The General part 32

WAR

I come for her; I admit my love, and she can’t say it back.

Instead, she falls onto her knees, distressing her already torn feet, and tries to please my cock as if all I’ll ever be is a Master needing sex. As if all I’ll ever be is a job.

It rips me apart, and it hurts more than when my father slashed whips on my back to train me in youth.

In all my years of life, I have not wanted much. I work during the days and retreat to my tent at nights, which, if not for my weapons and bed, would look abandoned. I have never indulged in fantasies of a female or a family, because my job has always come first.

There is no male on Zolan with my genetic composition, none with my medals and wealth. What I was once proud of has become flint for my greed. I don’t want to own possessions anymore; I want to own Joan— her admiration, her heart.

I’m dying to hear three words from her. I have become pathetic. I have pruned under the glazing glow of an ethereal, otherworldly woman as the world watches me and considers me the sun.

But all she can offer me is her mouth on my cock. She fell to her knees although she was injured, and I hardened like a sick degenerate. She is hurt, and my body still arouses for her. I am disgusted with myself.

I leave her behind in the room, retreating from the one battle I am not ready to fight yet.

I focus my energy on strategizing tomorrow. I will have Vrint’s head, and I’ll wear it like a fucking necklace. How dare he terrorize my Joan? It took everything in me to let her go to pursue her happiness in the city. He had no business cornering her.

I’ll kill him. Joan might fight me over this decision, but I will hear none of it. My mind is set.

JOAN

I don’t think the look of his disgust will ever leave me.

It was hurtful, because although our intimacy has been rocky from the start, I wanted to show him that I trusted him and wanted him to feel good.

I can’t open my mouth to tell him I love him too, because I don’t know what I feel. It feels so much easier to open my mouth and stuff it until there’s no option but silence.

Did he see an Entertainer within me? Is that why it disgusted him to see me on my knees? Or do I look ugly after the twists and turns of the day?

My eyes refuse to look away from the door, but he doesn’t return. The only time the door opened was when the boys came in to take the tub away and leave a platter of food. I don’t touch it. I’m full with exhaustion.

I lie on the bed and am blanketed in silence for hours. When the door creaks in the dead of night, I don’t even turn. I know it’s War, because no one would dare sneak in here when the place is crawling with Masters.

My body tenses in anticipation as I wait for him to sink onto the bed behind me and wrap a secure arm around me. Although we have our differences, I will never stop enjoying his embrace.

Wood creaks loudly, and I realize he’s no longer walking. He’s sinking onto the floor, choosing to sleep there instead.

Disappointment soaks me.

Should I slip off the bed and sleep next to him?

His disgusted face flashes in my memory, and I huddle deeper into the bed because I don’t want to risk seeing it again.

I go in and out of sleep, and War remains still with the stealth of a warrior. When he finally rises in the morning, I rise with him and push my hair over my shoulder. I await instructions like a good little servant that I am.

“I will take you downstairs to eat. The Masters are there. I have some things to take care of.” He leaves it at that.

I swing my legs off the bed. Is it sick that I’m glad my feet are torn up because they give him a reason to touch me?

He picks me up in a smooth swing and walks out of the room. My eyes are on his strong throat the entire time. We go down the halls into the cafeteria, which has three long tables the masters occupy.

Their talking hushes and they tense when I pass by as if War would snap their spine if they looked too comfortable around me. Soon, they begin to flock out of the cafeteria. Many haven’t finished their plates yet, but they still leave. War doesn’t stop them.

Only Malik and five brave others stay behind, spread throughout the three tables.

War sets me the furthest from the men, and barks at a staff member to bring me food.

“I will return in an hour,” he tells me.

Food is brought to me instantly— a pile I can’t look over. I pick up the spoon-like utensil and take a bite of the mushy, cold soup.

My eyes move to Malik. “Hi,” I call to him.

“Greetings,” he replies without looking up.

“Um, can you come closer? I can’t walk far…”

He looks at me and pauses for a second, as if registering my request. Right as I worry that he’ll reject me, he moves to my side.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to thank you for coming to find me. All of this destruction and catastrophe has been crazy. I’m afraid about what will happen, and I’m sad about having to leave the orphanage because it meant a lot to—”

“Will you stop this?” he grits.

My spoon falls from my grip.

“Stop investing energy into unproductive feelings like pity. You signed up to the military to serve in the war— a war that is still raging. For whatever reason, you have become what keeps The General together. Just focus on doing that.”

My ears roar, and I can barely hear myself reply, “I can’t."

“I can’t because unlike you, Masters, I don’t use a drug to shut myself down.” My hand comes to touch my chest. “I feel. I’ve been feeling strongly for the past ten years since I was abducted.”

“Then grow and learn to filter those emotions. You have had ten years to do it. Until you start viewing yourself as strong, you will remain weak like the orphans you looked after. How could you have considered yourself their teacher if you haven’t mastered your insecurities?”

He continues to tear into me. “The Masters dislike you. By distracting The General, you have spun a storm that disrupted their already chaotic lives. I have begun to dislike you as well, Joan from Earth. Although you are good at teaching how to stitch cloth together, you are not good at keeping yourself from falling apart. You are surrounded by such strong men but have learned nothing. A waste of an opportunity others would die for.”

My chest pulses. Apparently, Malik isn’t only good at destroying bodies in battles. He’s good at crushing spirits, too. His words are like blades dragging down my warm skin. Death by a thousand cuts.

Vomit rises up my throat, although I haven’t eaten much in the past 24 hours. I gag and slap a hand over my mouth.

His eyes narrow. “It sis a shame that The General’s offspring will not come from a stronger woman.”

He picks up his plate and leaves. The gaze of Masters follow him as they wonder how he has the balls to insult The General’s obsession.