Rescuing a Snow Angel Ep. 02

"Jimmy, you okay, now?" I heard a soft, unfamiliar, feminine voice whispering beside me.

Turning my head, my eyes focused on the concerned look of a short-haired, brunette pixie. It was joined by another identical head floating just beyond it.

"Hello, girls," I managed to get out a weak reply.

I felt drained and struggled to sit up on the edge of bed; finding myself in the hotel office suite. They took my arms and helped steady me. It's been a long time since a panic episode hit me this badly. The last one cost me five days of class time while I was locked away in my dorm room. Fortunately, that time, Gennie rescued me. She came looking for sex, to take the edge off of an upcoming exam, and found me huddled up in a corner of my dorm room. I scared the shit out of her, I guess, because a med team showed up and was strapping me down, in short order despite my protests that I was ...

"So ..." I managed to squeeze all my thoughts of how I wound up in bed and how they came to be at my side into that 'one word'—So...

"Jimmy, we came back after our last snow rounds, to see if you would like to come over to our place for Christmas dinner, and found you still outside on the sidewalk. Gabby and I managed to get you on your feet and half-carried you inside. You've been out of it for about two hours now," Carmen answered, in response to my 'so' question. Both girls wore the identical looks of deep worry, as they watched me struggle to regain my senses.

"Do we need to take you to see your doctor, Jimmy?" Gabby asked, her voice audibly concerned.

"Or the Major?" Carmen chimed in, as her eyes focused on my hands. I could tell from her response that I must have been holding an incoherent therapy session with my shrink again in my unconscious state. Otherwise, they would not have known anything about the Major. I was left wondering just what I had revealed.

"The Major is in North Carolina, girls, too far a journey back there. I'll be okay, now, at least for a while. My last panic episode was over eight months ago, when I was a graduate student. Guess this one came on when I heard you talking about tying me up. I've had some bad experiences with that."

Their eyes widened and their mouths dropped at the realization that I'd overheard their afternoon conversation. Then the dawning of the connection of my reaction to their remarks came a few seconds later. The results were audible gasps followed by extreme, agitated apologies by both girls, at the same time. If I hadn't been so dazed; I'd have laughed and called it out as an identical twin's response phenomena.

Over the next hour, I found myself revealing, to a small extent, my POW days and my struggle toward a new normalcy in post-therapy sessions. I focused on my not being a total nut case—and—being very grateful for their finding and caring for me in this episode of distress. I'd learned from the Major that sharing too much background could only bring on more angst for myself and for those with whom I shared my story. Less is more, he would say. I gave them the 'less' version of me.

They spent much of that evening watching over me—in part because of a shared sense of guilt. Both felt partially responsible; having some causative role in the chain of events leading to my relapse. They were making sure, in their minds, that I was going to be okay when they left to finish preparing a really late Christmas dinner...now for three, they adamantly demanded.

They hosted a quiet dinner for the three of us at their place. A few bottles of beer, and just as Carmen had told Gabby, she and her sister were giving me their lusty version of themselves. We exchanged 'presents' that evening—pity sex—I think they call it, today. We sort of bonded—without ropes—and as flower children of the '70s, they freely enjoyed jumping my bones as Carmen described it earlier in the day. I called it a good evening, enjoyed by all. Christmas joy would be rolled into New Year's midnight kisses—the kind that cover every inch of your body! I was made to feel as welcome in their home as a new puppy with a fresh-rawhide chew toy.

By the Monday following New Year's Day, I was ready to have that discussion with Mr. Mortenson about living quarter arrangements and make my first day's appearance at work with Worthington and Worthington Accounting; happy and sexually inebriated!

Plenty of sex has a way of assuaging fears. I think I'll send a letter with my recommendation to that effect back to the Major, in my next progress update. I'm confident that incorporating that into the Army's restoration practices would be well received by strife-ladened vets—especially when it includes getting someone to jump your bones, as part of the plan! I had, in mind, two participants that I could highly recommend!

Late that evening, my trip back to the empty, dilapidated hotel had me thinking about Rachel again and how her Christmas Day was spent. I wish that she had left me a way to contact her. Hell, even if I had her last name, I could have at least tried to find out how many families there might be in South Bend with the same name. Perhaps I could do some library research in the evening after getting settled into the new job. Could do some newspaper searching on missing or runaway children's articles in the South Bend, Indiana area about four years ago. I suppose I could start looking into that first. Although Rachel seemed to display few redeeming qualities; she still piqued my interest as someone salvageable. These last thoughts ran through my mind, as sleep flowed over my well jumped bones, and kept away the reoccurring dreams of jungles so far away and not so long ago.

Thanks for reading this new 'day in the life of' Jim Rawlings, a Vietnam POW character. I hope you enjoyed this character development piece and come back for the next event in his ongoing transition into civilian life.

Thanks, kenjisato, for your refinements. I very much appreciate your keen eye and suggestions for improvement in these revisions.

Thanks to all who made it this far in my story! Please, take a moment to rate my story, and if you have another moment, please, pen a note on what you thought of the storyline. I use constructive advice to improve my work and do appreciatively take it into consideration, whether positive or negative. I do take it to heart, striving to write a 'better story the next time.'

Dmallord.