Page 99 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

Finally, he looks over, and our eyes meet. It feels like forever that he holds my gaze, even as his eyes turn glassy with unshed tears.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” he asks, springing to his feet, his fists clenched at his sides.

I don’t say anything. I can’t. I also can’t look away.

He steps closer this time. “Knock it off, asshole,” he says, his voice rising.

My eyes widen as he closes the distance between us. I don’t move when he grabs my shirt and yanks me out of my bed. I don’t even flinch when he raises his fist over his head and stares down at me with wild, tear-filled eyes.

“Stop looking at me!” he shouts, then punches me in the face—his knuckles slamming into my right cheek bone. Searing hot pain flares across my face, but I relish it. It’s the only time I feel anything.

I stare up at the boy who snarls back at me like a bull readying itself for attack. He shakes me and raises his fist again. “Do something! Fight back!” he screams.

I shake my head. “No.”

He blinks at me, his fist lowering an inch at a time. “Wh-why not?”

“I’ve already lost everything. I have nothing left to fight for.”

There’s a silence that descends upon us as his erratic breathing settles. He lowers his fist completely, releases his grip on my collar. I fall back against my bunk with a squeak but never take my eyes off him.

He stands then glances around the room at all the others who by now have sat up in their beds. “What the fuck are you all staring at?” he asks the room at large.

No one says anything. No one gets up. And after a moment, they all lose interest. His eyes shine in the darkness, holding my gaze, and that’s when the tears finally fall. His lips tremble as he cries, his face fighting against the urge to sob. Still he watches me—and I watch him. It’s as though he needed this. Needed someone to see his pain. Finally, after a time, he wipes the wetness from his face and walks over to his bunk at the end of the row.

“This is such bullshit,” I hear him mutter.

He sniffs loudly, climbs into bed, then rolls over facing away from me. I turn onto my back and stare at the ceiling once again.

I need to help him. I need to protect him.

Because I need him to save me.

* * *

“You’re doing that wrong,”I whisper the next morning as we’re awoken by reveille.

The boy’s cheeks darken and I suspect he must feel embarrassed about last night. He doesn’t need to, though. We’ve all been there. “Fuck off,” he says back, and continues to butcher his technique.

“Fold the corners, then tuck them under. Like mine,” I whisper again.

“Dude, did I fucking ask for your help?”

I sigh. “No, but they’ll beat you until you learn how to do it right.”

He stops and stares at his messy sheets.

I lean over. “Maybe you’re into pain, but I don’t exactly want your blood all over my stuff.”

For a moment he seems like he’ll continue to argue with me, but I’m pleased when he crouches down to fold and tuck the corners. He glances at my bed for reference and adjusts his own, then fixes his uniform before joining the rest of us at the end of our bunks.

When the lieutenant bursts through the doors he heads straight for the back like I knew he would. He wants to make an example of the new guy. He always does. It’s how they break us. Jokes on them, though. I’m already broken.

He stops at the boy’s bunk next to me and inspects the bed. I watch out of the corner of my eye and inwardly cheer when all he gives is a rough grunt of approval. The lieutenant steps right into the boy’s face and narrows his eyes.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Thanger,” he says, then turns to the rest of the bunkhouse. “Move out, ladies!”

We make two straight lines and head out the door into the sunlight, our hands coming up to shield against it. I feel a tap on my back and look over my shoulder.

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