14.
Date: 5-10-2024
Time: 0703
I can’t imagine it’s quiet when Moe’s around, but right now, the silence is deafening. To be honest, I would be the same if I was sat next to Sam and across from myself. Any sudden movement makes him flinch a little. Clearly my outburst yesterday had some lingering impact. However, the events of last night have somewhat softened me at the edges although I’m still scanning for a way out of this fucking hellhole.
My brows furrow, deep in thought, not even looking at my plate. Why did he do it? It doesn’t matter. He’s supposed to hate me. If he didn’t, then I’d say he’s sicker than I thought. Not that it matters if he hates me or not. I don’t care.
The smell of crisp bacon and toast hit my nose, throwing me out of the inner turmoil he created. Glancing over, Moe seems to have already heard my thoughts from a mile away.
The mess hall is exactly that, a mess. Bins overflowing with trash, crumbs, and condiments littering the tables. But there's not a soldier in sight, those who have come in, take one glance at me then talk quietly to each other before swiftly getting their food and leaving. Typically, I’d judge the scenario, but something about it feels so powerful. Maybe it’s just delusions from lack of nutrients. After all, these are men and women who senselessly worship a maniac who possesses a unique inability to take accountability. They’re the delusional ones, not me. Abandoning their vows because they got bored with helping fix what was broken in The Chaos. Selfish bastards.
I pick at the eggs on my plate. One bite meant I was cooperating. Their smell was making me nauseous, though I couldn’t tell if I was repulsed or simply so starving that my stomach was trying to eat itself. As starving to death is becoming less enticing by the day, I lift a small bit to my mouth. The texture is fluffy, rich with butter and salt. I take another small bite.
“Where are you taking me, anyway?”
I look up to Sam, who sports two blackened eyes and bandaged nose, then to Moe, who is already on his second plate of what looks like chocolate pancakes. I didn’t even see them at the counter. I’m sure it was a special treatment sort of thing. Lucky little shit . He doesn’t so much as flick his gaze in my direction before stuffing more down his open throat.
“Tide told me to take you to the training grounds.” Sam nonchalantly bites through a piece of crisp bacon. My eyes widen in shock. “He also says, and I quote, you ‘look like some Victorian ghost’.”
Even though I can barely hear his words over Moe smacking his food, the way Sam stares at my food, one eyebrow cocked is enough to convey the point.
“No shit.” I mutter under my breath. I look to my plate silently cursing myself for cutting and dying my hair.
“Yeah, well,” Sam shrugs, pointing his fork accusingly at me. “You’ve only got yourself to blame for that. He was more than willing to save you, clean you up, treat you and feed you.” His fork punctuates his words before clattering onto the plate. “But you ignored his hospitality. Don’t think he liked that too much. He doesn’t like selfish people.”
Clearing my throat and straightening my shoulders, refusing to give any of them the upper hand from my embarrassment. The comment is just plain rude—I’m not selfish and I won’t be scolded like a child. Moe laughs, forcing me to narrow my eyes in his direction until he almost chokes.
I should be questioning why Tide’s trusting me in the first place, but I guess something unspoken happened after last night. I’m only acknowledging it because it can play in my favor if I use my cards right. The smell of Tides’ skin still lingers on my own, strong enough that it makes my mind want to haze back to the odd safety I felt even for a short time.
I ram down the rest of the eggs and stand, not missing the way Sam’s muscles pull taunt. Poor man. It’s not like I’d run right now, or attempt to break his nose again with half of the army outside those doors. That would be beyond idiotic. He’s following me, and overtaking me, in a matter of seconds.
“I normally train with Tide.” He breaks the silence, making me tilt my head in his direction. Am I supposed to be threatened?
“But Moe here… he doesn’t get much training. Plus, I’m not allowed to work with anyone else, so you’ll have to do everything on your own.” He continues.
Moe’s footsteps slow to a stop before running to catch up with us again. He’s scared. Sam is doing this to taunt him and to taunt me.
“Surely Tide won’t be happy about that?”
“No. So you better not hurt him.” He side-eyes me and I gulp.
He has me cornered; I can’t just go running to Tide for help. If I hurt Moe, he’ll likely find some way to pin it on me and shatter whatever secret bridge I built.
The whole nine yards’ worth of military-grade training equipment lies before me, sparring mats, targets for practice, and punching bags. Just like the mess hall, it’s disorganized, but the soldiers are focused, zoned into each task at hand. Sunbeams from the windows above give just enough rays to provide warmth but not enough to bask in.
I should be miserable, but the more I push through simple warming-up workouts to target practice—with rubber bullets, sadly—the more relaxed I feel. I have kept my distance from the mat, but I know I will have to face what he brought me here for soon enough. It’s fine. This is what I do, I train the inexperienced. Our lovely Sam here doesn’t know that. He also doesn’t seem aware that I am focused on the completely barren opening to my left. A few steps and I could be gone, maybe shot down by the guards in the towers if I wasn’t quick enough, but it’s enough of an opening. I think I might make it. Then again, if I run, I don’t complete my mission. I have to complete it or I'm not what I was trained to be. Perfect . I fucking hate it here.
A familiar tight bun steps onto the padded surface.
“Come on.” Her bored demand orders me forwards. I’m getting sick of everyone acting as if I was the inconvenience. They’re the ones that captured me.
“You really should loosen that bun a little. I think it’s pulling out your social skills.” I taunt, but she swings and I duck. I’m fighting her ?! My hands ball into a fist, leveling with my chest without my mind commanding them to do so. A few more practice jabs in my direction followed by easy side steps, gives me enough time to focus on her movements and realize she hesitates on her front foot each time she goes to swing. Yeah, she’s no soldier, she’s fodder they’re plying me with. She likely pushes buttons behind some desk.
She steps back, shaking out her fists, her knuckles bruising already. “Can you hurry this up? I have important business with Tide here soon.”
Those words shouldn’t throw me off, but they do, and as she swings, I don’t move fast enough causing her fist to collide with my cheek. I hold it, shocked, letting it fill me with unbridled rage. Her pretty face is going to be swollen and red by the time I’m done. Fuck him. And fuck her. And fuck Sam and fuck them all. I fucking hate feelings. I wish I could just get rid of them like Dutton tells me to.
Breathe .
Fuck that.
A roar of commotion buzzes in my ears, forcing my mind to pull itself out of its haze as I launch myself forwards only for her to dip out and Moe to appear. The momentum is too great, I’m going to hit him, I’m going to—
A strong, calloused hand wraps my wrist and I’m turned face-to-face with him panting, but locked in his eyes. I can see Moe inch away in my peripherals. It’s his fault. He’s corrupted the logical sides of my brain with his stupid, false acts of caring gestures.
“What do you think you are doing, exactly?” His voice is so low it’s practically a rumble in his chest.
“They are the enemies, they’re manipulative and well-knowledgeable. You can’t let anything cloud your vision.”
I flinch as Tide’s thumb brushes against my head, and the cool liquid smears from where his finger drags. I can only imagine how hard I’m sweating if it’s sliding that easily.
“Everyone out.” He growls, but our stare down remains intense.
“You’re gonna be late for whatever important business you two have.” I spit, my chin tilting towards the back of the blonde being dragged away from me by Sam’s arms. Shoving at his chest, I create some distance.
“I wasn’t going to hit him.” I hang my head. He closes the gap again.
“No? Then why did it look like you were?”
“They… they…” Looking into his eyes again I see no benefit in trying to rat his second in command out. “I wouldn’t have.”
“And if I hadn’t stopped you?”
“I wouldn’t have.” It rattles out between my bared teeth.
He pulls back, not giving a flicker of emotion besides his brows creasing as they lower over his eyes as he looks down at his hand to the sight of red trickling down his thumb. If I was an idiot, I’d say he was looking pretty concerned.
Good thing I’m not one. This is my captor, the man who’s tracked me for years, as I have, him. He’s not just a man I met at a carnival. He’s not some knight in shining armor. He’s a monster, undeserving of anything except pain like that which he and the man before him inflicted.
My heart pounds. It’s too hard to swallow, and it takes too much effort to breathe the longer his eyes track mine. Not only does he hold me hostage in this base, he holds me hostage in my head, too. I don't think I have a soul, it must’ve been ripped out long ago, but when his eyes soften and he reaches for my face again I feel like I have to protect one.
No .
Before I can let my thoughts get the better of me, I turn in a dead sprint right toward that empty space, the deep baritone of his voice falling to the ground behind me.
“Don’t look back, Sharkie, it’ll do you more bad than good. Just keep pushing.” Dutton’s brows crease into a hard furrow as I push back through the obstacle course. I know I need to be the perfect soldier. I need to make him proud.
”They sank them without remorse. You wanna make your parents proud? PUSH. HARDER.” He walks over the side of the barbed wire fence as mud coats my stomach and scratches adorn my skin. Rain blurs my vision, accompanied by the familiar sting behind my eyes. My breaths are coming in shallow spurts as I force myself over the wall until I tumble over to the other side. I have to beat this time if I want to receive a reward and not punishment.
I need to learn from my mistakes.
Everything is quiet besides the distant click of his stopwatch as my feet came to a halt at the end.
“You’ll have to do better. I’ve done my part, now you’ll have to do yours.”
My stomach drops from the harsh tone of his voice. I know what’s coming but like he always says; I deserve it. If I want to be the best, I need to know how to handle the worst.
I steady my breathing as each step sinks me further into the sand. I don’t know where I’m going, let alone where I’m at, but I can’t look back. I want to stab so many holes in him, I want to push a gun to his temple and have him take a deep breath through his head. I want to pulverize him until he's nothing, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to look at him while I do it. That’s never been a problem, it shouldn't be now.
Refocus Sharkie. His faction manipulated and broke down Bay, mine recanted. His father ruined my life, I ruined his. The war was over, a new one was created. There’s so much turning in a full circle with no opening or way out. How do I break the cycle?
The sun heats my skin, the loud siren somewhere behind me drowning out the racing of my heart. It started with them. It has to end with me, even though I don’t know if I can survive the mind games. My feet stagger in the sand, I’m losing momentum, and I should’ve looked back.
One second, there’s a large unoccupied boat in front of me, and the next I’m eating sand. Even on the open beach, I can feel the world closing in around me, dragging me back towards the water where it can shove me under until it’s filling my lungs. I scream as I kick my feet and wrestle to break my ankles free from an iron grip, but it doesn’t lessen. In a last-minute haste, I flip my body still kicking for my life because that’s what this is. A fight for my life, my sanity, my parents, the world.
“Stop bloody fighting!”
Deep green eyes lock onto mine, holding a fire that I bet the ocean beside us can’t even extinguish. Jerking my leg, he pulls my body under him until his hands wrap around my wrist, pinning me into the heated sand. Everything is too loud, echoing over the water and carrying into the air until it's ringing in my ears, exaggerating the voices that haunt me.
My lips part, gasping for any semblance of breath as I continue to writhe beneath him, bucking my hips up, shaking my head, and making the sand around me fly. He doesn’t get to win this. He doesn’t get the last word. He doesn’t get to corrupt my mind and break me. I built my path, and I’ve fought for my way of life. I’m not going to give him the power to fuck that all up.
Has this been his plan the whole time? Manipulate my mind like Depth did to Bay. Is it some sick kind of torture making my thoughts turn against me, making me feel things that I shouldn’t? Stockholm syndrome. Yeah, that’s it. At least that’s the only logical explanation I have. I’ve developed feelings that I lost long ago because I’ve been stuck in his base with his scent and his stupid face.
I can’t understand the words that fall from his mouth, but I still when he goes silent, every breath he takes falls across my cheek.
In any other circumstances, where I wasn’t completely losing my mind, I would’ve considered this an entertaining situation. But this is us, with a shady past and an all too complicated present. His scent invades my nostrils, overpowering the sweet, salty air. We’re too close, closer than any normal captive and captor should be. I can almost taste the last cigar he smoked. I want to fight, I want to do the right thing, I want my twisted little brain to work properly but I can’t tell you up from down when all the harsh lines of his face dissipate creating smooth features and exaggerating specks of gold in his green eyes.
“Just stop fighting.” His voice is so deep and husky that I almost don’t recognize it. Is he referring to my runaway attempt or is he referring to the fucked up mind games he’s playing? I can’t stop now. I’m too close. I can taste the revenge on my tongue and hear the cheers of salvation. If I give up then everything is for nothing.
His lips whisk against mine, catching me off guard by the gentle caress. Soft but firm. Unnaturally clearing my head. I hadn't noticed how each grain of sand stuck to the sweat on my palms or how my body had molded to the earth like a therapeutic mattress until he made my mind go blank. They brush back over again. When was the last time my mind was so quiet? This isn’t supposed to send a jolt of electricity coursing through my body, bringing me back to life. It is supposed to repulse me, preferably make me throw up the breakfast I had.
Instead of yanking away, I catch my head tilting toward him when he slowly tries to back away. I just want the voices to be quiet a little longer. If I keep whatever I have left of my heart out of it and my mind on the big picture, I can do this.
His eyes scan over my features, brows knitted together, lips parted enough to allow me to hear the anguished groan that rattles his chest. The calluses of his palms brush against my cheeks until he's cupping my face and his mouth is on mine again. Only it isn’t gentle like the first. It’s as if he is trying to devour me whole, like he’s been starved for a taste of something he’ll never have again. His teeth clash against mine, his tongue skating across my bottom lip.
A furious blush crawls up my neck, making my ears burn from the feeling of him pushing past my parted lips, his tongue tangling with my own. Hot and desperate. Each flick and curl reminds me of our lives, always fighting for dominance. He tastes just like he smells, salty with that enriching aroma, pulling me into a fogged mindset. It's a safety blanket wrapping around my shoulders, shielding me from the storm outside.
He curses under his breath, pulling his head back just enough that I can see the green hooded eyes darker than usual, like leaves on trees in a dark forest. Each heavy breath he takes falls against my mouth, breathing the air he stole back into me. Shaking his head, he stumbles from my body, flinging sand from his boots across my legs, leaving me a jumbled puddle of emotions I didn’t even want to recognize on the beach. They weren't supposed to come back. Not now.
Each muscle flexes under his shirt, down his arms that bulge veins under obsidian ink, to curling fists at his sides as he storms off. I’m too lost in my inner turmoil that I don’t recognize the hands curling under my biceps and pulling back toward my prison.
Fury bubbles in my abdomen with each step. If he was going to be pissed about a stupid kiss, he shouldn’t have done it. I was trying to leave.
A familiar burn heats its way into my chest, making me clench my jaw tight enough I can feel it in my temples. I’m not sad or embarrassed. I have no reason to be. I’m fucking pissed.
I am supposed to be the perfect soldier.
This doesn’t end until I end him. The only way I know how to get close enough, is by dancing with the devil himself.