The General part 35 (extra weekly chapter)

This is an extra weekly chapter! Mafia's Devil updates next this week

I feel stupid as I stand there. Stupid and confused, because I thought War came after me because he wanted me beside him again. I was wrong. He only wanted me to be safe under his watch.

I don’t like that, although it only makes sense. The man can’t chase after me forever. There’s a point when he’ll lose interest because there're dozens of other women after him.

With my tail tucked between my legs, I go into my tent and find it a mess. Rain poured in from a hole and damaged my bed. There’s also a pile of leaves in the corner, where I suspect Yippy created a nest. I’ll have to find him later and make sure he’s okay.

With a sigh, I clean up the mess. It thankfully doesn’t take all evening.

I slip into a new dress, my old one sweaty. My shower will have to wait until after I see the Healer.

I head toward the entrance of my tent, but then I stop. I realize I haven’t mentally prepared for the outcome of my visit.

If it’s positive— well, War would probably come running to me. He’s a protector, and he’d be attached to my hip if I was carrying his child. It would be an instant solution to his newfound distance. He would overlook all of my mistakes.

But I don’t want to win him back that easily. That’s the weak way, and I’m done being weak.

So I hope the test is negative.

I walk outside. It smells like smoke. The kitchens are in full blast as food is prepared for the Masters that have arrived back to camp. They’re hungry after the drama they were dragged into.

“Healer?” I call out.

“Yes, come in.”

I duck my head into his tent and locate him sitting on his chair. He’s writing on a scroll with his ink pen, distracted.

“Hello. Are you busy?”

“No. What do you need?”

“I need a test… a pregnancy test.”

That grabs his attention. He drops his pen, creating a blotch of ink on his paper.

“It is you again. Back in my tent.” His eyes narrow. “As you might already know, girl, The Masters take a pill to prevent attachment and impregnation. It is unlikely you are carrying.”

“Can you just check? Please?”

He makes a sound at the back of his throat, but rummages through the translucent jars on his shelves. He reaches for the very top— where the jars are full to the top with liquids, dried leaves, and powders. I guess those don’t get used very often.

He picks a jar full with a lavender powder and removes the lid. After sniffing it, he mutters something along the lines of “still fresh.” Then he looks at me. “Come on now, smell this. If you have any reaction, then you are most definitely carrying. Pregnant women cannot stand the smell of Tukastik.”

A knot forms in my hopefully empty belly, but I step forward. I remind myself to breathe as I close my eyes and lean down. I inhale deeply. It smells like a seasoning often used in the kitchen— spicy, but not disgusting. I have no urge to gag or jump away from the jar.

I am empty of oxygen, joy, and of War.

“There. See? Nothing,” The Healer taunts.

Malik was incorrect. I knew he was, but I came just in case.

I walk out of the tent feeling disappointing relief— a paradox if I’ve ever seen one. I’m emotionally tired, but I’m not going to lie in bed all day.

Things will change today.

I go to the kitchens to help the chefs cook for the Masters. They went through a lot to get me back to camp safely, and the least I can do is make sure they’re well-fed.

The chefs are more than happy to throw work at me. They’re short-staffed and have a lot of mouths to feed. I peel vegetables and crack nuts until my fingers are stiff and aching.

I carry two bowls at a time and distribute them to the Masters. Some are outside fucking entertainers. Others are mingling, but most have returned to their tents.

I’m careful to not step into their tents to avoid invading their space. Although I don’t look at their eyes, I often see a tip of their chin, which I assume is appreciation.

I’m holding two fresh bowls when I pass Malik. My heart drops to my empty stomach and womb, but I b-line for him. Just because he tore me apart doesn’t mean I wish him ill. The strong aren’t petty.

I thrust the bowl at him, but he doesn’t accept it. Instead of walking off, I bend down, place it at his feet, and walk away. I bowed my head down to him, but I didn’t submit.

I’m winning.

—

Over the next two months, I kick up my routine. My belly remains flat and I’m lonely except for Yippy’s company, but I’m doing alright.

Every morning, I wake up early and sneak around to watch the Masters train. War leads them, and my eyes always remain locked on him.

I miss him. It has been months since we last made eye contact, last touched, last spoke. Whenever I cross his path, he walks past as if I was another idiot drooling over him.

I always turn to stare at his retreating back. Always. He never does.

The only times I get to hear his voice is when he’s talking to a Master. I cling to every word. I want to talk with him, but it’s too soon. There is still more growing to do.

I watch him train every morning, and I follow his instructions. I push my body’s limits by exercising along with the Masters— the pushups, the pullups. I don’t have their endurance, but I’m becoming stronger physically and mentally, slowly but surely. Carrying buckets of water from the river is no longer debilitating. Malik doesn’t come to my rescue anymore, but that’s okay. I have Yippy, who chases me with enthusiasm.

“It’s like he doesn’t even see us.”

The entertainers are gossiping outside. I’m in my tent, getting ready to go to sleep and wake up early to train.

“Can The General even get them up anymore? He hasn’t fucked us in months!”

I stiffen.

Another entertainer giggles.

“That’s it, right? He can’t get his cocks up anymore, so he doesn’t come after us. All those muscles are only for show. He’s a little man.”

I purse my lips, angry. How dare she? War has sacrificed years to make sure the nation is safe. All these bitches do all day is wear silky, beaded, sparkly dresses and complain that the dust is ruining their hair.

“A weakling of a man. If he can be a General, then anyone can. What has Zolan come to? We used to be an admirable race.”

They continue to insult the man that keeps them safe, fed, and blind to the horrors of war.

“Hey,” I say lowly and duck my head out of my tent.

It’s dark, but a campfire burns at the center of camp that illuminates their smug faces.

I stare dead into their dead eyes.

“Don’t disrespect The General.”

The fire of the campfire seems to be absorbed into their irises as they’re cooked with rage.

“Who are you to address me, servant? You’re only that ugly, mutated alien monster he dipped his cocks into, and that’s probably why they stopped working. Now you’re both losers.”

Oh, it’s not the mean words she called me that have me flying. It’s that she won’t shut up about War. I won’t let her say another rude thing about him.

I punch her, and either the shock or my newfound strength from training sends her down. Her pretty pink dress that I remember hand-washing last week becomes covered in dirt.

I don’t waste time to straddle her and start slapping.

People yell. I only get three slaps in when strong hands yank me off the Entertainer, who is trying her best to fight back. It’s a shame that she’s only good at tumbling in bed.

“Enough!”

The boom of that voice makes me want to curl into a ball.

“General, she attacked me!”

“It’s true,” her friend says.

“I also saw it,” someone else says.

The Master behind me releases me, and I scramble to my feet. My eyes lock with War’s for the first time in months.

“She was disrespecting you,” I point at her. “She was spitting on your name.”

He’ll understand, right?

As all of camp stares at me, I realize I messed up. I was angry at War for beating up Vrint after he vocally showed an interest in me, but here I am beating up an Entertainer for voicing an opinion. It’s hypocritical of me. I shouldn’t have gotten violent.

“I’m sorry,” I duck my head.

“Take her to the cells and keep her there overnight. I will have no violence among my ranks.”

War’s command has me snapping my head up. The cells? He thinks I’m a danger to the camp and wants to lock me up?

“Wa— General, I… please don’t.”

Something flashes in his face, making it soften for a second that I might have imagined.

But then it’s stiff again. He leaves, and then I’m led away like a criminal.

a/n: Thoughts on the punishment? Thoughts on Joan trying to better herself?

This is an extra weekly chapter. Mafia's Devil updates next this week