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He only hoped now that his handiwork held. Grasping the throw handles on the dash in both hands, he watched the counter. Sixty-four, sixty-five, sixty-six–timing was critical, it meant the difference between freedom and death. At seventy-one seconds exactly, he jerked the handles down, closing the circuit. Instantly, the cockpit flashed, filling with a hot, blue-white light so intense, he would have been blinded if not for his face shield. The machine boomed, exploding into high gear, taking on speed at an impossible rate. The pain in Richard’s head magnified exponentially–jumping from the back to the front and back again, it threatened to push his eyes from their sockets. At ninety-four seconds he puked violently, spraying the contents of his belly onto his face shield, covering his eyes and blurring his vision with its putrid stickiness. He was helpless to do anything about it, as the hot vomit filled his mouth and nose, before seeping down to soak the base of his neck. His skull. I was beginning to get a migraine and my back was starting to itch. My scars were noticeable from the dress and I didn’t want to have to explain them off. We sat next to each other, like always. We never really sit across from each other. I have problems with eye contact, so it makes it easier when we sit next to each other.“So Jessie, having a good time?” he said about 20 minutes into eating.“Ehh… been to better dances,” I replied. “Maybe we should call Mom and have her pick us up.”“Hmm… yeah, you may be right. Okay, I’ll go to the payphone,” he said. The thing about us is that we never argue. We argued once in our entire lives. Our thoughts are always in sync with each other. Five minutes later, he returns to the table with some more snacks. “She’ll pick us up in ten minutes,” he calmly said while prodding his dish with a fork.I never really thought of him in a sexual way before. I don’t know what came over me. I just looked into his eyes. No, I didn’t just look into his eyes; I.
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