The v Girl (20 page)
Authors: Mya Robarts
“Only to stop you from hurting yourself. I trapped you against the wall, but not for long. The moment I said your name you melted.”
Oh no!
“What do you mean by melt?”
“You had the strangest hallucination. You fainted, tossed, and … said my name.”
I cover myself with the sheet, feeling the skin of my face burn with extraordinary heat. I’d give all the money in the world to evaporate on the spot. “You aren’t a gentleman—” My voice is barely a whisper. “Why didn’t you leave the room? You shouldn’t have stayed and watched—”
He answers as if for him, a girl sexually hallucinating was nothing worth noticing. “I’m your doctor. I kept checking your vital signals. You seemed to be having a reaction to the drugs.”
Dammit,
Aleksey! “How long … did you observe me?
“An hour.”
I almost fall off the bed when I try to put more distance between us.
“Don’t be self-conscious, Lila. Non-military people’s genes are not prepared for the effects of the tonics, so their bodies react in strange ways to repel the drugs. The triggering of certain body functions is natural.” There’s certain pride in his voice when he adds. “You had an orgasm.”
I groan. Such an intimate moment … in front of him of all people. I hate that he knows dreaming about him gave me my first orgasm. “Don’t flatter yourself, as you said, I was under the effect of the drugs. Rey appeared in my dream, too.” The smugness in his face is replaced by fury.
That first night together, we sleep facing away from each other. But I wake up during the night to find myself resting my head on his chest while he lays on his back with his hands under his head. I pull away, but before dawn, I feel the warmth of his muscular arms leaving my body. He must have wrapped his arms around me to not let me fall from bed.
Later in the morning, the last helicopter taking soldiers to a hospital leaves. I put my cloak on and take a stroll around the clinic to visit Duque. He isn’t talking suicide anymore and looks slightly less depressed.
Tristan comes later to check my vital signs and to take a blood sample. The lab test proves I’m free of the drug. To celebrate, we have lunch in the ER with Duque, the Diaz aunts, and the twins. I’m behind in my embroidering efforts, so I spend the rest of the day recovering the lost time.
When sunset approaches, I dread returning to Aleksey’s room. I haven’t seen him all day, and I still feel awkward about our sleeping arrangement. By the time I return to Aleksey’s bedroom, I notice a change. The equivalent of a soldier’s double bed has replaced his old single.
I look at it, confused. The engraved four-poster bed is a piece of art that seems fit for a king. Is this bed for my comfort or his? Why does he insist on this sleeping arrangement when he can get sleeping companions so easily?
Confusion makes my muscles tense, so I take a shower. I rub my body and shave my legs. Anything can happen between a man and woman who share a bed. Why not losing my V to a guy who turns me on like no other? If only I could talk to him. Set some limits. Get to know him and trust him.
One thing is sure: I won’t ask him. I demanded sex from another man and didn’t work. If things flow naturally, we’ll have sex. And I hope that it’s not as much as in my dream and much more as if we cared for each other more than we actually do.
“Wake up.”
“Mm.”
A commanding, angry voice disturbs my sleep. “You want me to train you or not?”
“Tomorrow,
” I mumble.
The mattress disappears abruptly, and I land hard on the ground. “Ouch! What the hell?”
“You’ll speak only when you’re spoken to,” says a commanding voice.
I look up to find Aleksey towering over me. He looks down at me so harshly that I recoil. “It’s 0330 hours. We’ll train every day from 0345 to 0545.”
He doesn’t want me to answer everything with
sir, yes sir,
does he?
“You’ll nod all and shake your head in answer,” he says with his unearthly ability to read my mind. “Now get up.” He doesn’t offer me his hand to help me.
I feel dizzy, and my head hurts terribly. But I won’t tell him. I need to prove him that I can do this. To my surprise, he kneels and lifts the hem of my gown to check on my thigh. His face gets close as he examines my skin, but he doesn’t touch me.
“Your thigh wound is still in bad shape, but soldiers drill and fight even when wounded. If you want to survive the war, you’ll have to give your best even at your worst.”
I nod. I think I have a fever, and my head is killing me, but rapist’s attacks don’t spare sick women. I’ll take any pain if that means I’ll get the slightest chance to become better.
“You have twelve minutes to get dressed, make the bed, and meet me at the staircase.” With no other words, he leaves the room.
Making the humongous bed is a challenge. Poncho keeps pulling the bedspread for fun, and the posts don’t help me at all. When I finally meet Aleksey at the top of the staircase he’s looking at the time in his j-device. “You’re a half second late. Fifty push-ups.”
I’m taken
aback. Is he serious?
“Now!” he yells making me startle.
I crouch and reflectively start to circle my wrists.
“What the hell are you doing Velez?”
“I never do pushups without warming up my wrists first—”
“No warming up. Sixty push-ups.”
I obey. By the time I’m at number forty, my arms ache, and I struggle to keep up. I’m used to do fifty push-ups easily, but the wound and the bed rest messed with my strength. To make it more difficult, he puts his feet on my lower back, adding weight to the last five pushups. I remember his words
. I’ll be aggressively strict. Harsh. Downright severe.
I knew he meant it, but I didn’t know I’d hate him so much for it. I won’t let him scold me for not completing the exercise.
My chest burns and sweat runs down my face. …
F
or Olmo
, fifty-six. I feel stabs of pain in my wrists, arms, and chest. …
For Azzy
… fifty-seven … I feel like I’m going to collapse. …
For Dad
… fifty-eight. My arms feel like lead, and I’m trembling. …
For everything I love
… fifty-nine. I won’t get all the way up. I groan loudly. …
For me
… My trembling arms manage to go all the way up.
Sixty!
I want nothing more than to collapse to the ground, but instead I get up to face Aleksey’s inexpressive face. Although my head is killing me, I feel proud of myself and submit to his warm up routine obediently. I hold my ground with dignity until he tells me I have to climb down the stairs and then up again until I reach the clinic’s roof in less than a minute. I frown. That doesn’t seem humanly possible.
Without a word, he hands me his j-device. It projects a minute countdown. He then jumps off and plants his feet several steps down, only to propel himself up for another leap. Jumping several steps at a time is almost as though he’s flying. His biggest leap is the last one and takes what looks like twenty steps. When he has reached the bottom of the infinite stone staircase, he rolls on the ground. Then, he barrels his way up again, several steps at a time. It’s taken him nineteen seconds. The kind of stunt only soldiers can do. I force myself to not gawk at him.
“It’s all about balance and using the right techniques,” he says.
I step to the edge of the top step, feeling vertigo invade me.
“The impact of the landing should be in the muscles of your legs, not your bones. Tense your muscles a little but don’t get too stiff. When you’re nearing the bottom steps, use your leg muscles to decelerate the fall, don’t bend your knees past a ninety-degree angle, and roll to the ground on your shoulders.”
I look down the staircase, trying to hide my apprehension. A single mistake and I’ll fall and perhaps even die. But the fear of falling is nothing compared to the fear of rape. Perhaps if I attend the recruitment ceremony with two broken legs, the soldiers won’t take me.
Aleksey climbs down several steps and reaches up his hand to grab mine. “I’ll be with you to prevent any accident.”
That is if I don’t make him fall, too.
Looking at the bottom steps hundreds of feet below me, I take a deep breath and jump off.
My stomach drops as I descend at top speed spotting the place where my feet should land. Staggering, I manage to plant my feet several steps down. I struggle to maintain my balance, but Aleksey’s hand in mine helps me to steady myself.
Heart beating fast, fighting the vertigo running through me, I jump off again and this time, if it hadn’t been for Aleksey, I would’ve fallen for sure. Each jump gives me momentum and accelerates my fall. Each drop makes me feel as though my heart and stomach are clutched in an iron fist.
“Decelerate! Roll your body on your shoulders!” shouts Aleksey when I’m nearing the bottom steps.
I lean forward and take the last fifteen steps with the hugest leap so far. My stomach clenches in vertigo. I take the pressure from my legs by immediately rolling on the ground. The hard surface connects with my shoulders, bringing acute pain. I still have the momentum, so I use it to get up and sprint. I don’t have time to feel pain or gratefulness. I have to return. Aleksey is already on his way up. He didn’t say I couldn’t use the staircase railway to propel myself up, so I do that as I take five steps at a time.
Breathless, I finally reach the roof, but I get no time to recover when I’m forced to throw myself to the ground out of the way of a wooden sword. I cry out as Aleksey attacks again. I roll to my side and manage to jump to my feet just in time to avoid another of his attacks. A wooden sword is propped against a metallic fence, but he blocks my way to it with another attack.
He stops his attacks and finally hands me the sword. “There are plenty of things you can use against an enemy. Look at those loose bricks over there. There’s a broomstick right next to you. During combat, you have to resort to whatever you have at hand. Attack me with a pebble if you must.”
A sensation of chastisement overcomes me and I’m ready to kick myself. Why didn't I attack him with the broomstick? It seems I can do nothing well today.
He hands me the wooden sword and after an hour of drilling and basic sword exercises, we start a sparring match.
At the end of the session, my body aches almost as much as my pride. My chest burns painfully with each attempt to bring air into my lungs, and I’m sweating copiously.
I’m sure Aleksey didn’t use his full force. He hands me a printed list of assigned exercises and orders me to train later today on my own for at least four hours.
“If you stagger in a real fight you’re dead. How many times do I have to tell you to use your peripheral vision?” His arrogant, cold tone hits me harder than a punch. I’m sure he never yells at his trainees; his harsh, disapproving voice alone must keep them cringing inside. “You focus too much on the enemy in front of you and don’t pay attention to your surroundings. In real combat that’d be a fatal mistake. And didn’t you hear me ordering you to breathe multiple times?”
I look at him resentfully because he’s right. In a real fight, soldiers wouldn’t give me time to breathe. I won’t waste my energy complaining internally about his training methods. I’ll prove to him I can improve.
He escorts me back to his room. I remember that Azzy mentioned Aleksey directs his Unit drills at six a.m. every morning.
Aleksey takes a step toward me. His eyes are full of a feeling that doesn’t reach his emotionless authoritative voice. “I’ll be patrolling from three to eleven p.m. Make sure to sleep early.”
Both of us get surprised when he leans to kiss my hair. He looks as though he has just lost an internal battle to not be gentle. For the first time since I’ve met him he’s shown an almost imperceptible hint of nervousness. I love these rare moments when he shows a little bit of the vulnerability hidden under his though appearance. It makes him look human.
That until he frowns. It’s as though he realizes that he’s been too kind with his trainee, and spits out a single word that will make him return to his
aggressively strict
cocky role.
“Brat.”
He leaves silently, leaving me confused and blinking at the door.
After some moments of dazed silence, I giggle, covering my mouth with one hand. The way he’s said brat didn’t sound as he meant it. It was more as though he felt he had let his barriers fall and was building them again by adding a harsh word. Was I supposed to feel insulted because he used the word
brat?
I feel flattered, instead. Because he’s shown me a little bit of human touch. This is the sweetest gesture on his part since I’ve met him.
I touch the spot he kissed, smiling widely. I turned from slightly resentful to giddy with fuzzy feelings in an instant. I’m really looking forward to seeing him again tonight.
I never told him that I’ll go to Shiloh to hunt for a job.
I’m preparing to take a shower in his bathroom when I notice he left his journal open on the desk. I feel tempted to take a look, and just when I’m about to do so, I stop. I want him to talk about his secrets, not to pry them out against his will. Still my eyes glazed over the page enough to take out some letters that keep repeating themselves.
C.N.
I keep thinking about something Gary said.
Ask him about Clavel.
A feminine name. What if C.N. are the initials of someone he cares about? A sister? A lover?
My fuzzy feelings disappear, and my customary distrust toward Aleksey returns as I stay under the warm water. I still want him to make love to me, but I’m starting to realize that as much as he seems to like me, he might never open up.
And that means I’ll never be able to trust him.
