Chapter 13
Pain radiates down my arm as I block another attack from Berkley, who has quickly become my favorite sparring partner. Time seems to move quickly here. As another week of classes, testing, and training come to an end, I must admit this is my favourite part of the week.
I never have to worry about hurting his feelings or damaging his ego, and I don't particularly feel bad when I land a solid punch.
Especially when he looks at me with a hint of pride in his crinkled eyes.
I just lose myself to the rhythm of fists and blocks.
A hand flies towards my face, causing me to duck and my muscles scream at me as I barrel towards his middle.
I revel in the mental game we play on the mat.
There's something exhilarating about the anticipation.
He comes at me again as I go under, my leg jutting out behind his own as I wrap my arm around his chest, pushing, sending him toppling to the ground roughly.
He grunts, and I worry for a second that I've actually hurt the old man.
"Are you OK? I didn't think you'd fall that hard," I ask as he grabs my hand, grunting again.
"I'm fine. You just caught me by surprise... you're learning quickly." He looks at me, questioning.
I nod while I gulp my water. I glance around, noting that the gym's almost empty.
"I'm not technically trained, like Farra, but my dad was a fighter.
He made sure I knew the basics." I eye him, waiting for a response.
He seems to note the subtle test. Offering him information that could get me in trouble.
Not a lot of trouble, mind you. I doubt authorities will care too much that my missing and presumed dead father used to break rules, but it would put me in that category.
Rule-breaker adjacent. They are careful to keep tabs on people who come from defector associations, and I don't want to be someone on their radar.
"He fought in the underground rings?"
"Yeah, I mean, mostly before they became what they are today. According to him, the fights used to actually be a sport everyone enjoyed, but he kept going long after it was illegal."
To my surprise, Berkley doesn't look offended by this information.
"Well, good for him. Every daughter should know how to throw a punch."
I smile, glad to see he isn't as intense about these rules as he is about other things.
"What about your kids?" I ask tentatively. Berk has been elusive when asked about his family. I know they're young, but I'm not entirely sure what the story is. He stares off, a foggy look taking over his face for a second.
"I have not been the best dad. My first enlistment screwed me up. I came here to provide for them in the only way I know how." He hangs his head in what I can only assume is shame. I recognize the haunted look of failure. I put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight push.
"There’s still time, you know. You love them, you can make it right." I mean it, and hope he can sense that. I don't know Berkley well, but I can tell he loves his family. He shakes his head. His voice coming out brittle.
"I think the best gift I can give them is to stay away."
I turn to face him fully. I should let it go, but I can't.
"You're wrong." I say softly. "Take it from someone who's lost both parents in different ways.
Showing up for your kids, no matter the past, it counts.
You don't strike me as someone who gives up easily, Berk.
One day they'll appreciate you tried." I say it gently but firmly and smile at him, hoping he believes me.
I would give anything to have my dad come back, even after all the mistakes he made.
Berk gets up and pats my shoulder.
"Maybe." He sighs, scooping up his stuff and shuffling out.
I feel a tiny pang of regret. Maybe I overstepped.
I'm deep in thought when I realize more people have trickled into the training arena now.
I eye the group who walk in like they own the place.
The bald man from a few weeks ago, not Dex, leads the way.
I watch as he tips a young girl's canteen when she tries to drink from it, spilling all over herself.
Annoyance grips me right away. I have to plant my feet firmly on the ground, so I don't go over and say something. If intervention is an addiction, this place seems to have unleashed it in me. I need to keep my head down, I remind myself. I don't know why this type of thing bothers me this way.
Unfortunately for me, the one goon notices me standing here, by myself, now with my fists clenched, and he grins.
He saunters over with all the arrogance of a true idiot and circles me. I suspect he's trying to intimidate me, but it just makes me think of a child trying to look bigger than they are. The way Willow used to before she'd tried to tackle me.
He flips my braid with his hand.
"You know, you'd be a lot cuter if you loosened up a bit," he challenges, his soft chin jutting out.
I will my face into a mask of indifference. He stands in front of me, firmly in my way.
"My aim here isn't to be appealing to anyone. Why don't you stop annoying everyone in sight, and go train?"
There's an icy authority in my voice, one I barely recognize, as I point to where his crew is stretching.
He comes close enough I can smell his rancid breath, but I don't retreat.
I know if I show an inch of vulnerability, it will only push him forward.
He goes to touch my hair again. On instinct, I smack his hand, the sharp echo drawing eyes over to us.
"Touch me again and this won't end well for you," I hiss at him.
I barely have a leash on my anger, and I'm afraid of how this will go if he doesn't back off.
He looks at me, surprised, but intrigued.
I always seem to surprise people with this side of myself.
The anger that bubbles beneath the surface sometimes flowing over my otherwise easy demeanor.
He steps forward, and I'm about to truly unleash on him, but he freezes.
"Do we have a problem here?" a deep, silky voice from right behind me asks.
I watch as the blockhead's eyeballs go wide. "Nope, no problem, sir." He turns on his heels and clumsily scurries back to his group.
My satisfaction is short-lived. I don't need or want a saviour. I turn to scold the person standing unreasonably close to me, but stop as I register who it is.
Lieutenant Valo is standing there, much closer than I would think necessary. He eyes my still-clenched fists, putting his own casually in his pockets. He lifts a dark eyebrow at me in question.
"Look, I appreciate your attempt here. But I don't need help.
No hero needed. You'll probably only make it worse for me by intervening, and they'll come now when you're not around.
.." I trail off, momentarily distracted by his eyes roaming all over my face.
I meet his stare and wonder again about the colour of his eyes.
When he was further away, they looked black, but now I see they are actually the darkest colour green.
Without my consent, my head tilts to get a better look.
He must be almost a foot taller than me because my head barely makes it to his shoulder.
His eyes are a distracting combination with his dark olive skin.
His features, I notice with annoyance, would all be perfect if not marked by the fact that he's clearly seen combat.
His strong nose a little crooked, skin peppered with white scars.
I realize in horror I've been perusing him openly when I look up at his face again and his mouth is half-cocked with the faintest satisfied grin.
I step back, heat scorching my cheeks, losing all my bravado.
"You're confused," he finally says.
To my surprise, he steps closer to me, leaning in ever so slightly as he grumbles.
"I'm confident you can take care of yourself, and I'll never be anyone's hero. I just didn't want you making a mess of him in my training facility," he explains with a tinge of amusement.
And then he turns and walks away. A shiver goes through my body at his tone. A mess of him? What does that even mean?
What a dick.
I feel even more frazzled than I did when the bald bozo was here tormenting me.
I aggressively toss my things into my gym bag when Farra slides onto the bench behind me.
"What's got you so worked up?" she hums, bumping shoulders with me.
"Everyone," is all I'm able to reply, gesturing absurdly with my hands to the general population.
Farra laughs.
"You'll have to be a little more specific," she says, scrutinizing the room that's quickly filling up.
"I just mean. Why? Ya know. I just want to be left alone. By all of them," I share with a sigh, blowing a loose strand of hair out of my face. Farra is fully laughing at me now.
"Yes, yes I couldn't agree more. I saw the charming lieutenant walking away from you. Does he have anything to do with the fact that your cheeks look like they're on fire?"
I glare at her. Farra laughs again, pulling me by the hand.
"Come on, we gotta get going to do our practicals. You look like you need a minute away from the masses before our test."
I just let out a grunt in protest and follow her.
I sit in the silent classroom, staring at the paper in front of me, every minute that ticks by feels like another inch tightening across my chest, weighing on my lungs until I’m on the verge of tears.
Short Answer: What led to the creation of the barrier?
How the hell am I supposed to answer that in a short answer?
My mind wanders to Willow's assignment. How in depth it had been.
I wonder what exactly they are trying to get out of these questions.
Why do soldiers have to know history to this degree?
I wonder why a simple test can push me to the brink of a meltdown. Why is my bra so tight?
My dad's raspy voice pops into my head without warning. I'm transported briefly to a broken memory of me and him in the kitchen whispering after dinner.