"Absolutely Not."

Chapter 45: Bittersweet

So that I wouldn't have to travel back in my dirty and blood-encrusted clothes back, Simon had brought me a whole new outfit.

The jeans were a bit too big, but the long-sleeved shirt that I gingerly had to pull over my aching head and bandaged hand, fit perfectly along with the thick hoodie. Everything was a struggle to get on, even my bra and underwear, but I swatted his hands away every time he tried to help.

I thought about how helpful he would have been if we were together during the time I was recovering my burned arm, and how I would have done the same thing for him had I not run. Had I known he was alive.

My fault.

I didn't deserve him. Truly.

Saying goodbye to all the nurses proved more difficult than I expected it to be, and although I didn't cry, I could feel a lump begin to form in the middle of my throat as my eyes desperately wanted to leak out my bittersweet emotions.

To my dismay, a transport helicopter picked us up from the roof of the hospital, worsening my already frayed nerves. The flight back to base met my expectations in it being awkward. As if I needed more of a reason to hate flying more.

I made a mental note to never get on a helicopter again if anything else happened en route back to safety. 'Safety', used loosely as hardly anyone could be trusted nowadays.

Caught in the middle of my fear of flying and wanting to leave the hospital, I didn't know which experience was worse than the other. The claustrophobic contraption of death or the room that smelled too clean and caused me to want to tear my eyes out?

At first, I'd told myself I'd do anything to get me the hell out of that sterile room, but now that I'd planted myself in one of the seats, I wasn't too eager about either option.

I just regretted not being able to say goodbye to Aya before leaving, knowing I was never going to see her again. It was simply added to rest of the regrets pertaining to goodbyes.

With a free seat between us, I sat next to Simon while Soap made himself comfortable across from us, all three of us silent in a little triangle as we flew back to base where the air would be colder and more brisk, but at least we would be miles away from trauma.

Although, no matter how far I would physically distance myself from it all, my mind would never be able to fully run away. It would stick with me, always, and even if future-me felt healthier and better, the mental damage would never heal entirely.

I would be forever bonded with traumas that hardly left any room for more, it felt as though I didn't have the capacity for anything good. Forget ever getting married when I had this much baggage weighing me down, tethering me to a life of nightmares and phantom pain.

"You'll lose another finger if ye keep gnawin' on 'em like that, lass" a Scottish voice said, bringing me back to reality.

I pulled away the current finger that was being assaulted by my teeth. "Not a fan of flying," the admission was mumbled as I leaned the back of my head against the headrest, closing my eyes. Like hell I was going to look out the window to give myself a good visualization of demise.

Both pairs of eyes now watched me cautiously, however, the chestnut ones didn't make it so apparent that they were carefully observing my every move.

He sure knew how to live up to his name: Ghost.

"Oh, 's not that bad, lass," Soap replied with a shrug. He looked just as tired as Simon and I did, and I coul feel more guilt begin to pool in the bottom of my gut.