Page 32 of Sink With Me

“Take her to the training grounds today. If she runs, call me, but get her out of that damn room for a bit. She’s starting to look like some Victorian ghost. Take her by the mess hall on your way and—” I unhook the walkie from my vest to toss it to him, “get Moe to come with you, give him that. Maybe she’s hungry enough to eat by now.”

He continues to gawk, no doubt just as confused as I am. I know I concluded that I don’t care the way she makes me react but feeling it first thing in the morning has thrown me into a spiral.

Date: 5-10-2024

Time: 0703

I can’t imagine it’s quiet when Moe’s around, but right now, the silence is deafening. To be honest, I would be the same if I was sat next to Sam and across from myself. Any sudden movement makes him flinch a little. Clearly my outburst yesterday had some lingering impact. However, the events of last night have somewhat softened me at the edges although I’m still scanning for a way out of this fucking hellhole.

My brows furrow, deep in thought, not even looking at my plate. Why did he do it? It doesn’t matter. He’s supposed to hate me. If he didn’t, then I’d say he’s sicker than I thought. Not that it matters if he hates me or not. I don’t care.

The smell of crisp bacon and toast hit my nose, throwing me out of the inner turmoil he created. Glancing over, Moe seems to have already heard my thoughts from a mile away.

The mess hall is exactly that, a mess. Bins overflowing with trash, crumbs, and condiments littering the tables. But there's not a soldier in sight, those who have come in, take one glance at me then talk quietly to each other before swiftly getting their food and leaving. Typically, I’d judge the scenario, but something about it feels so powerful. Maybe it’s just delusions from lack of nutrients. After all, these are men and women who senselessly worship a maniac who possesses a unique inability to take accountability. They’re the delusional ones, not me. Abandoning their vows because they got bored with helping fix what was broken in The Chaos. Selfish bastards.

I pick at the eggs on my plate. One bite meant I was cooperating. Their smell was making me nauseous, though I couldn’t tell if I was repulsed or simply so starving that my stomach was trying to eat itself. As starving to death is becoming less enticing by the day, I lift a small bit to my mouth. The texture is fluffy, rich with butter and salt. I take another small bite.

“Where are you taking me, anyway?”

I look up to Sam, who sports two blackened eyes and bandaged nose, then to Moe, who is already on his second plate of what looks like chocolate pancakes. I didn’t even see them at the counter. I’m sure it was a special treatment sort of thing. Lucky little shit. He doesn’t so much as flick his gaze in my direction before stuffing more down his open throat.

“Tide told me to take you to the training grounds.” Sam nonchalantly bites through a piece of crisp bacon. My eyes widen in shock. “He also says, and I quote, you ‘look like some Victorian ghost’.”

Even though I can barely hear his words over Moe smacking his food, the way Sam stares at my food, one eyebrow cocked is enough to convey the point.

“No shit.” I mutter under my breath. I look to my plate silently cursing myself for cutting and dying my hair.

“Yeah, well,” Sam shrugs, pointing his fork accusingly at me. “You’ve only got yourself to blame for that. He was more than willing to save you, clean you up, treat you and feed you.” His fork punctuates his words before clattering onto the plate. “But you ignored his hospitality. Don’t think he liked that too much. He doesn’t like selfish people.”

Clearing my throat and straightening my shoulders, refusing to give any of them the upper hand from my embarrassment. The comment is just plain rude—I’m not selfish and I won’t be scolded like a child. Moe laughs, forcing me to narrow my eyes in his direction until he almost chokes.

I should be questioning why Tide’s trusting me in the first place, but I guess something unspoken happened after last night. I’m only acknowledging it because it can play in my favor if I use my cards right. The smell of Tides’ skin still lingers on my own, strong enough that it makes my mind want to haze back to the odd safety I felt even for a short time.

I ram down the rest of the eggs and stand, not missing the way Sam’s muscles pull taunt. Poor man. It’s not like I’d run right now, or attempt to break his nose again with half of the army outside those doors. That would be beyond idiotic. He’s following me, and overtaking me, in a matter of seconds.

“I normally train with Tide.” He breaks the silence, making me tilt my head in his direction. Am I supposed to be threatened?

“But Moe here… he doesn’t get much training. Plus, I’m not allowed to work with anyone else, so you’ll have to do everything on your own.” He continues.

Moe’s footsteps slow to a stop before running to catch up with us again. He’s scared. Sam is doing this to taunt him and to taunt me.

“Surely Tide won’t be happy about that?”

“No. So you better not hurt him.” He side-eyes me and I gulp.

He has me cornered; I can’t just go running to Tide for help. If I hurt Moe, he’ll likely find some way to pin it on me and shatter whatever secret bridge I built.

The whole nine yards’ worth of military-grade training equipment lies before me, sparring mats, targets for practice, and punching bags. Just like the mess hall, it’s disorganized, but the soldiers are focused, zoned into each task at hand. Sunbeams from the windows above give just enough rays to provide warmth but not enough to bask in.

I should be miserable, but the more I push through simple warming-up workouts to target practice—with rubber bullets, sadly—the more relaxed I feel. I have kept my distance from the mat, but I know I will have to face what he brought me here for soon enough. It’s fine. This is what I do, I train the inexperienced. Our lovely Sam here doesn’t know that. He also doesn’t seem aware that I am focused on the completely barren opening to my left. A few steps and I could be gone, maybe shot down by the guards in the towers if I wasn’t quick enough, but it’s enough of an opening. I think I might make it. Then again, if I run, I don’t complete my mission. I have to complete it or I'm not what I was trained to be. Perfect. I fucking hate it here.

A familiar tight bun steps onto the padded surface.

“Come on.” Her bored demand orders me forwards. I’m getting sick of everyone acting as if I was the inconvenience. They’re the ones that captured me.

“You really should loosen that bun a little. I think it’s pulling out your social skills.” I taunt, but she swings and I duck. I’m fighting her?! My hands ball into a fist, leveling with my chest without my mind commanding them to do so. A few more practice jabs in my direction followed by easy side steps, gives me enough time to focus on her movements and realize she hesitates on her front foot each time she goes to swing. Yeah, she’s no soldier, she’s fodder they’re plying me with. She likely pushes buttons behind some desk.

She steps back, shaking out her fists, her knuckles bruising already. “Can you hurry this up? I have important business with Tide here soon.”

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