the runway than the Archer 1, so we three stop to wish each other luck. We can't all go up at once, so Maverick and Goose are in the second wave with Hollywood and Wolfman as wingmen. Viper and I have Iceman and Slider.
We've flown together before...
When they had Dash.
Will they cooperate because of Viper?
Or rebel because of me?
Maverick slides into my vision and I snap out of my funk. My eyes find his aviators. The corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. Wrapped in a beam of sunlight, his skin glittering with premature beads of sweat, he looks absolutely stunning. His hair, his smile, his confidence...I draw from it like a vampire draws blood. Maverick courses through my veins. A smile spreads on my face as the sun gets to me. His hand finds mine, linking our fingers.
"I love you," He says passionately. "You've got this."
Don't cry, don't cry.
"I love you," I croak on the brink of an emotional overload.
Maverick squeezes my hand and backs away slowly, holding my gaze until he's forced to turn his back and follow Goose towards their jet. There's nothing else for me to do but hurry to the Archer 1. Viper's sliding on his helmet when I come to a stop by my ladder. He turns around to face me, one hand on the ladder, one hooked on the straps of his flight suit.
"Stirrups," He greets me with a nod.
"Sir," I tug my hair out of a bun and cram my helmet over my wild mane. "Thank you for volunteering to fly with me today."
He smiles, "No need to thank me, Stirrups. And we can forgo the formalities. Right now we're a team. We're equal in the air. You got that?"
I grin, "Yessir."
"What do you say we get this baby in the sky?"
I nod enthusiastically.
Together we climb into the cockpit and strap in. The technicians below start us up and scramble to unhook any attachments before we roll out.
"Canopy clear?"
"Clear!" I jam the button and the canopy lowers over us, officially sealing us in a sauna. I let out a shaky breath, "Damn, it's hot in here."
"I forgot how bad it can get," Viper wheezes.
"Makes you love a cold shower."
"Couldn't have said it better myself."
Viper lines us up on the runway. The marshaller flags us down, giving the appropriate signals. I wait patiently for him to give the all clear. Finally, we get the signal, and Viper eases us into 'drive.' We roll down the runway, gaining speed, catching that piercing whistle of wind on our wings and then he pulls up. We soar over the edge, climbing into the sky. He laughs.
"I've missed this!"
I don't have the heart to laugh.
It feels like he stole the words right out of my mouth.
I've been missing piloting for months now.
Will I have to wait as long as Viper to get that rush again?
"Are our wingmen in the air?"
I glance at the radars, "Not yet..."
It takes an estimated five minutes for Ice and Slider to join us. They fall in on our 9 and salute us through the canopy.
"It's an honor to fly with you today, sir," Iceman drawls.
Gag. Honestly. Ice might be a solid pilot, but he's as slippery as a fish. Always kissing up to everyone. He's the total opposite of Maverick. Mav is suave, reckless, and daring. Iceman hides in his little box, playing by the book to the point where I fear someday, when reality comes knocking, that book is gonna be the end of him. Unlike Maverick, who needs some respect for rules, and Ice, who needs to learn to live outside the rules when necessary, I've got both down. When I fly, I fly. I do loops, inverts, and go dark, falling through the sky if I have to. I've pissed off a lot of aviators and impressed a good deal more. Vixen always said I had ten times more gall in the air and she's right. I did. I was the queen of the sky. I played by the rules when they applied and scrapped them when they were roadblocks.
Maybe it's bragging to say it, but I'm better than Maverick and Ice.
Vixen whistles lowly, don't tell that to your boyfriend.
I grin behind the mask. Never.
Nothing against Maverick. I love him, I do. He's a brilliant pilot and he's got so much potential.
But I'm sure if I asked him who the best pilot was he'd point at himself.
Anyone would.
"Don't get too starstruck," Viper forewarns our wingmen, "I haven't been in a cockpit for longer than I care to admit. I wouldn't get your hopes up."
Iceman's cool chuckle fizzles through the coms.
"Today we have three bogies to watch out for."
"Three?" Slider exclaims.
"We'll be outnumbered."
I roll my eyes. Since when did bad odds get in a fighter pilot's way? "Easy, we outsmart them. We work together and cut their numbers back until we're on top."
Archer II goes radio silent. In front of me, Viper's helmet shakes as he laughs into the mask.
"Well said, Stirrups," He lets out a heavy sigh. "You heard the lady. Work as a team. Communicate. Just like Cougar and Charlie told you this morning."
The strain in Slider's voice is clear as day. "Yes, Sir."
I smirk. Already things are looking up.
Shit. I spoke too soon. One after another, three foreign aircrafts flock towards us on my radar. They swoop in like geese in migration formation. A wide arrowhead, dead set on our tails.
"Three bogies, 6 o'clock!"
Ice and Viper hit the gas, so to speak and send us diving away from our resting place in the skies. The bogies zip through empty air as we tumble. Viper grunts as he yanks the flight-stick back and we level out beside Archer II. I steal a peek through the glass and find Slider eyeing me. His eyes are hidden behind his visor. Even with a black tub attached to his chin, he manages to communicate his usual shiteating smugness. He taps his visor and points at me. I set my jaw and stare him down...but clip my own eye protection into place. The mask I had on, but all our talking distracted me. Slider turns back to the radars, content in knowing he's fully pissed me off. I rip my spiteful gaze off his helmet like a bandaid off a festering wound and focus on the three green spots pulsing against the black grid.
They break formation. The arrowhead splits and two of the three jets double back for us.
One waits just up ahead...
I don't like this.
Not one bit.
"Two bogies dropping back at high speed!" Slider calls out.
Ice curses. "What's the plan, Sir?"
Viper laughs, "I may be flying with you today, but I'm not team leader."
Iceman hesitates.
My gosh we don't have time for this bullshit –
"ICEMAN," I snap, "It's do or die. What's our move?!"
This smacks some sense into him.
"Drop back, Viper! We'll get Bogie II on our 9 to follow!"
Without further ado, Iceman launches his jet into drive. They speed ahead just as their Bogie slides past them. They realize Iceman's on the move and scramble to pursue while Viper and I fall back in unison with our bogie. It's a 'mock-foreign' aircraft being used, piloted by another class or an instructor. I flip them off for the heck of it. Viper leaves the enemy no time to respond. We take off, curving to our left. Like a knife slicing through the air. Iceman swerves like mad, trying to keep the bogie's target off his back until we're in position to attack. Viper puts on more speed and we file in, forming a sloppy column. My eyes dart between the sky and the radar. The first bogie is far ahead, waiting. My suspicion mounts when the third merely cruises at a safe distance on our 3.
"Uhhhh I really can't hold them off much longer, guys!"
"Woah, buddy," Viper jokes, "We've got a gal here too."
Alarms blare.
"Gotcha..." Viper murmurs.
One bogie down, two to go.
Iceman and Slider whoop as the enemy aircraft falls off their tail and returns to base. Even I cheer. Why not? Ice actually listened to me. Dash never did that. We worked together, we communicated, and we took down a bogie. I laugh in disbelief. Tears prick the corner of my eyes. There's no way I could reach them, but my face is swaddled in protective gear. No one's gonna see the drops of relief race down my cheeks, just like they aren't going to see the triumphant smile smothered by my mask. Only Vixen sees, and I can hear the smile in her laugh as she congratulates me.
Go get 'em girl.
Yes, Ma'am.
When I check the radars, the remaining bogies are nowhere to be seen.
"Where are the others?" I shout.
"Chill, Stirrups," Slider replies carelessly. "We're celebrating –"
"We can celebrate when we've won," I bite, "There's two more left. I can't see them on the radar, can you?"
"Can you?" Iceman repeats.
Slider's mic scrambles for half a second. "Uh, shit, no they're gone."
"They're either ahead, to our sides or below," Viper says, "Keep vigilant."
Iceman scoffs. "Why the Hell would they go below us?"
Why would they?
For once, he asks a decent question. There's still two of them left...why aren't they just getting behind us and at least getting one of us down – wait. I press my eyes shut and visualize our jets like toy planes on a blue blanket. The bogies are painted black, the Archer 1 is a small red jet, the Archer II a cool 'ice' blue. From the start, one of the bogies flew on ahead, out of reach. A highly suspicious tactic. One I've never seen done before. The others flanked us, trying to get behind. Classic move. Try for both, leave with the bargain of one. If they'd gotten at least one of us, the other would be toast. But we evaded their attack...and now they're forced to reset.
The game is vamping up.
We've proved tricky.
So they're gonna pull out all the stops.
Below...
How could they –
"BELOW! BELOW!"
"Woah –"
"Stirrups!"
Everyone's screaming at me, confused.
I hardly have enough time to spit it out, "THEY'RE GONNA SPLIT US UP! THEY'RE GONNA COME FROM BEL–"
A whoosh of air. The black jet rises so close our wings could've touched. Viper swears like a sailor as our jet is tossed into an uncontrollable spin. The G-force slams my body against the wall. My straps hug me to the seat. Beneath my gear, my skin is torn this way and that, stretched across my skin like dough. I groan as we revolve through the air, falling fast and nearing the hard deck level. Through the coms, Iceman and Slider panicked. The bogie literally shoves us out of his way in order to get to the Archer II. They're alone up there. Vulnerable. Outnumbered.
And here we are.
Spinning.
Plummeting.
We're spinning out of control. Light dances all around us. I can hear her screaming in the back, fumbling for her ejection strap. I can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't think. Everything is burning. The sky, the plane. The fire swallows our canopy whole as the great blue mouth below us opens up, hungry for blood.
Spinning.
Plummeting–
Spinning.
Again.
I grit my teeth, waiting for the impact.
I don't want to be scared...
I know none of it's real.
She's not here.
I'm not in control of the jet.
But I can't let go. My fingernails snap against the flight suit straps. My teeth draw blood from my lips, I see stars on the underside of my eyelids. As I start to hyperventilate, the oppressive G's relent. In a single beat, my entire body sags. The release weighs heavily on each muscle. My head rolls back against my seat and I take the first full breath in God knows how long. Blood pounds in my ears, a wild drumming straight off the African plains. I swallow spit spiked with the tart zing of my own blood. The warmth of it coats my lower lip. I cough, eyes half dim, head split in two.
"Stirrups."
The voice feels far away.
I know that voice.
Viper.
You're alive, I tell myself, my inner voice as weak as my body. Get up.
"Viper," I croak.
He lets out a sigh of relief, "You scared me there, Stirrups."
I cough, "I scared me too."
"WE NEED HELP! WE'RE OUTNUMBERED!"
Iceman.
And Slider.
We jump our speed and climb through the air towards the dogfight. Iceman and Slider are losing their shit. They've got a bogie on their tail. As we break through a string of clouds, like an old lady's pearls, the signals reengage and I can see each jet on my radar. There's a bogie stalking the Archer II and another skidding across the grid. It's dropping back and fast.
"Viper, we have to hurry, they're moving in for the kill."
"Don't worry, Stirrups, I've got a plan."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Iceman and Slider's jet, frantically avoiding their bogie's line of fire while the first jet, the sneaky bugger who's been waiting ahead of us for the opportune moment to strike, is creeping back. The bogies are gonna trap Ice and Slider and then come for us. They split us up.
But we aren't that easy.
"WHERE ARE YOU, VIPER?!"
"On our way. Keep them busy, Iceman."
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK WE'RE DOING?!" Slider screams.
"That's the spirit," I mutter.
Viper's chuckle hits like a springtime shower on my summer-sizzled skin. Now that I'm not brain dead and relapsing, the heat is the most difficult factor. If only my sweat was cold. Maybe there'd be a smidge of relief. Instead, each wave that rolls down the back of my skull to my tailbone is hot as Hades. I grind my jaw and focus on the sky outside the canopy. The bogie is leveling out with his buddy, moving into the Iceman cage. But they haven't noticed us. Or deemed us a threat. Viper clicks his tongue in disdain.
"Hold on tight, Stirrups."
I don't have the energy to do anything but watch as we drop back and slide directly behind the closest bogie.
The first one.
The sneaky little shit.
"Gotcha," I grin.
Viper locks onto their tail and the victory alarms sing like heaven's choir.
He wastes no time in sliding on over and taking out the other bogie before they can try and run.
Just like that, we've won.
>>>>>
When I get out of the plane...it's like I'm on cloud nine. Funny how I just left the skies behind me, and suddenly I feel as though I'm truly flying. Maverick and Goose aren't there to congratulate me, but I know that they would be the first to scoop me up onto their shoulders if our schedules had been arranged differently. Once we're out of the cockpit, Viper grabs my hand and shakes it, grinning ear to ear, "Well done," he tells me. He's so proud I can feel it reverberate in my bones as we shake. Iceman and Slider are quick to flock towards us, getting their handshakes and words of affirmation from our instructor. While Viper gets showered with praise from Ice and Slider, I get nothing from them. Ice spares me one look, and it's one of doubt. Like he's riddling me out.
Or plotting some nasty revenge.
Keep an eye on him, Vixen warns. He might spill to Viper.
Spill?
Iceman looks away.
About you and Maverick.
I swallow hard. Would he? I mean, it's not like we aren't allowed to be together, we just can't become a distraction...right?
"Stirrups."
I jolt out of my train of thought. "Yes, Sir?"
Viper tugs his helmet off his head. A juicy bead of sweat rolls down his nose and hangs from the tip, "Come see me after you've rinsed off."
My mouth dries up. I manage a quiet, "Yes, Sir."
From the runway to the showers, I can't stop fretting over what it is Viper wants to see me for. Did I mess up? Was it the panic? In hindsight, my episode lasted hardly a minute, though it felt like ages. Viper rolled to regain control of the aircraft after the bogie sent us spiraling and in those thirty-or-so seconds that followed, I got a little wrapped up in old memories but I feel confident enough to say I handled it better than the other times. Maybe it's because Viper was my pilot, not Dash. Maybe it's because I've come to terms with my fear and decided to fight back? Whatever the reason, I feel less guilt over the small stutter in my confidence today than previous mishaps with Dash. I had a quicker response time and less intense symptoms of trauma.
It didn't even take Vixen to wake me up.
I feel her shift uncomfortably in the back of my head.
What? I ask as I tug on my underwear.
She breathes softly. What am I?
I trip over my pants. What kind of question is that?
I'm serious, Remi, Vixen insists. What am I? A ghost? A product of trauma? A hallucination? A demon –
Don't –
She blunders on, as I stand, shaking and half dressed in the locker rooms. I'm a voice in the back of your head. I help you like a little fairy. I make you laugh. I sit here and I watch your life unfold and after all we've been through...you don't want me puppeteering you...but you can't let me go. You can't let us go.
I wrap my arms around my bare shoulders. "You're my best friend, Kate...I can't just say goodbye..."
Silence.
Then a sigh.
We said goodbye the minute I didn't make it out of the jet.
There's a sharp knock at the locker room door.
I flinch.
"It's just me and Goose!"
I launch into action, swiping up my shirt and tugging it over my head as my other hand tries to scrub away a drizzle of tears painting my cheek. "Hold on a second—" Stumbling like a drunk, I shove my feet into my shoes and button my pants milliseconds before I reach the door and unlock it. I tug it open and Maverick immediately grabs me by the arm and pulls me into his chest. My head hits his throat and we both let out a strangled gasp but our arms wind around the other's body, gripping tightly. Like any second, a tornado might come through the building and tear us apart forever. I nuzzle the sweat drenched skin of Maverick's throat. He smells disgusting and I absolutely love it. He's sweaty and gross and I just showered. My hair is wet. Each curl defined from the rinse-off. "Hi."
"Hey."
He kisses the top of my head.
I smile, "Hey, Goose."
I can hear his laugh from behind Maverick, "Hey, Stirrups. Need help there?"
"I'm good."
Maverick runs a warm hand over the back of my head, "You ok?"
I wriggle out of his arms and fake the biggest frown.
His eyes double in size.
I grin. "We won."
If they weren't already bulging, Mav's eyes could fall out of his head at any moment now, "You won?"
"Yeah."
Goose knocks Maverick out of the way and scoops me up in his arms. I scream and brace myself against his shoulders as his arm bears the brunt of my body weight. He hollers like an animal as he twirls us around. We spin out into the open.
A few aviators pass us by, laughing at our antics.
Goose bounces me and I squeal.
"PUFFIN!"
"IT'S GOOSE, DAMMIT!" He bellows.
But he's smiling.
A sweet, goody ol' grin under that mustache of his.
I roll my eyes and place a kiss on his cheek.
"EW I'm married you minx!" Goose shrieks as I laugh.
Suddenly his arms are gone and I gasp as I fall backwards –
Into another pair of arms.
"Gotcha, babe," Maverick murmurs in my ear.
My stomach twinges. I crane my neck and meet his glittering eye, "'Babe?'"
He pulls a cheeky grin, "Yes?"
I could melt if it weren't for that cold shower not ten minutes ago.
"Stirrups."
Maverick guides me to my feet and Goose backs out of the way, revealing Viper just down the hall, back in his Naval uniform, a grave look on his face. Our instructor cocks a brow and gestures with a quick tilt of his head in the direction of his office. I nod once. Butterflies erupt in my stomach; and not the giddy, ticklish ones you get when kissing someone or going inverted. Their wings are sharp, frozen to the touch. They turn my stomach acids to ice. The chill recedes when a wave of warmth embraces the left side of my body. Maverick's breath nips my cheek.
"I thought you said you won?"
"I – we did. We did," I stutter, "Viper just wanted to talk...I forgot to mention –"
At this point Viper must be growing impatient. He strides towards us, keeping a calm facade over his urgency.
"It'll only take a moment," he assures us.
I start forward but Maverick grabs my arm.
"Sir –" He begins.
Viper holds up a hand, "It's alright, Maverick. She's in good hands."
The pressure of Maverick's hand disappears. I take the opportunity to step up to Viper. As we walk down the hall, I hear Goose call out,
"We'll be waiting for ya!"
I smile.
I wasn't expecting any less.
>>>>>
Like a gentleman, Viper lets me into his office and gently eases the door shut behind us. I scurry out of his way as he moves to sit at his desk. Out of habit, my shoulders go back, my chin lifts and I clench every muscle in my body. Viper kicks back in his seat and looks up at me. His lips twitch beneath his mustache. His hand flicks dismissively through the air.
"At ease, Stirrups."
I relax.
The corners of Viper's mouth turn up in a smile, "Those boys, huh? Following you around like puppies, shepherding you like guard dogs. Good friends to have."
"Yes, Sir."
Viper sits up, "Look. I just want to make this perfectly clear before we start talking. You aren't here as punishment, you aren't in trouble, and this conversation is strictly between you and me."
The winter butterflies begin to melt...
But my whole gut feels numb. I offer a nod, wanting nothing more than for Viper to get to the point. If I'm not in trouble, if this is just a talk, then what can he possibly have to say that'll completely shatter the ice in my stomach?
"Now, that said, let's get to the point shall we?"
My nod is nothing short of zealous.
Viper folds his hands atop his desk and studies my face. I hold myself together to the best of my ability, strangling the urge to squirm under the intensity of his eye.
"Do you know how long you were unresponsive today?"
Shit. "Sir?"
He smiles. Dammit. A pitying, false smile. Tight as a rubber band stretched across a ballroom. "How long were you unresponsive for, when we went into a dive?"
There's not a single drop of moisture in my mouth. My voice is croaky as a smoker's when I choke out a pathetic, "I don't know, Sir."
Gosh this man is so patient with me.
"How long did it feel like?"
That much I can testify to, though it hurts like Hell to say, "Hours, Sir."
"Hours," Viper hums, an unsurprised look in his eyes as he reclines in his seat. "When you snapped out of it...did you know how long it really was?"
"Um, a, uh, a little under a minute...Sir?"
Viper nods.
I can't hold it back any longer. My self restraint is that rubber band. That tightwad smile Viper wears so placidly. It snaps clean in half and my foot immediately starts nervously tapping the floor. I know that beat from somewhere, but my mind doesn't have the power to connect the two.
"So," He rubs his hands together and then pulls them apart. "Where'd you go?"
My jaw unhinges. "S-sir?"
"For all those 'hours' I lost you up there. Where'd you go to?"
What the Hell do I say to that? 'Oh sorry Sir I just ya know, started thinking about that one time I nearly died and my best friend actually did and two other aviators I liked a lot. Just kinda got caught up remembering all that blood and fire and the usual. Sorry 'bout that.' It's a shit answer and I'd rather lick a toilet than admit it. Dash saw right through me, and he used my weakness as a threat. He tried to exploit me. He quite literally beat me over the head with my trauma. But Viper isn't Dash. So why am I so afraid of just spitting it out? What's holding me back? My tongue is tied down and my brain cells are straining to produce full sentences, so I opt for the easy way out.
"You've read my files, Sir –"
"I'm not asking your files, Stirrups, I'm asking you."
Damn, Vixen whistles. He gotcha there.
Even I can't help but laugh a little.
Viper's smile loses that plastic sheen.
"So? You go to DisneyLand?"
"No, Sir," I mumble. The toe of my shoes kiss the floor. "The crash..."
"Ah," the instructor nods. His chair squeaks as he leans into its embrace and kicks his feet up onto his desk. Imagine my surprise when I see the smudge of dirt the heel of his boot draws across the edge of a file. Viper hardly flinches. He just folds his hands together and twiddles his thumbs. His eyes never once leave my face. Those damn insightful eyes, seasoned, crinkled around the edges. The laugh lines crease as he raises both brows, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "The crash. That's where you go off to? You know what we call that, Stirrups? When a little hiccup in a flight sends you down a loop hole like that for 'hours?'"
I nod weakly.
"Trauma."
I continue to bob my head like a stupid toy.
A broken toy.
A...semi pissed off one.
"I'm not scared," the words come bursting out of me before I can stop them. I can feel Vixen tense in the depths of my mind, "I might've been at first but I'm done being afraid of what I love, Sir, and if you're hear to tell me off or – or reprimand me –"
"Woah, woah, hold your horses there, Stirrups –"
Classic joke. I've heard it a million times.
No one laughs.
" – I'm not reprimanding, we talked about this. You aren't in trouble."
I frown. "Then why does it feel like I am?"
"Because," Viper begins tentatively. "You're having trouble. You've had trouble in your future the moment you joined the Navy. Now, I'm a man and we both know I'll never know your hardships, but I've got daughters, Stirrups. I see the world they gotta grow up in. I know sometimes the world is stacked against you, but I also know you've got spirit. You're a good pilot. Your academy and previous post recommended you highly. More than a lot of the guys in your class. You aren't in trouble for suffering, it's bound to happen. You're a female pilot in the Navy, you lost your RIO, you came alone to a new place, you had to deal with a disappointingly problematic aviator – and for that I am deeply sorry –
"But it's not the physical challenges that are stopping you, Stirrups. Dash isn't the one making you disappear for 'hours' in the cockpit.
"You're holding onto something, Stirrups. Something that's dragging you down. I would've put you in control of a jet the minute you got here, just like you gotta get back on the horse, you have to get back in the cockpit. Pilot the plane. Reengage. Charlie and others outvoted me. And now I see why. You're stuck. You're letting the trauma catch you round the ankles and bring you down."
I know.
Right?
I know.
If anybody knows...it's me. I'm the one struggling here. I'm the one who's trying to kill the traumatic response I have to those 'hiccups' Viper mentioned.
So why does it feel like I'm hearing this for the first time?
Why do I feel so raw?
Like I've been stripped down, skinned to the bone?
Viper gets up. He pushes the door open for me.
"You've already crashed once, Stirrups. Are you willing to crash again?"