The Sunflower

Bittersweet Ivy

Quick Warning. In this order the chapter has brief mention of needles (Rosalba get's stitches), fairly detailed depiction of the beginning of a panic attack, flashback of physical assault (not towards Rosalba and the actual action is not described in detail or as it happens), mention of alcohol, and lastly slight blood. If you want to skip the chapter I'll have a summary at the end. Enjoy

I sat on the tabletop waiting for Jaimie to start the plane. Looking around the small medical area I tried not thinking about the stitches I was to receive soon. Jaimie was not all that practiced in sewing up injuries, but I was even worse than him when using my left hand. My left hand! Oh god I imagined for the hundredth time how hard it was going to be to do anything without my right hand. Sure, I could shoot and handle other weapons perfectly with both hands, but penmanship or any other intricate procedures were another matter. I had practiced hundreds of hours on mastering writing with both hands, but much to the frustration of Agent May it was still impossible to distinguish between the scribbles of a kindergartener and me. I winched at the thought of Agent May... Why did my mind have to bring me from one bad thought to another, worse, one?

The plane shifted forward abruptly as Jaimie started preparing for take off. Faster and faster we went. I gripped the side of the table hard to steady myself, yelping slightly when we finally lifting off the ground pushed my cut into the table's edge. Jaimie found me a couple minutes later cursing softly under my breath while applying pressure on my now, again, bleeding hand.

"I leave you for ten minutes, in a safe location, might I add, and you're already bleeding again. That has to be some sort of record," He raised his jet black brows in amusement and smiled widely. The light from the overhead fixtures reflected off his perfect teeth, only a few shades lighter than his paper thin skin. I could clearly see the blue veins of his wrist as he extended his hand to grab mine.

"Haha, very funny" I laughed sarcastically, but did not resist as he pulled my hand away from my chest, where I was cradling it, and twisted my palm towards the ceiling.

"Now don't be like that. I was thinking about finding a prize for you.You know, since you are the winner of the 'Biggest Klutz on the Plane Award'" Jaimie set my hand on his knee a moment as he wrestled with the bottle cap on the disinfecting solution and then prepared a long curved piece of metal, so much more intimidating than what my mother used to sit on the couch holding as she patched up damaged clothes.

"Well I hope that prize is a shot of lidocaine before you go sticking a needle in me," I smirked at the look of realization on his face.

"Right. Sorry, that's kinda important, isn't it?" he awkwardly chuckled, scrambling down to the cabinet my lightly kicking feet had been making a steady beat with. I pulled my legs up, opting to sit cross legged.

"Criss cross applesauce guys! Maite, no cheating-" No. Stop. I blinked rapidly, shoving the memory back, far back to the deepest corner of my mind, but not deep enough. I could still feel the memory flicker back and forth in my mind. Feel a moment of hot sun, hear a second of splashing water.

I jumped at a sharp poke on my hand. Looking down at it I saw Jaimie had come back up from the cabinet and was injecting the local anesthetic around my cut. My eyes moved to his face and he looked up quickly to give an apologetic smile before focusing back on my hand, but I kept my eyes on him. I tried focusing on every small detail in hopes of evading my thoughts. I was usually in control of my thoughts and even when I couldn't help thinking of the memories I was excellent at controlling my emotions around them. In fact, one of my biggest prides was keeping myself under control. My ability to feel nothing when I wanted. During missions I would act frustrated or I would feel mildly annoyed, but I always acted it up in my mind just for something to think about during the oftentimes very dull, simple missions. If my life was being an actual spy, why not have fun fantasizing about being in a spy movie, right? Yet, today was different. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, the slight embarrassment of being made, the nerves at being called upon by Agent Hill (a thought I had not even let myself fully think about up to this point). Or maybe it was the glass. Glass...No.