Page 62 of Jonesing for a Spy

The feeling of suffocating is overwhelming. It’s heavy and cloying, and I swear I can smell Price O’Neill’s fetid breath above as I’m forced deeper into the mattress.

I thrash and kick, bringing my hands to his wrists to dig my nails in and scrape away his flesh. Gasping does no good and the pain… The pain screams through my neck as I fight for breath. Black and white pinpricks dance in my vision, and the heat on my eyeballs is unbearable.

Fight I scream to my body. Fight now.

I remove a hand and throw it wildly into the black night only to have one land at nearly the same time.

On a choked scream, I gasp for air.

And wake from a nightmare unlike any I’ve ever had in my life.

My eye throbs and is swelling shut. The mirror confirms what I already fear, I’ve added insult to injury and given myself a black eye in a PTSD-fueled terror.

It’s three-thirty in the morning, and my brain just convinced my body to attack itself. Hell, usually it’s my immune system telling it to attack my blood. I stop dead in my tracks as I amble to the kitchen. If my platelets are low… No. I’d know. Or I wouldn’t—because I’d be dead.

Maybe those were the looks the employees gave me during the brawl.

In the grand scheme of life, the timing of yesterday’s fight was karmic. I scoff aloud and immediately reach for my throat. The scraping sound of my vocal chords is worse now than earlier.

I grab an ice pack from the freezer and a towel to wrap it in and flop onto the sofa, switching on the light on the end table. I fired one man today after filing formal charges against him for assault and attempted murder. Five men resigned.

After hanging up with Mirren last night, I emailed the whole company, explained the goings-on and the financial implications. My expectation is most won’t read it until Monday morning. But, in the likely chance the tea gets passed prior to then, I wanted to be on record as quickly as I was able. I’d planned to do it before the end of business, but the meeting didn’t end the way I expected.

Nor did my day.

My flight is in four and a half hours, and I have a decision to make. Fly with a black eye and a scarf covering my neck like a teenager with a hickey to hang with my family where talking will be painful and eating more so. Or stay home, bail on the sofa to watch football, eat leftovers, and enjoy a four-day weekend.

Other than the fact Mom and Dad will be worried. And Lorien will be disappointed. I’ll be… What will I be? What do I want?

Honestly? My bed, with Mirren in my arms to chase away the nightmares.

I wish it were that simple.

The thought occurs to me that we could meet somewhere in the middle on Friday or Saturday after her huge family obligations and after my rest and recuperation.

It’s worth a shot.

Any chance you could get away this weekend to Nashville?

The reply comes three hours later.

Mirren

What about Denver?

Answer the question please.

I could. Now will you answer mine?

How do you feel about a staycation?

With you? Hmmm. Just kidding. I’m in. I have to be back Sunday though… {Sad face}

Me too. Work is a four-letter word. {Rolling eyes emoji}

I’m cancelling Denver and I’ll show/tell you why on Saturday.

Happy Thanksgiving. Please give me shenanigans updates as you can.