Terrorist

The suspicious John Doe is sitting four rows behind the boys in second class, while our team and the band are in first. He carried on a briefcase with him. I am facing away from the cockpit, towards our suspect.
"Keep a close eye on him," Steve leans over and whispers in my ear. "Especially with the boys around." I nod in response.
I put in my earbuds and turned up Asking Alexandria. I always concentrate better with music, especially under stress.
As the plane lifts from the runway and my heart rate increases, all of my senses begin to agitate me. Every sound, every movement from our John Doe catches my eye, even his closed eyes moving while he naps.
No one on the team knows about my post traumatic stress disorder, nor my panic attacks. In 2010, I was repeatedly gang-raped by as many as twelve different men over the course of a year and four months. Every little thing stresses me, and music form artists like Black Veil Brides keeps me calm and sane.
Two hours into the flight, I feel myself falling asleep. Fortunately, I feel a tap on my shoulder. It was CC.
"Hey, what's up?" I say sleepily, stretching my arms.
"No fair falling asleep on us!" I smile. He quietly adds, "You're supposed to be protecting us and keeping a lookout on that asshole!"
"Sorry CC, I was so nervous last night, I barely got any sleep," I yawn.
"Why were you so nervous?" He inquired.
"This is my first time traveling with the team," I said. He nudges me.
"Other than the fact that you almost fell asleep on the job, you're doing great!"
Just as lively as I thought! He's such a cutie!
"Thank you CC," I grin.
"You're very welcome."
Shit, I gotta pee!
"Hey Steve, I'm gonna head for the lav, alright? Keep my watch." He nods.
I bend over and shove my fingers down my throat. Liquid falls into the toilet. Nobody knows about my eating disorder, I don't even have an eating disorder buddy. It's a stress coping mechanism, I suppose.
My head jolts up, my fingers remove themselves, and my hearing sharpens when I hear a woman screaming.

Notes