Alone With Myself
16 Sep 2016Kyndi the Badass Space Chick
The good news: I'm able to follow through on my spur-of-the-moment plan to combine two of my favorite things.The bad news: I'm up an hour later from one of my nightmares, covered in my own sweat. This being on top of already getting sweaty a few hours prior while I was- well, on top.
I sit up in my bunk, taking deep breaths to stop the spinning. I grope with one hand in the darkness for either the cabin light or my half-smoked joint, not really caring which one my fingers brush first. As luck would have it, I feel the joint roll around where I flicked it on the bunk as things got progressively more athletic. Content with my find, I feel around the sheets and fish out the lighter, re-igniting the o-head joint with a familiar flash in the dark.
I'm berthed on Izamikawa Port, an absolute gem of a find this deep in Imperial space. It's in the Sorbacoc system- only a few jumps away from Cubeo, and damn near anything is legal here as long as you've got the credits. The local economy's in the shitter, so dock rent is dirt cheap for anyone passing though. Turns out that there are only two kinds of resource rings in Sorbacoc: those that are nearly depleted, and those that are infested with pirates.
Piracy isn't a concern of mine, except that it makes the price of certain goods sky-high. Pirates attract bounty hunters, and bounty hunters make the market for weapons pretty damn lucrative. Before I'd known it, I'd killed two birds with one stone: making a deal to return with a full hold of stolen military gear, and inviting a tall, rakish reaper back to the Cool Under Fire to get my hold filled.
It was a productive bar visit, to say that least.
But that was then. Now, I'm taking tugs on a re-lit joint held with trembling hands, afterimages of the dream still running through my head. I was alone in my ship- the man was a pro at what he did, which meant that he'd known enough to smile and say goodbye once the job was done for us both. I walked him to the entry ramp, made an exception to my "no goodbye kisses" rule, and fell back into my bunk all sweaty and sleepy and happy. That's how my night should have ended.
But then the fucking dreams had to return.
It was no mystery as to what had brought them on. Finding the little girl unexpectedly in my cargo hold had fucked with me in ways that I hadn't fully acknowledged. It wasn't just the shock of hauling slaves- it was the rush of repressed memories from-
No. Fuck that. It's in the past. You've come too far to let some little girl drag you back.
I hold the joint up to my mouth, sucking more of the drug into my system and watching the cherry illuminate the area around me. The bunk is still a mess- I had more or less crashed after my guest bade me adieu. But even if my body is good and happy, my mind clearly isn't done turning over the reality of a little lost slave girl who turned up in my cargo hold. And the onionhead isn't helping like I'd hoped.
You know exactly what would have happened if she hadn't woken up.
I close my eyes, the sight of her looking over her shoulder at me as she was being led away playing over and over in my mind. She hadn't said a damn thing the entire time she'd been with me, but had clearly trusted me. I take another long drag, doing my best to rationalize my decision.
You did the right thing, turning her over to the Smurfs. They may be a bunch of starry-eyed idiots, but at least they're well-meaning idiots.
I hunch over as I exhale the pungent smoke, running a sweaty hand through my hair and shaking my head.
She can't have stayed. You're not running a fucking daycare, and you're for damn sure not mommy material.
Another deep pull on the joint, and I can feel the old familiar feeling as it saturates my system and starts to pull me away. The joint is almost totally burned away, but-
Just put it behind you, Kyndi Jane. You helped her as best you could. Go the fuck to bed.
I close my eyes, feeling the chill of damp sheets against my skin. I frown and pull the blanket over my body as I try to get comfortable. My frown turns into a scowl as my thoughts drift to my recently-departed ship guest.
Just once. Just this once it would have been nice have the guy stay nearby while you sleep.
Even as I have the thought, a wave of revulsion causes me to squeeze my eyes tighter. I finish the joint in one long, final pull, the onionhead finally kicking in. As my skin starts to tingle and my thoughts begin to drift, I try to channel my self-loathing into something constructive.
Jesus fuck, Kyndi. You gonna ask him to get hitched while you're at it? Go to sleep. Get up, have some coffee, and source some damn killware like a good little smuggler chick.
I roll onto my back, taking a deep breath and letting the Panem leaf carry me away.
And quit going soft over every stray that crosses your path.
