Shit.

FUCK.

SHIT.

It happened again.

I thought I was past this. I thought I was better.

The psychologists told me I was better. They told me I didn’t need the medication anymore.

And yet, here I am. Shaking and quivering, like a little girl. Those bitch-ass doctors must have been lying. I will destroy them for lying to me.

Fucking hell. Fucking DAMN IT.

You know what it was that triggered it? It was the stupidest damn thing.

It was a dude, just some random guy, eating a piece of meat in the cafeteria.

His teeth were tearing into it. White flashing things, gnashing away at that meat. And it reminded me of…

Of…

Of the Sarcophage, the Belphegor, Moby, gnawing away at the meat of my legs. Just… dissolving them…

Fuck. Why is it always stupid little shit like this that triggers the memories? Why is it always the dumbest little things?

And why do the memories make me shake in fear, like a little girl?

It doesn’t make any goddamned sense.

I thought I was stronger than this. I KNEW I WAS STRONGER THAN THIS!

And yet… all my defiance crumbled away in an instant.

Another flashback? How pathetic. My comrades from Mars are probably laughing at me right now, laughing at how pathetic I am.

God.

I thought I was stronger than this.

I thought I was better than this.

I need help. I know I need help.

Where is she? Where is Kometka?

*****

From before, I remember. The brief interstitials when I was okay. When I pretended to be normal, when I pretended to be okay.

When… SHE was beside me.

The incredibly intimidating Captain Savitskaya had appointed me command of some kind of Maid Squadron. Everyone had dressed up in utterly ridiculous uniforms, showing too much thigh and not at all optimized for combat. And I was in charge of this silly thing.

Why is combat all I think about? It’s not usually this way, but…

Well.

Kometka had warned me her sister Sveta (nee Lisichka) was a free spirit of the most extreme type. Apparently her personality had infected her mother, and before I knew it I was dressed in a cosplay straight out of a pre-war pornography film. A French maid, of all the damn things.

The little mad scientist vixen, who constantly appended ‘gao~n’ to her sentences as if she were trying to prove something, took great pride in our humiliation. So did her second born, the legendary Sveta. She was a creature of legendary rambunctiousness and immaturity. Her energy was both blinding and incomprehensible. I can see why Kometka adored her so, as one might worship the sun.

I played along, and feigned indignation. It was the least I could do for these hatchlings, these poor young souls who had not yet seen the deepest horrors. They enjoyed their maid costumes, their frivolity, their shallow pleasures. Who was I to interrupt?

Why am I being so judgmental? I don’t fucking know. I’m not usually this bad, I swear.

I’m just damaged.

All this maid nonsense was strangely embarrassing, but also nice. Kometka once told me about how her sister dressed her up in almost pornographic bunnygirl costumes, and the maid antics matched that in sheer… gayness? Lesbianism? I heard the term ‘Lesbian Maid Squad’ bandied about more than once, by the old twink Maurice.

Am I a lesbian? The only person I ever fell in love with was a computer lady, the AI of my Gravity Frame. I guess that makes me a lesbian, in a weird sense. Shit, I dunno. I ain’t in a position to be legislating my sexuality.

I don’t know anything.

Huh? What is WITH ME right now? My moods are flightier than a Martian seagull. Is it because remembering the nice things buries the bad things? Am I just running away, pitiful shivering coward that I am?

I guess so. Hah.

Well, let’s focus on the nice things, then. Kometka. She’s the nicest thing to ever happen to me. I love her so much.

What was that song she sung for me, again? I remember…

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…

*****

“Lydia? Are you okay?”

That voice. The voice I love. I grasp onto it, desperately. I cling to it.

“Lydia…”

Kometka, please. I’m… not doing well. I’m not okay. Help.

I try to speak, but nothing comes out. Not even a gasp. My muscles are not mine to control. I shiver and quiver and shake.

Suddenly, I feel something. A gentle pressure, on my arm. A hand.

Whose hand? Whose?

Yuri? No, his hand is large and rough. Like sandpaper on a bear’s paw.

Yayoi? No, her touch is far from gentle. She grips like a vice.

Then whose? Who can be this tender? Who knows me this well?

I squeeze open my eyes and look. To my shock, to my utter surprise…

Kometka. My everything. Upon seeing her, a wave of relief washes over me.

She floats there, realer than she’s ever been. In her Telepresence Doll, lent physicality for the first time.

And she’s gripping my arm.

She looks at me, eyes full of love and concern. “Another flashback?” she asks.

I try to reply. My voice comes out as a pitiful squeak, barely audible. I can’t form words, no matter how hard I try. My entire body quakes.

That’s all the answer she needs. The physical Kometka curls around me like a comforting blanket, cool and encapsulating. She clings tight and begins to sing.

She knows the singing helps. I lose myself in it.

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I am found,
Was blind, but now I see…”

*****

I don’t know how many hours passed. When I get these flashbacks, I lose perception of time. All I know is Kometka was beside me the entire time. Realer this time than any before. What a lucky girl I am, and I mean that in sincerity.

The physicians and psychologists call it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Those of us who have experienced trauma develop it at a rate of around 20-25%, or so they tell me. Before the war, the rates were supposedly half that. Humanity as a whole is traumatized to degrees unprecedented.

I’ve had tons of trauma in my life, to understate things. My parents and family were consumed by the Sarcophage. My eye as well. Ever since Mars, I’ve been professionally diagnosed with PTSD; so were most of the survivors, or so I’m told. You think experiencing this shit since a young age would make one jaded, or desensitize me, but alas.

So much for my much-vaunted image as a badass, huh?

They gave me antidepressants to manage it, and they helped. Sometimes. There was a period, after the Third Great Surge, when it got really bad. Having your legs eaten really fucks up a girl, y’know? Whole weeks of time are lost to me, and that’s probably for the better.

There was one person, one precious being, who helped me get through that toughest of times. The girl from another world, who experienced just as great of trauma as me, and yet was somehow stronger. And now, as I so pathetically succumbed to the latest flashback, she was still by my side. Steady, unyielding, uncompromising.

My everything.

“Hey.” Kometka said.

“Hey.” I replied.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No.” I answered, honestly. Lying to her would be futile; she could detect any dishonesty effortlessly and had no feelings to spare. “I’m not okay, but I’m getting better.”

She smiled. That sweet, precious smile. And she hugged me, all the tighter.

This was a new sensation. Previously, Kometka had appeared to me only on video screens. Now she was clinging to me as any human might. I… found it very comforting. My fingers dug into her back.

“Here.” Kometka said. She held her hand up to my mouth. There were two pills there. I knew what they were.

“I don’t…” I began.

“Lydia. Shut up and swallow.” she replied. She was unwilling to tolerate any argument, in the proud tradition of Doctor Yayoi.

But, the antidepressants. If I swallowed those, I’d be admitting I had a problem. I’d be admitting I was weak. I’d be admitting that, after two years, I had flashed back. Admitting I had relapsed.

I refused, out of pride. Stupid, on my part, but I didn’t care.

“Hmph. Stubborn, as always. Will this help?” Kometka pushed the pills past her lips, and then brought her lips to mine.

“Huh?” I blurted out, briefly, before being drawn into the kiss.

My very first kiss, ever.

Her tongue passed my lips, and so did the pills. I had little choice but to swallow. And after that, her tongue lingered inside me. It felt… so REAL.

And, despite the coolness of her lips, the kiss was warm. So very warm.

I don’t know how long it takes for antidepressants to hit your bloodstream, but instantly I felt better. You can call that the placebo effect or whatever. Maybe it was simply the tender embrace of Kometka that drove the badness away.

I held her tight. Tighter than anything.

And the badness passed. As it always does.

*****

“Alright, you pathetic MAGGOTS!” I shouted. Before me stood the Maid Squadron, in their completely ridiculous and nearly pornographic uniforms, ramrod-straight. “I hope you took Maurice’s lessons to heart.” I said.

My second-in-command, 1^st Lieutenant Maurice Spiteri, stood beside me with a twisted smile on his face. “I’ll be testing you today.” he said, striking a pose filled with confidence and vigor. “Maid lessons in the morning, and combat drills in the afternoon. A proper maid must be skilled in both housekeeping, and mortal combat! Prepare yourself for HELL!”

Everyone groaned, but nobody seemed to mind. Even Sveta, who had somehow duplicated herself, was playing along. After all, we knew what we were up against. Any extra edge was welcome, no matter where it came from.

And so, the day’s drills began. I had finally managed to assert my authority as a commanding officer, to my delight and chagrin. Even Vicky, my old friend, finally respected me. They all followed my orders, completely unaware of just how fragile I was inside.

Completely unaware of how pathetic I was. Completely unaware of the front I put up to hide it all away.

And at every moment, Kometka stayed beside me. Clinging to my arm. Reassuring me. She was my strength.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.” I replied, and meant it.