"Zachary, I would like my daughter back," my mom said when on the phone with Zach at some obscene hour the next morning.
"Don't you remember? You gave her to me a little less than two years ago, when we got married," he replied sarcastically.
"Don't you remember? Both of you are minors at the moment, so for a little less than two years, she's still technically legally mine," she retorted.
"A year and three months," he said shortly.
"Oh, counting down the days, are we, Zachary?" she asked.
"Hell yeah. I don't see any shame in it, Morgan," he said.
"Language, Goode. I expect her back by lunch, got it?" I heard through the phone.
"Ugh! She hung up on me! I can't believe it! How rude! Your mother hung up on me, Cam," he whined.
"They do say the mother in law is the ultimate bitch," I offered. He glared.
"Oh, what gives, baby? Never been hung up on before?" I asked.
"No!" he exclaimed. I giggled.
"Well, there's a first time for everything; at least you've gotten it over with," I attempted to console him.
Looking at me, his expression softened. "You were screaming around three this morning. Care to share?"
"Just the usual nightmares. Less of a nightmare, really, and more of a memory. Except, when he was hurting me, you jumped in to stop him, and he killed you. That never happened, obviously."
"But it would have, if he hadn't gotten killed on that mission three years ago," he reminded me.
My abusive father had been hurting me since I was six, when my mom went MIA for a while. She had lived, of course, but went to Gallagher without even letting us know she was alive. She tells me every time I blame all of my problems on her that she thought she was protecting me. She just didn't know that what I really needed protecting from was my dad. He was killed in action three years ago when I was fourteen, and it wasn't until then that the abuse stopped and I began staying with my grandparents over the summers. All I had left of the abuse was frequent doctor's appointments, a plethora of prescription medications to be taken daily, and overwhelming old hospital bills.
His abuse left me with tumors in my uterus, results of a sexually transmitted disease. I was rendered infertile and there was always the chance my tumors could relapse. I took many medicines to avoid that, insomnia medicines as I had sleeping troubles due to nightmares, and for plenty of other things, like scar prevention due to my numerous procedures.
"So, Cam," Grant started at breakfast the next day- I was disliking this already, it reminded me of yesterday, and look how that went- "sleep well last night?"
I shook my head and groaned.
"I didn't think so,"he said. "You kept screaming Zach's name and whimpering, with a few groans thrown in for good measure."
"He was dying in my dream, okay? And I need to get my sleeping pills filled. I was out of them and couldn't pop a few to drown out the nightmares like I normally do," I replied, causing him to fall silent. I stormed out of the mess hall, and Zach followed me. Jesse was supposed to fly us back on one of the helicopters today.
I slipped on one of Zach's old uniforms from seventh grade, one of the canary yellow jumpsuits that said GOODE I big, capitol, black block letters. I had converted the pants into short shorts and sewn big, gaudy black buttons into the top, cutting the sleeves into three- quarter lengths that folded back up to about my elbow. I had a black tank under it because I didn't button the buttons until halfway down my torso.
Lastly, I put a walking boot on one foot and a black Toms on the other. Grant had accidentally pushed me off a forty foot cliff yesterday when we were shooting archery. The targets were six hundred yards away and down the cliff. It hurt like crap, but I hadn't complained too much. My whole torso was wrapped up in gauze because it ruptured some old scar tissue that had had skin again on it. I had fractured seven tarsals and my fibula, but it would be fine within the month, of course.
I sighed and boarded the helicopter.