B (24:08)

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A (24:40)

Lo and behold, PT ended and I still couldn't walk. My ankle couldn't hold any of my weight at all and I wondered if maybe it was broken. It didn't hurt too badly if I didn't try to use it though, so I figured it was just a really bad sprain. Either way, I was in no shape to walk home and anyone with a car had left it at the barracks, including me. I honestly hate talking about this next part. It's one of those things that I just feel so weirdly self conscious about and there's really no way I can avoid being direct because otherwise it's impossible to understand. When it came to getting my injured ass home, Frank insisted on carrying me back himself. Even at the first suggestion, I was already like yeah, no way. But then he further explained that the easiest way to carry me would be if I sat on his shoulders. You know, like how a parent holds up a child for a parade. Except I am a whole ass grown woman and we've all been sweating our asses off for like three hours now, so I don't exactly feel like having a sweaty bald head up against my sweaty crotch as he starts walking the agonizing 30 minutes home. Like literally every part of that sounds like everything I never wanted. I looked to the others for help avoiding the situation. Couldn't someone run back and get my car to Drive me home? Oh no. The traffic is too terrible. It would take longer than walking. Couldn't we do a group carry? Wouldn't that be faster? Long story short, no. The others tried some group carries at first, but the whole affair was so slow moving and impractical that everyone's exasperated expressions were enough to coerce me into dropping the idea. I tell the others they can just go home and then start their weekend. I can just hobble and take breaks and I'll get there. Eventually, Frank convinces them that they can leave because he'll stay with me. I expected that and say nothing of it. He lets me hobble along without saying a word. But every time I flinch too hard or stop to take a break, he reminds me of how quickly he could carry me back on his shoulders. I moved very slowly. After maybe the sea sixth time or so, I was sick of the pain in my ankle and thirsty enough to finally give in to his offer of getting home sooner. It was a bitter pill to swallow, not only because Frank unnerved me for reasons I couldn't entirely justify, but also the whole reason I was even hurt in the first place was because some jerk overestimated himself and dropped me. I couldn't exactly say I was thrilled to then have my untreated injured ass carried home in one of the most inexplicably humiliating and precariously balanced ways possible. What? Did I have to grip his bald, sweaty head? What am I gonna do? Clamp my thighs around his skull? Absolutely not. Accepting a ride home on Frank's shoulders was a weirdly humiliating experience for me. I don't know how else to explain myself. Additionally, my long, glorious weekend that was supposed to be lots of needed solitude for me to decompress was instead intruded. Because you'll never guess who decided to come visit multiple times throughout the weekend. It was Frank, and he felt bad I got injured, so of course he would come to keep his subordinates company so she wouldn't be alone for the entire long weekend. And you'll never guess how I felt about that. After all, who wouldn't want to spend their weekend in their bedroom with just their supervisor? The first time he knocked on the door, I had assumed it was the guy who caused my injury. That guy did end up visiting later that weekend to keep me company for a couple hours and drop off some I'm sorry you can't walk chocolates that I definitely couldn't eat on my diet. But no. Instead of the friendly face I expected, I was met with immediate suit scoldings from Frank. What are you doing on your feet? Go. You shouldn't be standing up. Go lay down. He immediately shoot at me with his hands and stepped into the room. I backed away, retreating into my half of the room and hopped all the way to my bed, which was in the back around the corner. I was caught off guard and confused, but Frank kept chiding me about how I needed to go lay down so I couldn't get a word in. Before I knew it, I was back in bed with Frank sitting at my bedside. Maybe that doesn't sound so bad, but like I said, I was tucked in a corner of the room and cut off from the door. My area was crammed with not only my own issued furniture, but an extra set in case a third roommate was assigned to the room. There was really only enough space to walk in a straight line and that space was being occupied by my massive supervisor. Of course, the cherry on top is how I slept on the bottom bunk of a double rack, so being tucked into the corner with wooden slats for climbing on either side, my only point of entry was at the thin strip of open ground Frank was occupying. The space between the top and bottom bunks was too narrow for me to sit upright, so I was forced to lay down or lounge. However, since my fall, I had taken to looping a scarf in the supports of the top bunk to elevate my injured leg so as to avoid putting weight on my ankle. Frank spotted the scarf and asked why it was hanging there. I explained the use and he told me that I should be comfortable and therefore used it. Since I didn't know how to explain why that would make me feel awkward and I also didn't have any other way to lie in my bed without pain, I complied. I felt very much like the subject of a diorama at that point, boxed in on all sides but one, on display in my pajamas like a regrettably conscious Snow White, except instead of glass to protect me, all I had was the suffocating illusion of civility. Frank told me he felt bad for my injury and said that he's going to keep me company throughout the weekend to help me look after my aim. Now that I think about it, I think he was the one who wrapped my ankle that first day too. During the weekends holidays, the on base medical unit wasn't open, so if it wasn't an emergency, we just waited it out. The only thing I remember about that awkward time spent on that first day on the long weekend was his strange request. Do you have any String. Confused, I told him that I don't and asked him why he needed some. He told me he liked to play Cat's Cradle and asked if I've ever played before. I told him I've heard of the game but never played it. He asked if I am sure I don't have any he can use. I told him that if he wanted to play so badly, he can use the laces of my spare boots by tying them together. He does just that and creates a large loop out of the laces. He tried to teach me how to play the game, but I wasn't very interested, so I also wasn't very good at it. Besides, one of the annoying things about Frank was that he liked to poke fun at me in the game of Cat's Cradle. This manifested in him trapping my hands in the loops whenever I made a mistake. I eventually got so fed up that I stopped playing even though he was bugging me to just keep trying since it wasn't as fun alone. But it wasn't like he was trying to help help me improve. I could tell he just liked messing with me, so I rebuffed his persistence. After examining my injured ankle and rewrapping it for support, Frank eventually left. He visited me more often than I would have preferred throughout that weekend, spending what felt like hours at a time in my room. To be honest, I'm not sure how long he actually was spending with me. I just know I wished it was less. I know this final part happened at some point during that long weekend, but I honestly cannot remember at what point exactly. The second night? Third Last. I don't suppose it matters since in the end it's so prominent over everything else, but this memory is actually the reason I felt inclined to chronicle these events. Frank's visit had started like any of the others, and and while I did not learn to appreciate the visits, I did learn to expect them. I noticed he had taken to barking at me to get back in bed as soon as he stepped inside my room, even though I was usually alone and therefore the only one who could answer the door. Maybe I was needlessly paranoid, but I didn't like that he was able to yell me into my bed as soon as he barged in. So this time I had leaned over from a distance and opened the the door slightly, letting him push it the rest of the way open to buy me an extra second to round the corner of the room. My plan worked, actually, leaving me thrilled. As I settled into my chair. I pulled the other nearby chair out for him and asked him to sit before he could say anything else. This still placed him between me and the door, and I was still confined in that tiny square of space. But at least I was seated upright. I felt a little better. I don't quite remember how things led to this next part. Sometimes I think maybe he didn't like that stuff I pulled with preparing chairs for both of us. But other times I think that I'm overthinking the unimportant things. It had become a regular thing for him to fiddle with that loop of bootlaces during his visits. He was a restless guy, usually fidgeting in some way or another. He had probably asked me to play cat's cradle again. I probably said no again. Maybe that pissed him off. Who knows? He started talking, telling a story, presumably. He unties one of the knots of the loop, reverting the laces to one long strand. He's talking about his deployment, learning all kinds of knots and rope tying. He uses the strand to demonstrate some. I don't think I was listening very attentively because he suddenly bends forward in his chair and grabs my uninjured ankle. He's still talking, saying something about how it's easier to just show you. I freeze up, attempting to register what's happening while scrambling to come up with a respectful way to tell him I'm not comfortable. Before I can get a word out, the laces are wrapped around my ankle and the leg of my desk. He continues to talk the whole time, but the only part the of part I remember was when he was finished tying the knot. They used these knots when tying up insurgents because it actually tightens when you struggle. Yeah, they actually have to cut these off, in my opinion. It felt tight enough already. I didn't try to remove myself. He finished the knot and his explanation. So he has to untie me now, right? That's what I was telling myself. At least until he spoke again. You probably can't get out of that. I had no idea what to do. I couldn't even truly believe the situation I suddenly found myself in, despite all my caution. It didn't matter, because there I was, trapped in a corner with my one good ankle tied to a piece of furniture, and I just sat there and watched it happen. I felt so stupid. And even then I couldn't tell if I was stupid because I let that happen or because I was merely wildly misconstruing a very innocent situation. Surely he just didn't realize how vulnerable I might be feeling. Right? Surely he's just that completely unaware of his dominating presence. Right? But at the same time, that part of me I was trying so hard to ignore was screaming at me that he was a threat, that his words were a challenge and to respond would fire the starting gun. Could I try to untie myself, still unsure of his intent? I feared it would escalate things. Should I tell him to untie me? He could easily say no, which would confirm what I was still trying to deny. Should I ask him? I imagined it would come across as begging, which seemed just as bad. These doubts and fears flooded my mind and froze me in place, resulting in me staring cautiously at him. I stalled as I tried to process my situation and determine my reaction. I stalled in the hopes that Frank would simply untie me like he should have. As soon as he finished his explanation, I stared expectantly, like untying me was unquestioningly inevitable. And somehow it worked. Next thing I remember, Frank leans down and frees my ankle. I was relieved, of course, but I hardly remember anything outside of that. This incident in particular is why I feel so compelled to write this. No one outside of Frank and I knew about that bizarre event. Even that night as I laid in bed, I doubted that something like that had really happened. And even when I accepted that it did, I seriously doubted that it was as sketchy as I was making it out to be. Was I right in feeling threatened? Or was I simply blowing things out of proportion? How am I supposed to feel about what happened? Why did Frank think that was okay to do? Did he mean something by it, like I feared he did? Even if I told someone, what would I say? After all, nothing happened. And I felt like I had no one to tell that wouldn't just screw me over for it. I endured being under Frank's leadership as a member of his unofficial program for what felt like a lifetime, but in reality could only have been a couple of months at most. My final hurdle for earning my freedom was to pass the upcoming fitness test within the standards of my unit commander. Along with taking our fitness test, our weight with checked the day before. This final stretch of time was absolutely miserable. Just making weight wasn't enough. I had to be certain range within weight for no reason other than because it makes the unit's reports look better. I guess. I don't know. This meant Frank had me cutting water weight like a pro boxer before a big tournament. The details don't matter too much for this, but it did mean extra training. Training on top of the extra training I was already doing, along with A literal starvation diet. On the night before the weigh in, Frank stops by my room and drops off a half full handle of whiskey. Not only was hard liquor not allowed in the barracks at all, but I was also underage, so I wasn't supposed to have alcohol of any kind. I tried to tell him I didn't want it, but he told me it was really important that I take it from him and drink as much as I can can that night. I was a good kid, so I never really imbibed, but even I knew that drinking lots of liquor on an empty and dehydrated stomach was a terrible idea. Looking back on it, I think he was assuming I would throw up a bunch which would help me purge more weight. But honestly, I think if I had actually done as he instructed, I would have ended up in the er. I hadn't had a proper meal in weeks and I had been actively dehydrating for almost 24 hours at that point. I ended up hiding the bottle in my room for a few very uncomfortable months until I dropped it off at a random house party I somehow got invited to. When I was still justifying Frank's actions. I told myself that he probably thought he was being helpful, like some kind of cool older friend. And he didn't stop to think about how his subordinate might feel being pushed to accept his contraband and underage drink. At his request. With just a little more misery, I passed my way in the following morning and the physical test following that, I was also slated for a six week internship thing. My grades were just barely good enough that I got to go on a trip to learn more about my job in the real world. I was gone for what felt like much longer and had a blast. Actually, it was really nice to get away from the place I felt so trapped in. Upon my return, my roommate informed me that Frank had stopped by quite a few times while I was gone. She told me she thought it was weird that he seemed impatient for my return. The look on her face told me she was concerned, but I brushed it off. I was in a good mood. I didn't want to think about that. Since returning from my internship, I had nondescriptly faded back out of the attention of my unit commanders. I was within all weight and fitness standards, doing well enough in class to feel comfortable. And my old bullies had graduated out of the unit, so I felt largely unseen and safe. No longer feeling like I was constantly under watch. I was also plugging back into the people around me, starting to make friends with some of the newer people I had never noticed when I was so wrapped up in my stuff, including my new roommate. Things were looking up. So I guess that was why I decided to dismiss any lingering unease regarding Frank's previous behavior. I don't remember anything leading up to this weird final visit from Frank. I was focused on schoolwork just like any other night. Though oddly enough, I remember that I have Batman Begins playing on my computer in the background. I was writing up flashcards when there was a knock on the door. My roommate's portion of the room is closer to the door, but we both have to guess as to who has stopped by. I walk over and answer. Surprise, surprise. It's Frank. I am really annoyed by his visits at this point. I let him catch the door before it closes to come in if he wants and silently return to my desk without greeting him. I sit back down and continue scribbling my flashcards on autopilot as I wonder what he could possibly want now. I get through a few cards before I realize that he definitely should have said something by then. I pause as I notice that he's just silently standing behind me. I look back at him questioningly, my annoyance thinly veiled. It's kind of blurry, this memory. At one point my roommate told him he's too drunk to be there. At least she told me that happened. I don't actually remember hearing that in the moment myself, but I suppose that isn't very surprising. I was probably busy pausing my cartoon or something. I do remember the part where she mentioned she was going to get the person on guard duty that night if Frank didn't leave. I guess they are argued briefly, but I don't remember the specifics and I only remember feeling really confused by the whole thing at the time. I missed that he was totally wasted and I didn't understand why she felt it was necessary to fetch the guard. As far as I could tell, she was extra mad at him for no discernible reason. She ends up storming out of the room when the door clicked shut behind her. The silence was was tense. I was still confused, feeling like I missed something very important. I eyed Frank, who continued to silently stare at me in a way I didn't understand. Feeling unnerved, I turned around and attempted to return my attention to my flashcards. I heard the rustle of Frank's clothing as he moved to stand against the back of my chair. I felt a panic. I couldn't understand. Nothing had happened yet, so why was I suddenly regretting how much skin my PJs were showing. Why did I feel such horrific foreboding? I think maybe there was a brief conversation, a few words exchanged. If there were, I don't remember them. I just remember twisting slightly in my chair to peer up and over my shoulder at Frank as he looked down at me and then suddenly realizing that Frank's face was getting much too close for comfort. I maintained a perfect distance from him as his face approached mine. We moved like the negative ends of two magnets, him approaching and me retreating. With each inch traversed, my heart and thoughts raced faster and faster. What was he doing? Why was he getting so close to me? Why did it seem like he's trying to kiss me? Oh God, what if he is Prime Delivery is fast.

B (45:03)

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A (45:26)

It's on.

B (45:27)

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A (45:31)

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B (47:09)

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A (47:17)

Fight or flight kicks in hard because in that moment I had one overwhelming desire to run. Right then, right at that moment. But I was sitting nearly tucked underneath my desk in my very stationary and not at all rolly chair with Frank towering behind me. Even if I scooted my chair out and managed to stand being backed into the corner as I was, the only place I could move to was my very boxed in bed. That certainly didn't seem like a good idea since the only change that would result in is moving any possible confrontation to my equally inescapable bed. It didn't look like I could run, but I already knew I couldn't fight. Not Frank. I had experienced his physical dominance over me firsthand. It was practically the first thing I learned about him. So I already knew I didn't stand a chance. I couldn't run. I couldn't fight. So I froze. I stared just like before. But this time my bewilderment was was clearly displayed on my face. I couldn't believe what was happening. That what I worked so hard to convince myself to be mere delusion was in fact a justified paranoia of the inappropriate one sided attraction Frank harbored for me. That despite my previous experience with him tying me, I once again found myself in an uncomfortably compromising and potentially volatile situation. Just as he is about to cross the line by kissing me. Frank pauses, then pulls back a bit. I continue my bug eyed look of pure what the hellness? And he briefly chuckles to himself through his nose. I feel an immediate distaste fill me as I wonder what's so funny. I am terrified and he thinks this is all some kind of joke. But in half a second I am again ready to supply reasons all this to be merely happening in my head. He didn't do it. So does this mean I'm in the clear? That he doesn't actually want to do anything shady with me? Or at the very least that he would never actually try to go through with anything yet instead morphing into Ashton Kutcher to announce that I just got pranked like I was hoping, Frank turns his head to kiss my bare shoulder. It was a very soft touch, a quick peck, but it immediately dispelled any ideas that I had that I might have been imagining his intent. He stepped away from me completely just as the door to the room opened. I was twisted in my chair tracking his movements when I saw my roommate round the corner to my portion of the room with a guard in tow. Frank walked out with the guard. Real chummy like his behavior. Akin to being picked up from a party by a friend. Friend. I could see the relief in the guard's face that he wouldn't have to try and convince that mini hulk to leave. I think my roommate asked me if anything happened while she was gone. I probably said no, I'm fine or whatever. I'm really not sure. I didn't really talk to anyone about it. I know that in the years since I tried to ask my roommate about that night, but she was only willing to talk about it briefly one time. Time. I am not really sure why, but it means I don't really know much on her perspective on how things played out. I later found out that that night had been a large source of gossip for a while, though it took a few other events unrelated to me before people started asking about it directly. While that night was my last notable personal interaction with him, Frank was around for a few more months. Oddly enough, I still stopped seeing him so much after that drunken night in my room, but I wasn't going to look that gift horse in the mouth. However, I did start to hear things about him. About how he got pulled from classes due to a fight with someone with another unit. He apparently held up his classmate by the throat because he disrespected him. I know that sounds so stereotypical, and I didn't believe it either, but that's actually what happened. He also later had a breakdown at a public event. Event that resulted in him hopping all the nearest fences to leave the base and run barefoot all the way to his home miles off base. Because oh yeah, by the way, Frank didn't live in the barracks like I had assumed. No, of course not. Why? Because he was married and they even had a kid. This man who imposed himself on my life to make weird advances on me had a wife and child. Child that he completely failed to mention in the many hours we spent together. Anyway, so after his assault of a classmate and public mental breakdown, he ended up getting demoted and separated, which is probably why I never saw him much after I left his leadership. I hope we don't, but if we ever meet again, maybe we'll be fortunate enough to not recognize each other.

B (52:16)

Eczema isn't always obvious, but it's real, and so is the relief from EBGLIS. After an initial dosing phase, about 4 in 10 people taking EBGLIS achieved itch relief and clear or almost clear skin at 16 weeks, and most of those people maintain skin that's still more clear at one year with monthly dosing.

A (52:34)

EBGLIS Librekizumab LBKZ a 250mg per 2ml injection, is a prescription medicine used to treat adults and children 12 years of age and older who weigh at least 88 pounds or 40 kilograms with moderate to severe eczema, also called atopic dermatitis that is not well controlled with prescription therapies used on the skin or topicals, or who cannot use topical therapies. EBGLIS can be used with or without topical corticosteroids. Don't use if you're allergic to Epglis. Allergic reactions can occur that can be severe. Eye problems can occur. Tell your doctor if you have new or worsening eye problems. You should not receive a live vaccine when treated with Epglis. Before starting Epglis, tell your doctor if you have a parasitic infection searching for real relief?

B (53:08)

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