Chapter 20
"Will you two stop fussing? You're driving me mental. I'm fine," Farra hisses, batting away Leo's hand.
I snicker. Berkley and Leo have been obnoxious nursemaids, taking turns changing bandages, bringing water and food.
Farra is healing well, considering. Apparently Berkley never did send up that med kit, and it unnerves me that that means her interrogators did.
Some kind of sick mental game to break someone down only to make sure they're alright afterwards, perhaps.
"I'm gunna head down to the seamstress and see if we can get you some different clothing to wear while you heal.
" The scratchy jumpsuits are going to be a nightmare on those wounds, and there's no way she can wear a bra.
It wouldn't be a problem for someone like me, but absolutely will be a problem for her.
We'd also been informed that, although Farra was healing, she was still expected to attend classes and the last of the training. She could opt out of combat for a while, but that was it. Apparently, being brutalized in the name of our country only offers you so much.
It made me furious.
Berkley grunts, "Good luck. She's a nightmare."
I roll my eyes. This was not a surprise.
Apparently, during his first stint here, he'd made quite the impression on everyone.
Which was interesting, considering I just watched him actually try to fluff up the pillows on Farra's bed for her, before she scolded him.
Not to mention, I'm positive he snuck his own pillow in here too.
We only get one each and somehow she now has three.
I walk down through the building, remembering vaguely where this woman's office is. I find the closed window cut into the wall, and knock twice.
"One second!" she yells.
I hear a click, and then a chain clattering through something, before the thick metal window lifts with a thunk. The woman, around forty, stands looking frazzled.
Her auburn curls are wild around her head, held up by several pencils. Her glasses perched low on her nose. She's beautiful, in a chaotic sort of way.
"What can I do ya for, kid?" she asks pleasantly.
Berkley is an idiot.
"Hi, I, um, have a bit of a weird request. I was wondering if we could make alterations to my bunkmates clothing, or if you have anything for this type of injury she has.
.. Her clothes will be torture with her wounds.
" I feel myself hesitate. I'm not sure how much information to give. Or if she'll be at all sympathetic.
"Well, what kind of injury?" she asks.
"She's got lacerations all over her upper back. They're bandaged right now, but we don't have enough supplies to wrap them for her to move around all week."
Sadness flits across her features briefly as she purses her lips.
"Who's your bunkmate?" she asks gently.
"Cadet Denver."
Recognition passes over her.
"That's unfortunate... We've met. I had to alter her suit for her.
She's a tiny little thing," Loretta says with sincerity as she pulls out one of the pencils holding up her wild hair.
She grabs a notebook out of her apron. She twirls, and I look down over the counter to see her sitting on a chair with wheels.
There are racks of mismatched fabric behind her.
"Give me a couple hours. I'll whip something up for the girl," she says, tearing apart the fabric of what looks to be a pillow. These people are the true geniuses of our time. To make something, again and again, out of leftover garbage, will always be impressive to me.
Taking another glance at her wild hair, I remember something.
"Oh! And I've been wondering if you have anything different for hair ties? My hair is heavy and thick, and the regular ones always fall out during sparring."
She hums thoughtfully, not looking up from her work.
"I'm not sure, love. We're clean out of almost everything but fabric right now. That's all I've been using. We used to have elastic, but it's a rarity these days. If I think of anything else that we can use, I'll send it your way," she says.
"No worries at all! Honestly, I might just chop it all off anyway," I say with a laugh.
She tsks. "Now, don't do that. This place takes too much of us already."
She says it like she knows first-hand, and our eyes meet briefly. I give her a nod of understanding and a quick thanks before I leave her to her work.
I'm heading back up to the dorms when I see something in the courtyard. Tarius stands with what looks like another crew surrounding him, and they don't appear to be having a friendly chat.
A blonde girl, who's about my size and weight, slaps his things tauntingly out of his hands.
I roll my eyes. This shit is getting old.
He scrambles to pick up his stuff, his tall frame oddly hunched over, as the others snicker at him.
Blondie whispers something to him and, by the grimace on his face, it's not kind.
"Tarius, you good?" I ask, loudly calling their attention before I get there.
The blonde straightens, and her friend comes to stand beside her defensively. I'm not looking for a fight, but these women appear to be. The three men in their group saunter off, unwilling to involve themselves.
"No problem––just making sure Tarius here keeps his distance from now on," her friend sneers.
"We haven't met," I say coldly. "I'm Maple, and you two are…?"
"Amber Kagan," the blonde says, tilting up her nose.
"Dell," the other one says. I don't know if it's a last name, or a first name and she doesn't seem to want to say more.
"We're sorry you got pegged with such a weird crew mate. It must suck having him lurking around you all the time," Amber snickers.
I guess she's under the assumption I'm an asshole like herself, because she looks at me, waiting for me to agree. I catch Tarius's flush and sigh, stepping towards him and ignoring the other two.
"I was just heading up before class. Wanna join?" I ask.
He glances at the girls now behind me. "Sure," he shrugs.
I link arms with him and begin pulling him towards our dorms, but the gremlin twins behind me start in again.
All I make out is some ridiculous comment, before I'm whirling around, I let a fraction of my temper flare from beneath the surface.
I walk towards them with slow intention, every word coming out of my mouth growing more quiet the closer I get.
"Look, I appreciate he's not your cup of tea.
That's fine. I'll admit I thought he was a little odd too, at first. But I'd happily have an oddball in my crew who's not only resourceful, but clever and kind, then raging assholes like yourselves.
" I grit my teeth before adding, "Do not fuck with my friends. "
They both look stunned, and Dell even looks a little remorseful.
Turning back to Tarius, I motion for him to follow. There's a grin on his face I've never seen before, and I smile.
"Thank you," he says finally, as we make our way up the stairs.
"You don't have to thank me, Tarius. People should just be decent," I huff. When I look over at him, the sleeves on his shirt are rolled up higher than usual, and my eyes catch on the odd rectangular scars peeking out.
I pause, and he notices where my eyes have landed, and stills.
"Tarius.. what are those?" I ask, barely above a whisper. Because these are not normal scars, they are perfectly symmetrical. I'm covered in scars and not a single one looks like that. A sinking feeling washes over me at the sight of them.
Grabbing his arm, I shove the sleeve up, needing to know how many mutilated patches of skin there are.
I count six, but I suspect there's more.
He rips his arm away from me violently, reminding me there's a person underneath my curiosity, and when I look back up to his face, his eyes are wide with panic.
I gape at him, unsure of what to say, but he gives me a pleading look, and I somehow know he's begging me not to ask, to pretend I didn't see anything.
To forget the clinically scarred skin he's got hidden under his clothes.
My heart softens. I've often wondered if something bad had happened to Tarius to make him the way he is, and now I know. Because someone cruel did that to him.
I nod at him; I don't need to know, if he's not ready, and he slumps against the concrete wall behind him in relief. Giving him a soft smile, I start the ascent up the stairs again.
"I've always been an easy target. Cadets are getting antsy as everyone rushes to get points for their units, and no one is willing to mess with most of our crew, so I'm the default."
"I'm sorry," I offer.
At first, I wasn't all that concerned about the points system. I figured we were all being sent out either way, but it’s become clear that the higher we rank, the better opportunities we'll get. And with Farra in rough condition, I worry we're going to fall behind and get sent somewhere awful.
"Where are we at for ranking, anyway?" I ask.
"We've been hovering at the top for a while now, hence people trying to pick fights and knock us down the board. Especially with the first trial field assignments coming soon."
I scrunch my face up, worried. Farra should be in better condition by then, but what if she isn’t?
I'd thought we were creeping towards first place, but we've all been distracted, and I wonder if we'll even be near the top by the end of the week.
An anxious pit forms in the bottom of my stomach, like it always does.
We'll just have to figure out another way to get an easy first assignment.