Page 23 of Unmade

Okay, then. “Well, that’s how I would describe my whole experience in the Army,” I admitted. “Going through OSUT at Benning was obviously a struggle—it was a whole other life from what I was used to. There were nights I cried myself to sleep, nights I couldn’t fall asleep at all, mornings I didn’t wanna wake up, dizziness, throwing up, a Drill or two screaming in my face—you name it. But after that…?” I shook my head and thought back on how everything had changed. “Shit just stopped fazing me. And more than that, I felt detached from everything. I remember… I remember one time, we were having lunch, and I was looking around me, seeing all the guys shoveling food into their pie holes like there was no tomorrow. The edges of my vision became dark. Everything had a rhythm—shovel food, shovel food, shovel food, boots thumping, spoons clanking against the trays, the noise… All voices became one. And I kept thinking, fuck my life, they don’t even realize they’re just cogs in the machine, moving in perfect unison.”

Beckett leaned forward, too, and rested his arms on the table.

“But then I looked down at my own tray,” I went on.

“And you were doing the same thing,” he deduced.

I nodded. “I was eating too fast, acting like a robot, feeling nothing, just going with the flow.”

He nodded slowly.

“Something happened to me there,” I confessed. “Like, something inside me just shut down. I started living according to the routines and schedules provided for me, no questions asked, no adjustment periods needed anymore. I simply did it. No more crying myself to sleep—which…I never thought I’d say, but I miss it. I miss having strong reactions to things. Good or bad—I don’t care, as long as the reactions shake me up.”

He exhaled heavily and finished his coffee.

“The first time I cried in basic was really fucking cathartic, because it was also the first time I’d cried since my mom died,” I said. “I bawled my eyes out like a baby for two hours, and then I slept like one too.”

He hummed and brushed his thumb along a coffee drop sliding down the side of his mug. “I can relate, with the exception that anger still gets to me. I get angry a lot.”

“Why?”

He smirked and shook his head. “Nah. You haven’t made your point yet. Go back to explaining why you stopped responding to my texts.”

Oh, right.

I scratched the side of my head, still not used to letting my hair grow longer than an inch or two. I was probably closer to three now.

“I stopped responding because I didn’t know what to say,” I muttered. “You asked how I was doing, and I had no fuckin’ clue. I didn’t feel anything. I still don’t. My aunt was kind enough to send me care packages when I was in Germany, and it took me forever to muster the energy to call her and say thank you.” One time, I’d almost texted her to say the majority of the candy she’d sent was available on base. The Army went out of its way to make us feel at home overseas, from the snacks in every vending machine to the price of gas. Like that was the fucking point? She always reached out to me, and my first thought had been…hey, we already have that shit here. “I had one break or whatever I should call it when I met two guys who wanted to explore Europe with me. We went all over the place, cheapest train tickets we could find—Paris, Prague, Berlin, Amsterdam, Vienna… It wasn’tfunper se…but I’m glad I did it. I had a sense of peace inside me, and I smiled more. I didn’t feel as detached from myself during those months.”

Beckett smiled a little too, and he?—

“Beckett!” That was Coach. He came into the cafeteria and nodded for Beckett to go with him. “We have a problem.”

“All right.” Beckett rose from his seat, and the two operators spoke at the same time. While Coach informed all recruits that an Operator Rose was going to take over in a bit, Beckett told me we’d talk more later.

I nodded and watched him stalk out.

I let out a breath, hoping I hadn’t made an ass of myself.

Weirdly enough, Beckett had a knack for making me nervous and worried, despite that I’d only ever talked to him three times. Maybe it was his expression. He was calculating and observant, and when I didn’t understand myself, I didn’t want anybody else to do it either. It felt like that was my job to figure out.

Maybe I should be grateful for the nerves? It was a reaction, at least. So few things today caused anything that was more than fleeting. I could get a chuckle or two over a funny movie, I could smile when Aunt Laura told me about a promotion at work, I could groan and curse in traffic, and I could moan and pant when I got off in the shower. But I wanted tofeelwith my whole body. I wanted something to take my breath away. I wanted to be shocked. I wanted to laugh till I cried.

I wanted to cry until I passed out from exhaustion.

Instead, I finished my lukewarm soup before carrying my tray over to the tray racks.

By then, an older man arrived and introduced himself as Daniel Payne, but “Call me Operator Rose.” Then he gestured toward the doors. “If you follow me, I’ll show you the basement. It’s where the fun happens.”

* * *

Damn. They weren’t kidding about the basement.

Swimming pool, shooting range, martial arts dojo, a room full of vending machines, a fully equipped gym, two areas with couches and flat-screens…

I could live here.

Operator Rose let us wander around freely, and he stayed in the wide doorway to the gym if anyone had questions. He walked with a barely noticeable limp, so maybe he stayed in one place because he was in pain…?

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