Page 2 of Rebel

He removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose.For the first time, he looked directly at me.“That’s not your concern anymore, Private.”

Something inside me snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight.“Not my concern?They drugged me.They --” I stopped, throat closing around the words I couldn’t say aloud.“And it’s not my concern?”

“I understand you’re upset --”

“Upset?”I laughed, a harsh sound that scraped my throat raw.“No, sir.Upset is what you feel when the mess runs out of chocolate milk.This isn’t upset.”

“Private, you need to control yourself.”His voice hardened again, the momentary glimpse of humanity gone.

“Or what?You’ll discharge me?”I took a step forward, fingers uncurling from behind my back.“Too late.”

Harrison stood, placing both palms on his desk.“That’s enough.I understand this is difficult, but this behavior only confirms the board’s decision.”

I felt it then -- the rage I’d been holding back for weeks, rising like floodwater, threatening to drown me.My hands shook.My chest heaved with each breath.For a horrible moment, I thought I might lunge across the desk and show him exactly how “upset” I was.

Instead, I forced myself back into parade rest.Stared at the wall.

“The counselor will help you process these emotions,” he said, sitting back down.“Dr.Winters is very experienced with… trauma cases.”

Trauma cases.Another neat little box to put me in.I didn’t respond.

Harrison sighed, shuffling his papers again.“You have an exemplary service record, Private.Before this… incident.It’s a shame to lose a soldier with your potential.”

The compliment hit like a slap.My potential.Like it was something I had misplaced, not something that had been stolen from me while I was unconscious.

“What if I refuse the discharge?”The question was hollow, and we both knew it.

“You can appeal, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”He slid a folder across the desk toward me.“The process would extend your time here by months, and given the circumstances, the outcome would likely be the same.”

Given the circumstances.More soft words for a hard truth; no one wanted damaged goods around.I was a reminder of something ugly, something that wasn’t supposed to happen in today’s Army.

“Take the folder, Private.”

I stepped forward, picked it up.It was heavier than it looked.Inside would be forms to sign, benefits to claim, a neat paper trail documenting the end of everything I’d worked for.

“Report to Building C, Room 112 tomorrow at 0900 for your counseling session.”He made one final note in his file.“After that, you’ll meet with Sergeant Mills to begin out-processing.”

“Yes, sir.”The words were automatic, empty.

“You’re dismissed.”

I snapped to attention, saluted, and executed an about face, my movements wooden and precise.Military training was good for something at least -- it taught you how to keep moving when everything inside you had stopped.

“Taylor.”His voice halted me at the door.I didn’t turn around.“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry this happened to you.”

For what it’s worth.Nothing.It was worth nothing.

“Is that all, sir?”

A pause.“Yes.That’s all.”

I closed the door behind me with a softclick, stepped into the hallway, and kept walking.One foot in front of the other.Left, right, left.Simple.Mechanical.My body remembered how to move even if my mind had fractured into a thousand sharp-edged pieces.

Two weeks.Then I would never have to see this place again.Never have to walk these halls, salute these officers, pretend I still belonged in this world of order and discipline that had failed to protect me when it mattered most.

Two weeks to figure out what the hell came next when everything I’d planned for was suddenly gone.

Two weeks to become someone else.Someone who hadn’t been broken.

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