“This is your third warning, Novelli. Next time it’s a written reprimand.”
I shrink to the wall outside the door at the unexpected venom from Kaleb’s office.
“It’s bullshit, Sergeant. They can’t make me do this forever.”
“Actually, they can, and the more you resist, the more aggressive they’ll get. Don’t you understand? You need to stop fighting them on this!”
“It’s such a joke.”
“Kaleb.”
“Fine. But two sessions a week? You know what happened at my last one.”
“Yes, and I’m sorry, but—”
“It’s total bullshit!”
“Even so, only they know the truth. To everyone else—”
“So tell them I’m over it. Then what can they do?”
“Dammit, Kaleb. You were held prisoner and tortured for thirty-four days. Thirty-four fucking days! You don’t just ‘get over it.’ You don’t think they know that?”
My stomach twists at the pause. Crumples at Kaleb’s quiet response. “I know, but… God, I just can’t do it anymore.”
Silence. My nails dig into my palms.
“What’s your plan, Lance Corporal? They won’t let you off the hook because you say you’re okay. Your chest and back are covered in scars. Hell, they had to rebuild your face.”
Still no response.
The sergeant’s voice softens. “Your leg was so mangled that they had to cut it off.”
Kaleb lets out a curse. “I get it.”
“Do you? Because I don’t want to be back here next week handing you a summons. You’re a good man, Novelli. You’ve sacrificed more in this war than anyone should ever face and I’m tired of watching you fall over this stupid bullshit. Make up whatever damn story you want, but you need to go.”
“I said I understand.”
“Not good enough.”
“Dammit! Fine, I’ll go. I’m going.”
“Good. See you afterwards for a beer?”
“Sure.”
Footsteps clap toward the door, and I scurry away to feign a late arrival. An officer in his forties nearly runs me over as he marches through the exit. His features are forgettable, but not the expression on his face before it hardens when he sees me.
“You. You’re Lance Corporal Novelli’s new assistant?”
I use all my strength to cover my intimidation. It doesn’t leave much left to pretend I didn’t just have my heart ripped out. “Yes, sir.”
I sense the critique knitting together in his head as he scans me. “Don’t let him down.”
“I won’t, sir.”
“Also, you’re late.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” With that, he disappears into the dark corridor, leaving me alone with my paralysis.
There are so many reasons why I shouldn’t be standing here with these thoughts pounding through my head. Pity for something I know nothing about. A person I barely know. None of that conversation made sense to me and yet somehow it’s changed everything.
When I enter his office, my heart constricts at Kaleb’s struggle to put the past conversation behind him. I’ve never had such a strong reaction to a forced smile before. Covered in scars?
“Glad you’re getting a chance to eat breakfast now,” he says, and I reward his efforts with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.
“At our first meal, Vi guessed they were going to feed us nothing but gruel in here. I’m happy to report gruel is only on the menu for breakfast.”
His attempt at sympathy makes it all worse. Reconstructed face. “It’s no gourmet feast, that’s for sure, but at least it’s packed with nutrients. Think of it as a super gruel.”
“Super gruel? I’ll try to make it stick.”
Lost leg.
He pushes up from his desk and joins me in my circle of piles.
“I went through these thoroughly after you left yesterday. I’m impressed, Sorenson. You’re going to make me look good when you’re finished.”
“That’s my goal. I’m hoping by the time we clock out today, I can have all of them in those fancy cabinets.”
“That would be great. Although, we’ll have to quit an hour early. I have an appointment this afternoon.”
“Therapy?” I blurt out, because I’m a terrible eavesdropper. I kick myself when his expression darkens.
“What?”
I can’t face him. Thirty-four days!
“How much did you hear?” he continues, his eyes boring into me when I venture up to meet them.
“I’m sorry.” I squeeze mine shut. “I arrived early. You were in a meeting, and I didn’t want to interrupt. I was waiting outside, and I—”
“Andie, stop. It’s okay.” He sinks to the couch. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”
I study his hands. I try to imagine them holding a weapon, killing a person, anything to distract me from this compassion that grips me. Makes me forget I’m his prisoner.
“Maybe it’s not.” I take a deep breath and risk, “But there are other secrets, aren’t there?”
His stare collides with mine before it darts away, and I shiver at the brief, powerful connection.
“Some secrets are secrets for a reason, Andie.”
His response only draws me in further. “I heard what the sergeant said. Over a month in captivity?”
“Thirty-four days.”
My veins burn. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugs. “Right. Well, isn’t that life for all of us? I could say the same to you. What about your story?”
“Mine is nothing like that.”
“That doesn’t make it hurt less. Pain isn’t relative. Losing your father, being separated from your mother, the constant fear of soldiers, going hungry, those things are still allowed to hurt even though I lost a leg.”
He’s right, and I settle beside him. “Is that how it happened?”
He follows my gaze down to his boot and tugs his uniform to reveal a prosthetic.
“They couldn’t save it. Almost every bone in my foot was shattered. The tibia was broken in so many places, they couldn’t even tell what was supposed to go where. And the tendons…” He shakes his head. “Anyway, there was no point. They said it had to come off at the knee. This part is all real though. One hundred percent human.” He pats his thigh with mock praise.
“The rebels did that to you?”
He leans forward with an earnestness that glues me to the cushion.
“I know how confusing this has to be for you. It seems like one side has kidnapped you and brought you to a prison, that they’re your enemies. But I swear to you, Andie, as long as you follow the guidelines and obey your schedule, you will be safe here. You need to understand that those forces out there, those people claiming they’re fighting oppression? They aren’t. They’re fighting for the same thing we are: control. There are no good guys in this war. The best thing you can do is stay anonymous and keep your head down so neither side has any reason to notice you.”
I don’t like his tone, the way his eyes refuse to meet mine like this conversation is just the beginning. Like part of it wasn’t even for me.
“So how do you know everyone you’ve brought here actually wants your protection? How do you know some of the civilians you collect aren’t sympathetic to the rebels?”
“We don’t.”
It’s then that it hits me. “Wait, the inventories, RP-7s, TAs, all that stuff?”
He shoves a palm over his face. “Yeah, they’re a pain-in-the-ass.”
“But they aren’t blind bureaucracy.”
His hand drops as his gaze locks on me. “No. The system is designed to flush out risks by identifying anomalies.”
I know I should let the conversation end. A warning fires through my brain to return to my files, the safety of monotony, but I can’t stop staring at his uniform. The disguise hides a different story on his body, and only one sentence rests on my tongue. I hold it there for as long as I can, but when he absently tugs at the fabric of his collar, it explodes out.
“Did the rebels really give you all those scars?”
He stiffens. “You heard a lot.”
There’s no anger in his sigh, and I stare at his hands again. I have a sudden need to connect with them, to find out if they’re always as strong and warm as his greeting that first day. I don’t want to imagine them bound, bloody. I don’t want to imagine anyone ever hurting this person. I’ve finally asked a question I don’t want the answer to.
“Forty-seven.” He avoids my pained reaction. “It’s a pretty famous story at this point and not as interesting as you’d think.”
“I still want to hear it.”
His attention returns with a hint of amusement. “You and your facts, Sorenson.” I shrug, and he shakes his head. “Fine. I wasn’t a very valuable prisoner. I didn’t even reach the rank of Lance Corporal until after my return, and that was mostly to acknowledge what I went through. Wrong place, wrong time, I guess. I didn’t have the information they wanted.”
“They didn’t believe you?”
I shouldn’t be surprised he seems uncomfortable with this topic. That he hesitates before each answer. His eyes make rapid patterns while responses form in his head. Honestly, I wouldn’t be if I didn’t suspect more than discomfort in those silences. “They believed what I wanted them to believe.”
I feel the chill of my wide eyes. “So you let them torture you for weeks?”
“Basically.”
“That’s insane.”
“It worked, didn’t it? I’m alive to tell the tale.”
“Alive with a body of scars, no leg, and enough trauma that your CO is threatening to court-martial you if you don’t go to therapy.”
“Therapy?”
“That’s what you were arguing about, right?”
“Right.” His lips curve then fall.
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. Just, we hear rumors about some of the rebel techniques. And some of yours.”
He grunts. “Yeah. Well, they’re similar.”
“Really?”
I’m struck again by the depth in his gaze when he glances over at me. Alarmed at how I’m suddenly obsessed with details I have no right to know. But I need them. Anything that will help me understand the pain hounding this stranger who never seemed like one. Maybe it’s the same as mine. Maybe there’s a connection that could heal us if we grasped it. At least, I think it’s pain. I have no way of interpreting what’s hidden behind the soldier mask. And yet, the mask does nothing to stop the beauty flowing from Kaleb, the man.
His sudden acknowledgment of the clock assures me I won’t be solving that contradiction today. “I think it’s time to get to work now, don’t you?”
“Yeah, of course.” My gaze follows him back to his desk, and I stifle regret at not touching him when I had the chance. None of this is good, this disturbing attachment. I don’t want to admit I’m captivated by a captor. But it’s hard to ignore that I’m the world’s worst filer for the rest of the shortened day.
Damn, Vi can hold a grudge. Days later the frost still coats the walls of our room, and it’s getting old.
“Come on, Vi. How long is this going to last?”
I’m less important than her drawer as she triples the length of time it takes to choose one of two night shirts. “How long are you going to befriend the vipers?”
“Vipers? Are you serious? It’s my assignment. What do you want me to do?”
“That’s not it. A job is a job. It’s the fact that you seem happy about it.”
“Happy that I get to work in a comfortable office instead of sorting through other people’s dirty underwear? Yeah, I’m happy about it.”
“Then I don’t see why you need my approval. Who cares what I think?”
I block her path to the bathroom and force her to look at me.
“True, I don’t need your approval. It’s my assignment, and I’m enjoying it. But I do care what you think. You’re my roommate and I hope one day, my friend. What I don’t understand is why you’re so angry about a situation that doesn’t even concern you. How can you hate someone you don’t know simply because of the uniform he wears?”
“Get out of my way, Andie.”
I step aside. “He lost his leg, you know.”
“So what? He’s a soldier. It probably happened while blowing up some poor family’s house.”
“Has he done something to you? Do you know him or something?”
My blood pounds until she finally shakes her head. “No, I don’t, but I know these drones and they’ll do anything to accomplish their missions. They round us up like cattle and dump us in here to disappear. Is that what you want?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
Vi’s nostrils flare. “Yeah, right. So how long are we going to be here. The rest of our lives? Wake up, Andie. They own us.”
I soften as I realize how much hurt she’s hiding. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but listen to yourself. You’re blaming all the ills of our society on a building supervisor who’s done nothing but treat me with kindness and respect.”
“No doubt for a reason.”
“Yeah, maybe because he has a heart and cares. I’ve seen a glimpse into his world, and you wouldn’t believe what he faces to take care of us.”
My argument only makes her cool into a bored stare, and I throw my hand up. “Fine, whatever. Hate all you want.”
“Can I shower now?”
Vi is in bed when I take over the bathroom for my own evening rituals. I squeeze toothpaste onto my brush with gentle pressure. Not too much. Our toilet paper stock looks good. I smooth out my long hair with a careful hand to avoid any damage to the comb. It’s freeing in a way. This concern for mundane conservation. Fragments of control in an iron cage. I can appreciate the appeal of inventories. The relief doesn’t last though. Not when Kaleb’s story punctures the comfort of routine.
It’s tempting to blame the sudden pressure in my chest on the continued feud with Vi. Bad food, harsh lighting, cold detachment. Old memories tiptoeing back to haunt the present. But none of that is the reason I stand frozen before my reflection. It’s an enigmatic soldier who consumes my thoughts, who’s turned survival into a crusade. I’m scarred with purpose as my imagination runs into nightmares at the thought of what it would take to destroy such a strong, resilient soldier. Replays of the sergeant’s demands smack me with images of Kaleb strung up at the mercy of creative enemies. Forty-seven scars. Reconstructed face. Lost leg. Those vibrant eyes dim with agony.
Even worse is the fear that there’s more. That his argument with his CO wasn’t about a skipped therapy session. That his explanations were meant as soothing balm for me, not him. I cringe at the thought of confronting him, and yet it’s difficult to resist compassion for the only person who’s demonstrated it since my abduction. Confusing too, but…
Fact: Kaleb Novelli made a friend with his casual kindness whether he wants one or not.