'Arriving in San Diego in one piece is nothing short of a goddamn miracle.' I muse as I stuff my musty and still slightly damp clothes in my duffel bag.

I only have a couple of hours until I leave for the Naval air base at North Island, California. I run a hand over my mustache, scratching my five o'clock shadow, which is more of a 3 AM shadow if I am being honest with myself. Last night got a little out of hand and I have a serious hangover, making me embarrassingly late for the morning assembly starting in exactly 7 minutes.

I quickly finish cramming my gear and personal items into the duffel bag, trying to compress the bulk of it by pushing down on it roughly. No such luck. Glancing at my watch one last time I rush out of the empty dorms, zip still slightly undone on my bag as I skid across the lino floors. As I make my way towards the assembly hall, I catch my reflection in the window of the long hallway leading towards the buzzing assembly hall.

'I look like absolute shit', I whinge slightly.

I have dark circles under my eyes, my skin pale and dull looking. I sigh, putting on my most professional façade, and push open the grand hall's double doors just as everyone is settling down for Captain Moore's farewell speech. I hastily plonk myself down next to Headless. He gives me a small nod of acknowledgment and quirks an eyebrow at my obvious dishevelment. I clear my throat theatrically, winking at him.

"Amanda?" he whispers, and I give him a knowing look and a devilish smile.

"No, Nicole." Headless pretends to huff in indignation but I see a smile form around his mouth. Everyone settles down and Moore begins to speak.

Later that day as I'm walking towards departure hall 4 at Norfolk airport I receive a text from an unknown number:

'Had a great time last night, call me 3'' I cringe and stuff my phone back in my pocket, I'm not about to respond. I'm not good at any kind of relationships so it's best to cut off the advances of, what I assume is a redhead named Nicole, right away. I'm not even sure why I gave her my number as I left her apartment late last night. A one night stand is for one night, at least in my book anyway.
Last night flashes across my mind, a strange feeling of embarrassment surging through me, I don't remember everything vividly, only that I couldn't wait to rip her clothes off in a flurry of drunken horniness, not even making it to the bedroom. I didn't like fucking them in their beds, being in bed with them made way for all sorts of expectations: sleeping together, having breakfast together, making small talk…I shudder as I try to lose the image of the redheads' pleading eyes asking me to stay the night. Thank god I had had the excuse of having to return to the barracks before curfew and I had made a quick escape, scribbling down my number on a notepad in the kitchen. Pathetic I admonish myself. A clean cut is always best in these types of situations.

I walk briskly past security and customs. I'm still in my khaki's, which means that a lot of people stop and stare. You would think that people got used to seeing navy personnel around the airport. It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable so I decide to look for a public bathroom and change into my civies. A pair of crumpled jeans and a black t shirt and a demin jacket with an oil stain. Perfect.

I receive another message, my phone buzzing in my back pocket, this time from Charlotte. I feel a familiar tightening in my groin as my eyes take in a picture of a pert little ass in red lace panties. I bite my lip, feeling the tips of my ears grow warm. Glancing around as if to see nobody in the restroom looked at my screen, I typed a quick reply.

'Headed out to San Diego, maybe in a couple of months ;)'. Now Charlotte is a girl I always reply to, she's my number one girl so to speak. Flashbacks of hot and sweaty nights play in my head as I board the plane, keeping my mind occupied for the first hour or so. I recline the seat and close my eyes, still feeling pretty hungover from the night before but I can't seem to relax.

The moment I close my eyes my mind starts milling everything over, saying goodbye to grandpa yesterday, seeing his eyes glaze over as I tell him of my call back to Topgun. We had spent the evening in deep conversation and having a good time at his house in Chesapeake, where he had been living on his own ever since Mimi died three years ago. We had spent the weekend fishing in the bay and I helped weeding his garden, it had felt like the good old days, except it hadn't been that long ago that grandpa and Mimi took me in, and there hadn't been that many good days.

After mom died he had tried to make it work on his own, fresh out of high school and ready to enlist in the United States Navy. But then his papers were pulled to the academy and he felt lost and stupid for a while. That's when grandpa Joe had stepped in, dragging him kicking and screaming from California to going on to study political science in Virginia and moving in with his grandparents in Chesapeake.
After graduating university, having been granted an automatic nomination for the naval academy in Annapolis, he had moved out the same summer, taking up boarding at the barracks immediately, leaving Mimi and grandpa behind in their grieve filled house.
-

After a nice quiet dinner last night Cathy had called, or was her name Michelle? I can't seem to remember her name.

Grandpa was not amused as I tried to act normal to the dirty talk I was receiving secretly via cellphone as I tried to cut dinner short for a meaningless hookup. He had pretended he didn't know where I was going. I remember seeing the hurt in his eyes and I had thought he wasn't going to say anything when he suddenly spoke up, just as I was about to walk off the porch and to my car.

"Bradley, why do you never bring a nice girl home?, you know your old man would have loved you to.." I had cut him off with a clipped response.

"I don't know what you mean. Bye grandpa". And I had turned swiftly on my heels, got in my car and sped off, only giving the old man a quick wave by means of goodbye.

Nice girl. Right. Too bad he wasn't a 'Nice Guy'. He wasn't good at relationships, and especially not long distance ones where his life was in danger constantly. He couldn't afford to be distracted, to be missed by some significant other. He liked his arrangements just as they were, him having built a wall around himself, hooking up with insignificant albeit nice girls and leaving again when it suited him, having had his fill of them, having released his anger or built up tension from performing under immense stress. The girls didn't seem to mind, sleeping with a navy officer who left in the dead of night. I mean, he always made sure to convey his intentions. Just sex. Nothing more.

I feel a pang of guilt, grandpa was 83 and Mimi had died only a couple of years ago, making him, I assumed, quite lonely. As I think this over, sitting on the plane I rub a hand over my face tiredly, settling back in the chair and drifting away into a restless and guilt filled sleep.