Romance

KIRILL

Cold sweat covers my skin as I sit on the hard surface of the military bed.
Deafening silence surrounds me, and I jump up, my feet making no sound on the floor.
The images from the nightmare redden my vision and play in slow motion in the dark corners of my subconscious.
Everyone and everything I cut from my life have been slowly returning to my immediate presence. Not in person, but as ghosts and shadows.
I stare down at the cuts and marks slithering over my skin, serving as a constant reminder of what happened before I got here.
The reason I escaped it all.
It’s also the reason I have this fucked-up need to return and rule it all. Every last bit of it.
No one can control me if I’m the leader. No one can deny or order me to do anything. In fact, it’ll be the other way around.
But that’s neither for here nor for now.
I throw on some pants and a T-shirt, then slip out of the room 

I tap his sweaty face once, then pause. That day, when I saw those soldiers cornering him, I heard sideways remarks. Things like:
He’s so girly.
A weakling.
I bet he takes it in the ass.
A sodomite.
Usually, I would’ve walked away from such a scene, and in view of how persistent this shit has become since I saved him, I probably should’ve let him be.
But I didn’t.
I wonder why. It probably had to do with the desperation on his face, and the way he intended to take the beating, no matter how brutal it got.
Now, I’m thinking about those soldiers’ words again. More specifically, the girly part.
His skin is so soft, it’s almost like butter beneath my fingers, and that’s…fucked up.
Not because of the feminine part, but the fact that someone as delicate as he is, is hell-bent on joining the army. It’s a place for brutes and outcasts like myself.
People who only know how to kill and need a lice

“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.

KIRILL

Cold sweat covers my skin as I sit on the hard surface of the military bed.
Deafening silence surrounds me, and I jump up, my feet making no sound on the floor.
The images from the nightmare redden my vision and play in slow motion in the dark corners of my subconscious.
Everyone and everything I cut from my life have been slowly returning to my immediate presence. Not in person, but as ghosts and shadows.
I stare down at the cuts and marks slithering over my skin, serving as a constant reminder of what happened before I got here.
The reason I escaped it all.
It’s also the reason I have this fucked-up need to return and rule it all. Every last bit of it.
No one can control me if I’m the leader. No one can deny or order me to do anything. In fact, it’ll be the other way around.
But that’s neither for here nor for now.
I throw on some pants and a T-shirt, then slip out of the room and into the empty training camp. The soldiers were granted a night out, so they all fucked off to g

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