BIRDIE

A death wish.

TW:  Violence and mention of abortion.

I'd upped my therapy sessions to 3 times a week, while being on a less strenuous timetable. I'm starting to feel like myself lately. A cocktail of hashing it out, along with some DBT therapies really has helped me find a new sense of strength. I possessed a new kind of mental resilience and oh boy, I felt good. Admittedly, I'm not completely out of the woods just yet but there's something refreshing about putting this amount of work into myself. I can't take all the credit, Simon's been my rock lately and that's something I'll forever be in debt to him for.

In a roundabout way, it's made us closer. In a round of late night pillow talk we made small vows to be honest with each other and always hash out whatever is on our minds. His idea.

-Never go to bed angry with each other.
-Don't withhold our feelings.
-Always be honest.
-No matter what... we work it out. Together.

I also have a big thanks to give to Soap. Whenever Simon's been busy, I've spent my time in his room. To my surprise, Soap is a brilliant masseuse. Dr. Holland said that we store trauma in the body and Simon suggested a massage to get it out and he practically jumped at the chance to get his hands on me. That little horn-dog. The base lacked essential oils and he thought cooking oil was a perfect substitute. What was supposed to be a semi-erotic massage, resulted in him elbowing me in the shoulder blade. After a week long bruise and constant cramping, Simon decided to take me to consult Soap and his hands of magic. Simon insisted on staying to watch while Soap massaged my back. I don't think he was threatened... his ego wouldn't allow that kind of emotion. But every time I moaned softly at Soap drawing out the tension in my muscles, Simon bolted over us like a surgeon at the operating table. The question only occurred after the massage, how did Simon know Soap is a good masseuse? When I asked him, he stuttered and avoided the topic altogether.

I'm not sure I want to know...

But it earned him a night of teasing about being touched up by Soap.

After a few weeks on a more relaxed timetable, Price finally made the executive decision that I was in the right headspace to return to my duties full time. My body took a physical toll since I've been missing the odd training session. I've made it my personal mission to get back into shape and feature in my own debut.

This morning I woke up before anyone, even Simon who's a raging insomniac. I thought I'd return the favour and leave him a tea for when he woke up for a change. I contemplated crawling into his bed with him or going to the gym and kicking my arse into gear. I decided on the latter. A few more  sneaky minutes of watching him sleep like the stalker I was becoming. I don't like to call it stalking, just simply... admiring from afar. Can't hurt, right? I make note of the time on my watch, and head to the gym before training.

03:07 AM.

In two short minutes, I'm inhaling the filtered air of the gym. I'm forever grateful this base has an on-site gym. A violent smirk paints my face at the sight of the new plaster and new joinery that holds the punching bag up. Me and her didn't get off to a good start. Stalking around the bag, allowing my fingers to slither across the vinyl, I'm reminded of the last time I was here.

"I understand him now." I whisper to the bag.

Giving the punching bag two appreciative taps, I circle my way round to the treadmills. Starting it up, I set myself at a steady pace and nudge up the incline dial. Resting my phone on the little belongings shelf under the screen, I tap in my latest playlist I've designed. Chuckling to myself at the title. GET MOVING BITCH. Play With Fire - Sam Tinnesz, funnels throughout the sound system of the gym. I've never been cardios' biggest fan, I've always silently applauded myself at my strength and agility. Speed has never been my forte. Quick thinking on the other hand, is something that's very much my department. I think I've done enough mental cardio in the past 6 months. So much so that if my brain had legs, she'd be a track star. Flicking the speed dial up and I'm sprinting like my life depends on it.