Flippy scanned the floor with wide eyes; glass and silverware glistening with water were scattered everywhere across the tile, clinking and spinning until the pieces became still. Flaky was on her knees, slowly sitting up, forks and dish soap caught in her tangled mass of red hair. The disposal was humming behind her, a forgotten spoon spinning and hitting the sides of the drain. In reality, this just looked like a mess that would take a while to clean; the loss of good china plates and more dirty silverware to wash. Just a pain; inconvenience.
But to Flippy, his mind conjured up and twisted what he saw to fit his own disturbed reality. The images that normally flashed before his eyes took the opportunity to present themselves in front of him. It was frightening, so shockingly real. The scene was painted in his mind; it had been a dark and cloudy day, absent of time and seemingly a part of the world that society forgot. Bleak, empty, a wasteland. Through the buzz from the sink, he remembered the sounds of endless gun shots. A hail storm of bullets; remembering the smell of the gun powder and fire arms, the sight of a bullet exploding out of the barrel faster than the speed of light, going straight through a person. The images of bright red flowing out with a life of its own, like a force escaping captivity and rushing to the surface as it spewed from under the skin.
The water that dripped and made puddles on the tile made him think of the rain; the days when rain hovered overhead and poured down on them, soaking them and the battlefield. The wet ground under his boots that gave way as he ran, dodged, jumped… The way it splattered against everyone's skin, seemingly unnoticed. The way it poured down on the bodies on the ground, sinking into the mud and mixing with the steady stream of red. The way it made every face present look like it was crying rivers of tears. Maybe some of them really were.
The silverware that haphazardly crashed down and rang out with clinking and metal against metal made him remember the swarm of weapons thrown at him. The grenades that he had seconds to dodge, the knives he would have to spin around that still sometimes managed to slice at his skin and clothes. The feeling of how it didn't hurt after a while, the only feeling the need to survive and the thrill of the chase. The way a gun was fired, aimed right for him, and how he had almost seen every shot in slow motion. He was the lucky one, who managed to escape its narrow path in the brief milliseconds of life and death; he wasn't one of the unlucky ones, who didn't make it past a scream that was stopped before it was ever sounded.
The look on Flaky's face he saw when his eyes roamed over her; the look similar to a deer caught in the headlights. It was something past fear; fear was irrational. It was a look that had concrete realization, a definite understanding of where your fate was hanging. Flaky, who was now no longer Flaky. Her image took on one of his comrades and the way they had screamed at each other over the ear splitting buzz of gunshots that one fateful day. The way he had seen his friend accept his death, his chest overflowing with red when Flippy crouched down beside him. His face was dripping with rain water and sweat, his eyes hazy and the color in his face slowly starting to drain. 'You're going to make it! Get up!' Flippy had remembered his voice; broken, loud.
'I can't.'
'Don't say that! Come on!'
'Flippy, it's all over. Go on without me.'
'I'm not leaving you!'
Flippy didn't remember what was going through his head for a good while after that moment. He knew he had picked up his friend, and single-handedly plowed through the enemy, cutting anyone down in his path. He had only stopped when he made it back to base, and even then others had to hold him back as they took away his friend. He didn't remember the exact moment when the heart inside his friend had stopped, taking his life. He was insatiable for a long time after they told him, not believing any of it, bursting into the room and shaking the body mercilessly. Flippy had only had one true friend during that war; they had been drafted together and gone through all the training, side by side. And the world had taken him away. Flippy was never the same after that. Fear became something that no longer existed inside him. He was no longer afraid to die. He was a priority, the way he fearlessly charged with almost unconscious determination. Some thought he had lost his mind, they way he no longer had the human element of death in his eyes. Instead of dying, he became stronger. He was the one who was sent on the death-missions, not saying a word about it. He always came back the same as he went; silent. No bragging, no sadness, absolutely nothing. No emotion. Just blank. No many how many lives taken or lost, he was silent.
The small cut on Flaky's arm from a piece of glass she had fallen on was bright red against her pale skin. The sight of blood was nothing new to Flippy. It was something that didn't mean anything to him anymore. He had lost and taken blood; he had made it spill and seen it spilled. It was just another constant, like breathing air or blinking. Yet when he saw it in his delusional state, it was like a blinking warning light. Bright as a stop light and loud as a train. It meant that life was flowing near him. It meant it would only take seconds to decide what to do with it.
Flaky was looking from him to the cake cutter across the floor, and back again. He followed her gaze and rested his eyes on it, examining it, seeing his reflection. He saw his eyes, the dilated pupils and the bared fangs, the steely look of someone who wasn't all there. His knuckles were white from clenching his fingers so tight, adrenaline shooting through his veins and making the vein in his neck throb.
He stepped towards it.
Flaky was frozen, looking up at Flippy's tensed figure in the door frame. His hands were in fists, and he had a hint of a smile on his lips. A low snarl rumbled in his throat.
Oh no, Flaky thought to herself, fear consuming her. It was all over now. There was nothing she could do. The end was near.
Flippy had found out his birthday surprise!
What was she supposed to do now! The surprise was ruined!
She felt like crying when she looked around her. He'd seen the pretty china! He'd seen his strawberry cake and the strawberries and the delicious icing and the cake cutter she had secretly used! And now she'd made a big mess that he would probably want to help clean up.
What kind of girlfriend was she? She felt so ashamed; keeping a surprise shouldn't be that hard, right? It should have been perfect, just the way she planned it! She even had those candles that when you blew them out lighted up again! She had found them so amazing she lit one up for herself the night before to play with. She wanted to see the look on Flippy's face when the candle relit! She wanted to laugh and for him to laugh back!
She started shaking, like she always did when she got nervous. Could she still make this a great birthday? Could she still make things fun?
The cake cutter, she realized with hope. Her eyes flicked over to it as she tried to keep watching Flippy's face. She could still finish the cake! She was about to move towards the cutter when Flippy suddenly stepped forward, his boots crushing the bits of glass closest him. She panicked; she could do this herself. It was his birthday, he shouldn't have to help. He reached for it, eyes wide.
Flaky threw herself forward, sliding across the floor and taking the cake cutter in her hands. Flippy started back in surprise, confusion on his face. They stayed like that for a while, silently staring at each other in their places, Flaky clutching it and Flippy watching intently. She opened her mouth to say something, standing up slowly first, shaking the glass from her clothes and hair. She took a step, but stopped cold when she heard a crunch.
"Um...F-Flippy," she said the words softly, surprised at the sound of her own voice. "I-"
Suddenly, Flippy was in front of her, hands outstretched and clasped around her throat. She gasped in surprise, his fingers holding her in place in a firm grip. She felt her blood freeze as she looked into his eyes; saw the emotion and the disappointment. He was really angry this time, and it was all her fault. His fingers tightened slightly, and she couldn't stop the tears from overflowing.
"I'M-I'M SO S-SORRY, FLIPPY," she cried, her voice cracking and tears blinding her vision. "I KNOW IT WAS S-SUPPOSED TO BE A-A-A SURPRISE, BUT I…"
It was all over for her. He would probably break up with her now, and she would be alone, and he wouldn't get to eat his cake, and she'd have to tell her mom she'd broken all the china. She wished she could make everything better again.
In that exact moment, something snapped in Flippy. His face lit up, control returning inside him in a flash. He realized where he was, what was happening, the place he was and the things around him. It was no longer the battlefield; it was no longer the world of death and gun fire. It was Flaky's apartment, room 26C. The home that felt like a haven, the place where he immediately felt warmth and felt there really was a place he belonged. The kitchen that smelled like lemons and the plants on the porch. The wall clock that was 4 hours behind and the ceiling fan that shook when it was turned up too high. The sound of Flaky's voice and the way she smiled. He realized with the deepest feeling of terror he'd ever experienced that he held Flaky in front of him by the nape of her neck, tears like wax running down her face, dripping onto her shirt and his wrists.
It couldn't have come fast enough, the time it took for Flippy to drop his hands from around Flaky's throat. She sound of her gasping for breath assaulted his ears, guilt stabbing him like a knife. It had replaced the delusion in his head, forcing the images back into submission. He was alive, and had woken up to a nightmare.
"Flaky," his voice choked out, his hands shaking. He backed up, stepping on glass and flinching as it crunched. "Flaky…I-"
"FLIPPY I'M SORRY!" she wailed, making him stop short. He looked at her with wide eyes, mind scrambling to comprehend. Why was SHE the one apologizing?
"I'M SORRY I RUINED YOUR BIRTHDAY SURPRISE!"
She was covering her face now, shoulders trembling and breath heaving. She looked so small, wrapped around in herself. Her thin wrists her pink sleeves slid down against, the long hem line and yellow skirt that brushed her knee caps, the socks and shoes that hid her thin legs. She looked like a child sometimes, not so much as weak as just delicate.
Flippy stared at her when he slowly began to understand. They were on completely different wavelengths. He had just attacked her in an episode of his PTSD, and she was crying because he had walked into the kitchen and seen the cake she was making. It was so ironic he burst into laughter. Flippy stopped her sobs and looked at him through her fingers.
"Flippy?"
He was still laughing as he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. She tensed at first, as he pulled her to him and held her tightly, his laughing breath tickling her ears. It was just a slight chuckle now as he buried his nose into her sweater.
"Flippy, stop crying."
"But!"
"I'm not mad."
"But I!"
"I'm happy, Flippy," he said, and meant every word.
"But I…I ruined the surprise!" she objected.
"No you didn't. It's great, really."
There was a pause before she said, so softly it was almost inaudible, "Really?"
"Yes."
"You mean it?"
"Yes, I mean it."
"Your not gonna break up with me?"
He had pulled back to look he in the eyes, brows furrowed. "Of course not."
She gave another happy sob before laughing, lacing her arms under his and hugging him back.
"I'm so glad," she smiled against his chest, gripping his jacket.
Flippy decided not to go into details and correct Flaky on her misunderstanding. It seemed irrelevant now, as he held her close. Maybe one day, she would understand. But he had realized that wouldn't matter either. She would still act as blissfully indifferent as usual, would still smile at him and try to make him proud. She would still hug him close and blush red when he kissed her. She would still try to make his birthdays special. The part he had kept under wraps for so long had finally revealed itself, completely unnoticed. Now all that was left was to be here, alive in this moment. With her. Standing for hours until he had to strength to let go and allow her to finish the cake that they were eating within the next 10 minutes.
As he looked at her now, curled up next to him on the floor with icing on her face and a smile that reached from ear to ear, talking as she ate and laughing when he blew out the candles, he thought maybe, just maybe, birthdays weren't as stupid as he had thought.