While I like to believe I’m a practical person who overthinks before acting, there are times when I act out of pure impulse, not considering the possible ramifications, circumstances, or people’s reactions.
This is one of those times.
My steps are lighter as I completely ignore the pain from the boots and the general discomfort caused by my blood-clogged nose and swollen lips.
I break into a jog to catch up with the mysterious captain’s wide strides.
You know how some people are thrown into your path for a specific reason? I think—no, I’m certain that he’s here for that reason.
He’s nothing short of a phenomenon, an occurrence that I’m sure happens once in a lifetime, and if I don’t seize this chance, I won’t be given another.
His retreating back is getting farther and farther away, disappearing down the depressing hallway with the flickering fluorescent lights.
I can’t help noticing how he walks with purpose. No, not walks. He’s definitely striding, looking the part of a captain even when he’s not on duty.
Just when he’s about to round the corner, my mind goes into overdrive at the prospect of missing him—and my chance.
“Captain!” I call with all the strength I have.
He shows no sign of hearing me, and for a moment, I think I’ve lost him. That all my strength wasn’t enough.
Then in one swift movement, he spins around, and I freeze in place. He’s farther away than he was earlier, but I see him more clearly now, and I have no choice but to be sucked into his penetrating gaze.
The unforgiving harshness of his feral eyes pins me in place. It strikes me then.
He looks like a human weapon.
I don’t have to see him in action to guess that he’s both highly efficient and cold-blooded.
I shouldn’t have any misconceptions about this man just because he saved me earlier. He would’ve done the same for anyone in my position, considering he’s a higher-up.
It’s a duty. Nothing less and nothing more.
He slides his gaze over the length of me, eyes tapering with an acute sense of…disapproval.
“Do you have a habit of not greeting your superiors, soldier?” His crisp, deep voice again.
I’m caught in a trance by the subtle authoritativeness in it and the lowering edge in his tone.
He raises a perfect thick brow, and I straighten, then salute. “Sir, no, sir.”
Long silence stretches between us, and I think he’ll turn around and forbid me from following this time, but his voice carries in the silence again. “What’s your name, soldier?”
“Private Lipovsky, sir.”
“Full name.”
A shiver goes through me. He could be asking for my name to report me or something, but I seal away my doubts as I answer, “Private Aleksander Abramovic Lipovsky, sir.”
Another long moment of stretched silence. The few seconds that tick by feel like hours. As much as I try to hold my ground, I can’t help the sweat that trickles down my spine.
The sound of heavy boots reverberates in the air and invades my ears as he advances toward me. When he stops an arm’s length in front of me, I have trouble breathing.
Was silence always this unbearable, or is it only this way around the captain?
I’m not ready for when he speaks in that authoritative voice of his. It doesn’t matter that he was also close to me earlier. There’s an edge of intensity to his presence that’s impossible to get used to.
“Why are you following me, Private Lipovsky?”
“I wasn’t…”
“You weren’t what?” Something changes in his tone. Though subtle, I can feel the escalation of his usual command, and my spine jerks.
It’s not that I cower in front of figures of power. I’ve never acted or felt this way with my direct superiors. This captain, however, falls into a new category I haven’t dealt with before.
“I wasn’t, sir,” I say in a lower range than my usual ‘male’ voice and pause when he tilts his head to the side, studying me so closely, it borders on intrusive.
“Care to explain why you’re in the same space as me then?”
He’s losing his patience. I don’t have to see it on his face when I can hear it loud and clear in his voice.
If I don’t make use of this chance, this moment will just go down in his memory as a faceless encounter.
“I lied, sir.”
“You lied?” There’s a note of amusement in his voice. No, not really amusement, but something along the lines of ‘did you, now?’
“Yes. I did follow you, but only so I could ask you something, sir.”
“You’re not in a position to ask me anything.”
“I know, and I’ll understand if you turn me down, but I would rather be rejected than regret not taking this step, sir.”
“Which is?”
I meet his eyes, deliberately, for the first time since I followed him. I’m metaphorically knocked off my feet by the sheer intensity that stares back at me, and I’m almost derailed from my mission.
Almost.
However, I take my time to breathe in steady intervals and force myself to recall what’s at stake here. This isn’t only about me.
The rest of my family is at stake here.
They’re weak, hidden, and have no one to protect them except for me.
“Please train me, sir.” I speak in a clear, determined voice.
“Train you?” he repeats. Although his tone is calm, there’s something intimidating beneath the surface and that, indirectly, makes me doubt my own words.
I manage to keep my cool, though. “Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
Neither his expression nor his demeanor changes, but that might not be as good as it seems. Especially since he looks no different than a sturdy wall standing erect between me and my goal.
While his question is logical, the answer isn’t as easy to come by. I doubt he’s the type who likes ass-kissing, so if I say it’s because I think he’s strong, he’ll call bullshit. Not only have I never seen him in action, but I also don’t even know his name.
If I say because I want to be in special ops and potentially have the type of power that will help my family members, that would be no different than selling them out.
So I take a deep breath and go with the most direct route. “Because I don’t want to be a weakling, sir.”
“You don’t want to be a weakling. Interesting.” Usually, that last word would be accompanied by a note of curiosity. Not with the captain. Instead, it’s coated with dark edges and somber amusement.
A combination that’s odd at best.
“Does this have to do with your brutalized nose and mouth?” He juts his chin in the general direction of my face.
For some reason, that makes me self-conscious about my appearance and the weakness he must’ve seen in the scene from earlier. I wish I could dig a hole and bury myself in it, just to conceal the humiliation.
But then again, this isn’t only about me. So I nod slowly.
“You have a voice, use it, Lipovsky.”
Is this man…a dictator? It’s not too late to backpedal, is it?
Under his scrutinizing stare, I say, “Yes, sir.”
“You were cornered by your colleagues, beaten and shaken up a little, so you decided to ask for help. The way I see it, you’re not fit for this place. It’d be better for everyone if you’d pack your things and leave.”
At first, astonishment creeps through me, but then it’s replaced by an acute sense of rage.
“With all due respect, you know nothing about my life or circumstances, and, therefore, you can’t ask me to leave, sir.”
He doesn’t miss the way I enunciate the word sir and stares at me so hard, I think I’ll catch fire and burn in the pits of Hell.
“No, I can’t. What I can do, however, is wait for the circumstances to align for the day you’ll quit.”
“I’m strong enough to be here.”
He reaches for my stomach, and I’m about to step back, but he flicks my calf with his boot. It’s not that strong, but it’s sharp and fast. My legs give out from beneath me and I fall on the floor, catching myself with my hand at the last moment.
When I stare back up, he’s looking down at me. “You don’t even have a decent body balance, and you dare speak about strength? Give up, Private.”
Humiliation beats beneath my skin, and the taste of bitter irony explodes in my mouth. This isn’t the first time I’ve been in such a situation.
Give up, Sasha.
That’s what everyone used to and continues to tell me. I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally weak. The more I fight against the tides, the lower I sink. But if I followed that logic, then I would never find the power to rise above this situation and regain the control that was robbed of me.
The captain starts to turn, erasing me from his immediate presence as if I were a pesky fly.
“No,” I say hard enough that the word bounces off the walls surrounding us.
I see the exact moment the captain decides to give me the time of the day. Again. He stops in his tracks and faces me—fully.
Once more, I’m taken aback by his impressive physique and every bulge in his muscles. I realize then that he’s the closest to a human killing machine that I’ve ever met.
He crosses his arms and stares at me. Only, it’s different now.
There’s no disdain, and while that should be a good thing, it isn’t. In its place, there’s a crippling sense of…challenge.
He might have told me to give up earlier, but now, he appears ready to force me to.
“No?” he repeats slowly, unhurriedly, and I’m sure it’s an intimidation tactic.
This man is used to getting everything done his way, and any hint of rebellion is probably punishable in his books.
“No. Sir,” I enunciate, and I swear a shadow passes through his eyes, too fleeting to catch or study properly.
“You’re on your knees because you couldn’t remain standing after a simple maneuver, and you have the audacity to tell me no?”
It’s a question, but it sounds rhetorical. The words are injected with enough disdain to cause my skin to crawl.
I start to get up, but he shoves me back down with a mere hand on my shoulder. In this position, he’s so close, I smell his aftershave, or shower gel, or whatever that smells clean.
“Have I given you permission to rise?”
“No, sir.” I swallow, and the sound echoes in the surrounding silence.
Still, I stare into his frightening icy eyes, even as I feel frozen in place with no way out.
Yes, his eyes are frightening, but there’s nothing scarier than my fate if I’m kicked out of the military.
And, most importantly, everyone else’s fate.
“I might not have the power now, but I want it.” I speak in a harsh tone, unable to control the emotions flooding through me. “I will work hard for it. I will be the most disciplined soldier you have if you just give me a chance.”
“Give you a chance.” It’s not a question this time. A mere repetition of facts. “There are more competent soldiers than you. Why should I pick you?”
“I don’t have the answer to that, sir, but I do know that I never give up.”
He raises a brow, again looking at me in that funny way I can’t put my finger on.
“Prove yourself first,” he says with ease, as if the method is a given.
Confusion must be written all over my face as I ask, “How do I do that?”
“Now, that’s the part you have to figure out yourself.” He pushes back and gives me another stern glance. “Let’s see if you have it in you to take a man’s place, Lipovsky.”
And then he spins around and leaves.
My brow furrows at his last words. He didn’t say another man’s place. He said a man’s place.
I wonder why he phrased it that way.
Anyway, that’s not important now that I finally have a chance to regain control over my life after the massacre that took away my everything.
