Page 13 of How You See Me
I go to respond, but he stops me by holding up a hand.
“You can’t answer that now. Not honestly anyway.” He rises and pushes the stool out of the way with his foot. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
I nod, unsure of what to say.
“Relax for a bit longer. I’ll take care of the paperwork.” He flashes a crooked smile on the way out. “You can thank me when you get back.”
???
An hour later, I’m back in my apartment, functioning on instinct again. I need to shower, change, and prep for the drills I planned for after workouts. There’s only twenty minutes before my squad shows up, and every second seems to move faster than I do.
Steam still clings to my skin as I leave the hall bathroom and spot someone standing outside my door.
“Corporal,” I call out, slinging the towel around my neck. “Can I help you?”
He pivots sharply. “Good afternoon, sir. Major Perry has been trying to contact you.”
Shit. My phone. “I don’t have a phone at the moment, and I’ve been . . . out.”
The corporal nods, sympathetic but still stiff. Discipline doesn’t take time off. “He requests your presence in his office. Immediately.”
“Understood. Let him know I’m en route.”
He hesitates, glancing at the bruises on my arm from the IV.
“You good, Hayes?”
The question isn’t protocol. It isn’t polished or military. It’s human. And that makes it harder to process.
I force a nod. “Everything’s fine, Corporal.”
With a quick dip of his chin, he slinks away, hard footsteps clicking down the hall behind me.
At least my comrades respect me.
I dress quickly, then open my laptop to send a message to my lieutenant—basic instructions in case the meeting runs long. Not that I expect it. Major and I both prefer action over words—theonlything we have in common.
???
Major Perry sees me enter his office and stand at attention but doesn’t acknowledge me. He makes me sweat it out, finally gesturing me forward minutes later.
In front of his desk, I resume my formal stance—posture straight, expression unreadable. I know this game. Know he’ll refuse to set me at ease to punish me for undermining his authority, even though I had nothing to do with it.
“The NMO recommends medical leave for you,” he begins, his usual irritated sharpness cutting into his tone. “Funny how that happens right after your request was denied.”
Protocol keeps my mouth shut.
“This,” he continues, jabbing a finger at the desk, “is why your promotion took so long. I’ve had doubts about your readiness for the pressures of command.”
There it is. A confirmation of what I’ve always suspected. He doesn’t see me or what I’m capable of.
He sorts through a stack of paperwork, then pushes it aside. “I’ll approve two and a half weeksof leave. When you return, I expect you to act like the leader you claim to be or submit your discharge papers. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” It's the only possible response. Anything more would fuel the fire he already thinks I lit.
“You’re dismissed.”
Pivoting, I march out of the building, each step abrupt and measured, carrying me straight to the training field. If there’s one place I can let go, it’s with my team, doing what I do best. I’m an honest person and an even better Marine. I’d kill and die for my country and my squad. Having someone doubt that, especially my commanding officer, cuts deeper than any wound I’ve ever taken in the field.
