RP for kaylasilverfox, open to all
The drinking started the moment I hit the airport.
Stopped in Atlanta to change planes, first time on American soil in two months. Bunch of young soldiers, kids, had just come out of the USO. They moved in a pack and hit up the closest bar, overjoyed to be home, animatedly describing their overseas exploits to each other and anyone within earshot. I sat in a corner and downed two shots, watching them. Jealous of their closeness, I suppose.
Every person walking by the entrance lit up my radar briefly, a second to register potential level of threat. Just civilians, mostly, going about their lives, as unaware of me as I was accutely aware of them. The alcohol relaxes my vigilance in tiny increments.
I've put so much energy into being an efficient killer.
When did I become afraid of myself and what I do?
One of the kids loses his balance and tips into my table. I pick up my glass just in time to keep it from capsizing. He catches himself, sees me, and laughs. "Nice save, old man!"
I make an attempt at a smile. "Can't let this shit go to waste. Welcome home."
He grins. "Thanks, man. Thanks. Were you in the service?"
"A long time ago."
His fingers come up to the right side of his head in a drunken salute. "Thanks for your service," he says, reiterating a phrase he's clearly heard enough of in the past few hours. I chuckle softly, despite myself. One of his buddies hollers for him, and he staggers back across the bar, leaving me to my own thoughts.
Kayla.
I'm nervous. It's silly, I guess, but I am. She's seen me wound up tight before, seen the anger that rises despite my efforts at controlling it. She's no stranger to the rage that boils quietly inside. But even still... I wish there were more I could offer her. I wish that I were more.
I get up, take a few steps to the payphone and lean heavily against the side. Halfway through the number, my fingers pause. What will I say? I hit the lever to disconnect and dial again. It goes to voicemail. Of course. It's the week before school starts, and she's probably hard at work.
"Kayla? Hey darlin', it's me. Just landed in Atlanta. Should be home sometime late tonight, maybe early in the morning. Don't wait up for me, I can find my own way back from the airport. Miss you, girl. See you soon."
I replace the receiver.
Why didn't I tell her I love her?
Stupid. Oversight on my part. Can't get my damn mind to think straight. Must be the beer. Call her back? No. Not yet. Maybe by the time I get up into the North country she'll be home from work.
I wander over to the glassed-in "designated area" to light up a smoke.
Stopped in Atlanta to change planes, first time on American soil in two months. Bunch of young soldiers, kids, had just come out of the USO. They moved in a pack and hit up the closest bar, overjoyed to be home, animatedly describing their overseas exploits to each other and anyone within earshot. I sat in a corner and downed two shots, watching them. Jealous of their closeness, I suppose.
Every person walking by the entrance lit up my radar briefly, a second to register potential level of threat. Just civilians, mostly, going about their lives, as unaware of me as I was accutely aware of them. The alcohol relaxes my vigilance in tiny increments.
I've put so much energy into being an efficient killer.
When did I become afraid of myself and what I do?
One of the kids loses his balance and tips into my table. I pick up my glass just in time to keep it from capsizing. He catches himself, sees me, and laughs. "Nice save, old man!"
I make an attempt at a smile. "Can't let this shit go to waste. Welcome home."
He grins. "Thanks, man. Thanks. Were you in the service?"
"A long time ago."
His fingers come up to the right side of his head in a drunken salute. "Thanks for your service," he says, reiterating a phrase he's clearly heard enough of in the past few hours. I chuckle softly, despite myself. One of his buddies hollers for him, and he staggers back across the bar, leaving me to my own thoughts.
Kayla.
I'm nervous. It's silly, I guess, but I am. She's seen me wound up tight before, seen the anger that rises despite my efforts at controlling it. She's no stranger to the rage that boils quietly inside. But even still... I wish there were more I could offer her. I wish that I were more.
I get up, take a few steps to the payphone and lean heavily against the side. Halfway through the number, my fingers pause. What will I say? I hit the lever to disconnect and dial again. It goes to voicemail. Of course. It's the week before school starts, and she's probably hard at work.
"Kayla? Hey darlin', it's me. Just landed in Atlanta. Should be home sometime late tonight, maybe early in the morning. Don't wait up for me, I can find my own way back from the airport. Miss you, girl. See you soon."
I replace the receiver.
Why didn't I tell her I love her?
Stupid. Oversight on my part. Can't get my damn mind to think straight. Must be the beer. Call her back? No. Not yet. Maybe by the time I get up into the North country she'll be home from work.
I wander over to the glassed-in "designated area" to light up a smoke.