I didn’t mean to be here.
Or maybe the right expression is: I shouldn’t be here.
I connived and snuck into this establishment that has never catered well to women and probably never will.
Ironically, this is the safest place for me and the only environment where I can survive beyond the metaphorical ticking time bomb I’ve been carrying around for years.
My muscles ache, and I groan with each movement. I’m sluggish, lack energy, and I’m weighted down by heavy army boots. Every step forward is a struggle, every breath is scratchy and choked.
A buzzing sound echoes in my ears and I lean against the wall outside the toilets to catch my choppy breaths.
I raise my hands under the bright fluorescent lights of the grim, gray-colored corridor. The brightness adds a layer of gruesome visuals to my cuts, making them look redder.
The sight of blood thrusts me back to gruesome memories. A pool. Gunshots. Screams.
They sizzle through my head, lowering, then heightening in a sporadic rhythm until a screeching buzz fills my ears. My hands tremble, and my body goes so still that I could be mistaken for a statue.
It’s over.
Breathe.
You have to breathe.
It doesn’t matter how many times I repeat the mantra. My brain has already decided that he and I ought to live in the past, crushed between those corpses we couldn’t save and the souls we left behind.
“Who do we have here?”
The distinctive voice speaking in Russian shakes me out of my surreal experience. I straighten, letting my unsteady hands fall to either side of me.
The hallway comes into focus again, grim with yellowish stains and dark walls that belong in prison instead of a military institution. The unnaturally bright lights make the view glaring, intrusive even.
My eyes move to the one who spoke just now. Matvey. He’s a fellow soldier in my unit and a pain in the ass who displays seriously toxic behavior.
As luck would have it, he’s accompanied by four other soldiers who stand on either side of him, watching me with unveiled disgust and humiliating disregard.
All twice my size, they have mean features and harsh gazes. They’re wearing T-shirts and cargo pants that are probably a lot more comfortable than the combat gear I’m still in.
I was waiting for them to finish showering so I could hop in, which is something I’ve habitually done ever since I joined the army eighteen months ago.
Despite the factor of intimidation, I square my shoulders until they hit the wall behind me. I suppress a wince and stare Matvey right in the face. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s the leader of their little group.
“If it isn’t the weakling Aleksander,” he taunts in his coarse, annoying voice. His four companions snicker, hitting each other on the shoulder as if it’s the funniest joke.
My first thought is to knee Matvey in the balls and scream bloody murder at the others. But, alas, that would be no different than signing my own death certificate. At my current strength, I can barely defend myself against one of them. Five is total overkill and would cause me to end up in the hospital or be tucked neatly in a coffin.
Besides, we’re from entirely different backgrounds. Most men here either have harsh lives or severe circumstances and only joined the military because it’s sustainable income. Some even forge their real age for it. If they’re not here, they would probably be in gangs.
Keeping my head up, I try to push past Matvey and speak in my pretend ‘male’ voice. “If you will excuse me.”
“If you will excuse me,” Matvey taunts and blocks my path with his burly physique. “Such a noble little boy with proper manners. I wonder if he has any balls between his legs.”
The others burst out laughing. I try to remain calm, but I can’t control the heat that flares up my neck and spreads over my ears.
“Let me through, Matvey,” I say in a clear tone, glaring at him and standing my ground.
“Oh, he’s scary, this one. Let me through. Let me through.” His grating voice causes my throat to close and bile to rise in my stomach. “You’re too uptight for your own good, Aleksander. Relax a little, will you?”
He grabs my shoulder, and I stiffen. My flight mode zips through my limbs like it did the day I lost everything.
“Fuck. You don’t only look girly, but you also feel like one.” He strokes my shoulder, and even though our skin is separated by clothes, the predominant need to escape gets stronger.
“No wonder you’re a weak little thing at camp.” Matvey’s hand tightens as if to prove he has the physical superiority and is able to inflict harm if he wishes to. “Anyone ever tell you the army isn’t for weaklings?”
“I’m not a weakling,” I snarl in his stupid face, resisting the urge to knee him in the balls.
The others snicker, taunting from the background, but I can’t look away from Matvey. A maniacal grin spreads across his lips, stretching his features in a disturbing manner.
“Sounds like something a weakling would say.”
“Maybe we should check the balls situation, after all, eh, Matvey?” one of his goons says.
The dangerous nature of the situation dawns on me in a sudden flood. I fling myself forward to try to release my shoulder from Matvey’s hold, but he shoves me back against the wall so easily, I can feel the tears forming in my eyes.
I am a weakling.
It doesn’t matter how long I slave through physical activities or try to build my muscles. The truth remains, I don’t have these guys’ strength. Not only are they men, but they’ve also been in the army longer than I have.
“Aww, are you crying, boy?” Matvey shakes me. “Should I call your mama to come pick you up? Oh, sorry, you don’t have a mama, do you? Or a papa, for that matter. Poor Aleksander trying to be a man—”
His words are cut off when I grab his shoulders and raise my knee, hitting him in the nuts so hard, he’s lost for words.
And expressions, apparently, because his face is caught in a blank state for a while. All the others freeze, too, probably not believing what just happened.
His hold loosens from my shoulder, and I use the chance to free myself and slip from beneath his limp arm as he wails and groans in pain.
“You fucking…fuck… I’m going to kill you!” he screams from behind me, but I’m already running toward the exit. If I find the captain or even some other soldiers, I’ll be safe.
Note to self: Never stay alone with Matvey and his gang again. Ever.
My muscles scream with exhaustion, and the boots weigh down my escape, but I still don’t stop running.
Like back then, I know, I just know that my survival depends on how fast and far I run.
Just when the exit is within reach, I’m pulled by a firm hold on my nape, flung back, and tossed on the floor like an old rug.
The thud splashes all the way to my bones, and I groan, then grab a painful spot in my arm. Well, shit. It’s either sprained or broken.
I have no time to focus on that when a shadow falls on me. I slowly stare up to find a very pissed Matvey hovering over me, his goons close behind him.
“You really fucked up, little fuck.” He reaches for me, and before I can get away, he lifts me up with a savage grip on my jacket.
The material tears at the top, nearly revealing my chest bandage, and I dig my nails into his hand while I grab whatever I can of my jacket to keep it in place.
For the first time, I’m glad to be wearing my combat gear over my T-shirt and, therefore, won’t be fully naked, even if he rips it.
But that would put my chest bandages into question.
His palm wraps around my neck, applying enough pressure to cut off my breathing. I wheeze, but little to no air sprinkles into my lungs.
My legs flail in midair while the other soldiers taunt, laugh, and snicker. Matvey slams my back against the wall and reaches for my pants.
“Let us see those miniscule balls.”
I thrash, scratch, and scream, but only a haunting sound escapes my lips.
Each of Matvey’s goons clutches a limb and glues it to the wall behind me, effectively stopping me from moving.
Matvey smirks when he sees the horrified expression on my face, then slowly releases my neck to dedicate his whole attention to my pants.
Please, stop it, is at the tip of my tongue, but if I say that, there’s no doubt they’ll take this further. They’ll be enticed by my begging and will be tempted to prove that I’m indeed weak.
“Fuck you,” I snarl, even as my voice chokes and the last of my hopes start to shrivel and die.
Matvey’s response is a wide grin. “But you’re the one who probably likes to take it up the ass, sodomite.”
I sneer, wanting—no, needing—to poke his eyes out for being a bigoted asshole.
Matvey is every bit of the toxic masculinity that’s wrong with this place. He believes that a man should be macho and show no emotions or else he’s labeled subhuman. According to his stupid, uninformed logic, being gay is also a weakness. Which is what he and his friends have called me ever since I got here.
I’m neither a man nor gay, but I still feel the offense on behalf of everyone Matvey must’ve put through this discrimination.
Being a woman in a man’s world is just as bad.
Which is part of the reason I cut my hair and joined the army as a man. My uncle helped me by bribing the physical examiner and a few other officials to keep my gender a secret and help me integrate into this institution.
If my gender is found out, I will be killed. Simple as that.
Now, if Matvey, of all people, discovers that bit of information, I’m fucked.
I push my whole body forward in one last desperate attempt to set myself free, but that only causes them to tighten their holds on my limbs.
Matvey is unbuckling my pants, and I can feel sweat covering my skin. Hyperventilation starts to set in, slowly but surely devouring my inner assertiveness.
In my twenty years of life, this is the second time I’ve felt this helpless and torn and that there was no way out.
The first was when I lost most of my family and had to run for my life.
The chain of current events plays in my mind’s eye. Matvey will find out I’m a woman, he and his goons could assault me, and then they’ll either report me to the captain, or they will demand sexual favors in return for keeping my secret.
Blackmail or being kicked out of the safest place for me. Hell, I could even be thrown in jail for lying to the military institution.
“You’re an obedient little fucker, aren’t you? Bet you’re submissive and shit.” Matvey licks his lips in a suggestive way.
“Your broken dick would testify otherwise.” I glare at him. “Guess that makes you the submissive one, motherfucker.”
I hear it before I feel it. His fist connects with my face, sending it flying sideways. Blood splatters on the wall, my lips feel twice their size, and my nose is instantly clogged.
Still, I laugh, like a maniac. The sound is so forceful and unruly that they all pause to watch me. “So macho and big but also so small. Maybe we should see your dick, Matvey.”
“You fucking—” He raises his fist again and I stare him square in the eye.
I’m taunting and provoking him on purpose. If he’s preoccupied with beating me to a pulp, seeing my nonexistent balls will be the last thing on his mind.
“What’s going on here?”
All movements halt at the booming, commanding voice. If anything, it seems as if the world pauses for a fraction of a second as the newcomer strides in our direction.
My state of alertness slowly withers but then heightens again at the sight of him.
He’s tall and muscular, but not as glaringly buff as the soldiers surrounding me. He has the type of physical profile that would fit an agile spy or a member of the Special Forces. In fact, judging by his black long-sleeved shirt and cargo pants, he’s probably special ops.
They have their own camp, but during this period, they’re our guests for special joint training.
My gaze lifts to his face, and I’m struck by his features. They’re dark, sharp, and, most importantly, blank. It’s like I’m staring into a nonexistent entity that’s only projecting itself onto the physical world.
He’s good-looking in a clean-cut, mystic way. The one thing that strikes me the most is that his external appearance reveals nothing of what’s lurking inside him.
And the worst part is that he looks oddly familiar. His presence feels like an encounter that’s hidden behind unresolved feelings and untouched memories.
Where have I seen him before?
Gravity pulls me down as the soldiers let go of me, and the asshole Matvey even grabs me by the shoulder as if we’re best buddies before they all line up and salute. “Captain.”
He’s a captain? Also, how come these tools know him and I don’t?
His black boots stop right in front of us, and he stares at me. I stand still and salute, feeling like a novice.
Get it together, me. I’m usually the most disciplined when it comes to military codes of conduct.
The captain strolls parallel to us, not offering the usual ‘at ease’ most higher-ups do after the salute. So we all remain in the same position, staring ahead and so stiff that I feel the ache in my joints.
That may also have to do with my busted lip and clogged nose, though.
The captain’s movements are unhurried. If anything, they follow a methodical rhythm as he stops in front of each soldier to study his face.
I feel the stiffening of the one beside me before it’s my turn to earn the same treatment. I continue staring into the distance, but he lowers his head, and his light blue eyes slam into mine. They’re icy and so fair that they resemble an arctic wolf’s.
Not only are they unnerving to look at, but I also feel myself trembling under their scrutiny.
What the hell?
I shake myself out of my daze and try to keep staring ahead. The key word being try. It’s impossible to ignore his presence when he’s so close; I’m forced to inhale him with every intake of air.
He smells fresh and clean, which is a rare occurrence in the training camp.
“I’m asking for the second and final time. What happened here?” His controlled words float over my skin, and the command in them bounces against my chest. His Russian is different from these guys’ and anyone in the army.
Everyone speaks in a colloquial manner, but his words are more elevated, almost similar to how I was brought up.
My lips tremble, wanting to let it all out, but Matvey steps forward. “We were just joking among each other, sir.”
Joking, my ass.
I must break my salute stance because the captain pushes further into my space, which makes me immediately go back into the correct position.
Jeez.
I forgot he was right in my face.
No, not forgot. That would be impossible to do. More like, I was taken aback by Matvey’s audacity.
“Does joking include a bloody nose and lips, soldier?” He’s asking Matvey, but he’s still looking at me.
“Sometimes, yes, sir,” Matvey replies confidently like the lowlife he is.
“Very well.” The captain finally pushes back, but before I can breathe properly, he swings his fist and punches Matvey across the face so hard, he reels back from the power of it.
A collective gasp echoes in the hall as Matvey’s nose runs with blood and drips on the ground.
The captain lowers his hand, letting it nonchalantly hang at his side. “Then let’s say I’m joking with you, soldier. I will also be reporting the five of you to your direct superior for insubordination so he can teach you that this institution doesn’t tolerate these types of games.”
Then, he turns around and leaves with long, even strides that steal my attention.
Matvey clutches his nose and curses, and the others fawn over him, trying to make the bleeding stop.
I don’t wait to take the fallout of their anger and be trapped by them again. So, without allowing myself to overthink the situation, I follow the captain.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ve finally found someone to teach me how not to be a weakling.
