Chapter 89
Damien
Play - A Little Death by The Neighbourhood
No choices
I feel my jaw clench as the bastard smiles at me with a smirk that makes my blood run cold. I’d do anything right now to replace this gun's bullets with real ones so I can shoot him instead.
I watch as Ethan practically darts off the small platform we are standing on and Mireya takes his place. Mr Porter strides towards her, placing both of his hands to either side of her arms, centering her in the right position as if this was just any ordinary day at the shooting range.
“You stand right here, Ms Vitelli.” He then spins on his heel to further address the class.
“The objective of today’s lesson is to observe your professor’s technique, his discipline and control while engaging a target.
These are skills you’ll be expected to master before graduating and serving as agents.
Accuracy isn’t the only purpose of a firearm.
The way you handle a weapon can project confidence, establish power dynamics and when necessary, intimidate your target before a single shot is fired. ”
He then looks towards me, his eyes gleaming with mirth and intrigue.
“Why don’t you show us how it’s done, Professor Caldwell…”
I feel my teeth grind as I hold the weapon in front of me, aiming around Mireya’s arms.
If this was any ordinary student I’d have no problem with demonstrating as it’s needed for the lesson but with Mireya, it’s different.
She’s different.
Don’t hurt her.
Don’t hurt her.
Don’t hurt her.
The mantra plays over and over in my head.
“You can go a little higher surely?”
My eyes snap to his as he stands slightly beside me but in front of the students who are all observing. What if I kill him instead? And not with this stupid toy gun he handed me, but with my bare fucking hands.
I ignore him, raising the gun slightly higher. If Mireya’s scared she doesn’t show it, her face has no emotion but her eyes, they look like something fierce, as if she were preparing for this moment all her life. I click off the safety feature on the gun before squeezing the trigger.
I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t this.
The way her body didn’t move at all…it was as if nothing happened to her. She didn’t flinch. She showed no fear. Only pure indifference.
But, if that’s it, if she felt nothing then why do I still hear the ringing in my ears? Why does my neck have an ache that isn’t from stiffness?
This feeling is uncomfortable. It’s unbearable. Her empty like this, her sad blue eyes filled with disgust and resentment as she looks at me. Why is it making me furious?
A slow sound of clapping thunders throughout the room.
“That was absolutely brilliant,” Porter grounds out but all I want to do is go to Mireya, take her somewhere isolated and talk to her, explain why I did what I did.
“You see students, your professor did not hold back when ordered,” he continued.
“He followed through as he was ordered to by me, his superior without any questions asked.”
The following words echo through my mind.
His superior.
“Yes…” I clear my throat here to address the rest of the students clearly.
“When out on the field you will be tested by the chain of command.” I place the gun back onto the small metal table beside me.
“The only thing between you and the job is your ability to follow basic commands and instructions.” My eyesight roams around the students' heads. “Need I remind you, whatever agency you choose to go to after this, FBI, NSA, DEA, CIA, and whatever other agencies. It’s all the same. Insubordination will not be tolerated by any of you.”
Porter decides to use this opportunity to say something but before he could start what he was about to say, the bell rings signaling the end of the lesson.
He’s already saying goodbye to the students when I position myself behind him, pressing my service weapon against his back, right where I could shoot directly at his heart.
“Next time you try to outrank me by pulling a stunt like you did today, my finger might slip, just like this…” I pull the trigger and he lets out a scared stupid gasp and I laugh. “You stupid son of a bitch, it’s not even loaded.”
I leave him standing there, as my eyes search for the only thing that matters to me. I watch as all the students gather their belongings. And then I see her already leaving.
“Miss Vitelli.” I walk towards her as she walks off the platform we are both standing on. I try to reach forward to grip her arm but she moves away from my hold.
“Professor Caldwell.” Her eyes find mine, “I don’t know what you want but, I’m kind of in a rush, whatever this is, can’t it wait?” She tells me in a much former manner.
“You don’t have any class for the day.”
She turns toward me, and I catch a bandage around her wrist, covered by her jumper’s sleeve. For a second I couldn’t hear the voices around us, couldn’t hear the cadets moving through the corridor or the instructors calling out orders.
“What’s that?”
Her eyes immediately harden as she replies, “Nothing.”
A lie. I step closer before I can stop myself. I shouldn’t reach for her, but my hand closes around her wrist before my better judgment catches up.
“Let me see.”
Her gaze drops to where I’m holding her, then rises back to mine. “Damien, take your hand away from me.”
I can handle her hatred, her anger even. What I cannot handle is the possibility that she was hurting and I wasn’t there.
My hand loosens and she starts walking away.
“I gave you time,” she doesn’t stop walking. “Plenty of it, Mireya. I gave you the space to be angry at me, to hate me even when every instinct I had told me to follow you, to explain, to make you understand.”
Her shoulders tense at that. It means at least she’s listening. She stops and finally turns.
“You don’t understand, Damien,” she shakes her head, taking a long breath before continuing, “My mother died all over again.”
“I wanted to protect you…” I whisper.
“Please,” she says softly. “Don’t say that again. I hate how every time I look at you…” she pauses then looks down at her hands. “I remember.”
My eyes drop to her wrist and I understand. “Is that why?” I start and her expression changes. “Is that why you did it?”
She doesn’t answer but I already know the answer. I step closer looking at her face, at the shame that shouldn’t even be here. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
She looks at me, and for a moment she looks exhausted and relieved to see I’m still here, stupid as it is, worried. “Don’t…” she whispers.
My fingers brush against her wrist carefully. “Blame me, Mireya,” I say. “If you want to hurt yourself, talk to me. And if it’s not enough, hurt me instead.”
Then I leave before I can do more damage than I already did.