Kingsman: The Whiskey Rebellion

Chapter Seven

I woke up the next day, feeling quite the peculiar feeling. It wasn't anything bad, but it just felt...different. I felt much different. It was a good kind of different, so I didn't complain at all. Even the soreness I felt didn't stop me from spitting out one single complaint. When I finally came to my senses, I looked down to the floor next to my side of the bed and saw a messy pile of my clothes. Then, I finally realized what happened last night.

I almost forgot about it, but my clothes on the floor made me relive all the memories from last night.

I let out a confused, shocked scream that wasn't even considered very loud. Still, Whiskey must've caught wind of it because he came out of nowhere to see why I was screaming the way I did.

"What? What's goin' on, sugar?" he asked.

I stammered, trying to explain to Whiskey what was going on. But full sentences couldn't be formed. Instead, I had to resort to only syllables, which were the only things that were coming out of my mouth. Still frustrated, I unleashed a frustrated yell that solidified what I was trying to say. Whiskey was baffled with my reaction, but after seeing my messy pile of clothes on the floor, he finally understood what I was so flustered about.

"Okay. Say that again, but in English, please," he said.

I inhaled a sharp, frosty breath before speaking. "Did we—did we do what I think we did last night? Remind me again."

"Yeah. We did what you think we did," Whiskey confirmed.

"So I slept with you last night?" I asked, just to reaffirm my suspicions that what happened last night wasn't a hallucination.

"Yeah."

I stared at Whiskey blankly, spacing out of reality for a hot minute. Even though I was consenting, I couldn't believe that I slept with Whiskey for the first time last night. It was something that I—from a couple months ago—didn't dream of doing. Now, I'm a changed person, having technically followed my ground rules. But at this point, I'm willing to forego them for Whiskey's sake. I established these rules because I was afraid of falling in love after what happened to Devin. I put them in place to consider them a firm set of boundaries for me. They served as a reminder to me that I can't go too far with someone.

But now that I'm romantically involved with Whiskey, things have changed.

Clad in my second of three winter uniforms I have for the Statesman, I followed Whiskey to the town of Kurgan. Our purpose...to scope out the aftermath of this terrorist attack and possibly get some more intel about Balor and his men. Hell, maybe we could capture a couple of his men along the way. I wouldn't complain if we did. As I walked by Whiskey's side and feeling more protected than ever, Whiskey took notice of my odd behavior. My odd behavior, to him, was that I apparently wasn't even in the slightest bit cold.

"Sugar, are you sure you ain't a lil' bit cold?" he asked.

I grinned and shook my head side-to-side. "Nope. I'm all toasty."

"Really? You're not cold at all?"

"Nope," I said, still beaming with pride. "I got my gray turtleneck, fuzzy black coat here, fuzzy earmuffs, thermal black snow pants, and fuzzy white snow boots. I'm all good, baby."

He raised one eyebrow and smirked. "That's a new one for me, sugar."

"Hey. You call me pretty mama and your good girl, I can call you baby," I said, backing up my reasoning.

Our joyful conversation soon turned to dead silence, as Whiskey and I came across the damage from the terrorist attack. It was god awful. Not just because of the odor lingering in the air, but also because of the images that were imprinted into my mind. It was like a tornado hit the town square, as broken glass was strewn about every inch of the ground. Sheet metal, totaled cars, and even demolished buildings scattered the area, only adding to the devastation. Ashes scattered the ground as Whiskey and I felt the crunch of the broken glass beneath our feet.