The General part 8

The General studies me, and I don’t squirm only because it hurts to move.

He’s calm. Too calm. Masters are supposed to burst with adrenaline after sex, but although he spilled his seed in me, the warm, wine-color-skinned male stands frozen.

“There is no discomfort?”

He keeps asking me if I’m in pain. That’s strange, too, because Masters don’t feel elaborate emotions like concern and sympathy for others. At least that’s what I think. My perception of them is made up of fragmented rumors and observations I’ve picked up along the way.

“Can you work?”

Oh.

There it is, then. He’s not concerned about me, but my value at camp. I can’t work if I’m injured. I’m just a chess piece on The General’s utilitarian chess board.

A tingle sparks in my waterline in beat with the strain between my thighs, but I don’t dare blink my tears to life. The tears can come at night when I’m done with work. There’s much to do in the meantime.

“I can work,” I assure him.

His eyes move to the entrance of the hole we fell from. “Good. I will climb us out.”

“General.”

His eyes fall back to mine. “Yes?”

“Did you follow me into the woods?”

Why?

“Yes. I had to see what you were doing.”

“I was checking the traps.”

He nods, as if deciding he’ll leave me to it. Checking hunting traps seems like a mundane job for him. Blood doesn’t bother him, and he assumes the same for me. He doesn’t know that plucking the suffering animals from their traps will drain what little energy I have left.

I can speak up about it. I can ask for mercy, but I know that no favor goes unpaid for on Zolan.

“I must return to work. Get on my back.”

So that’s it then. He explored the mystery between my thighs and left it dripping with pain and semen. I’m a person, but I’m so insignificant that I’m only worth thirty minutes of interest. My dreams, talents, and ideas are like the specs of dirt that surround us— multiple in quantity, worthless in quality.

The General turns around, so I gingerly touch his shoulders and lift a leg to wrap around his waist. My pelvis protests against the motion, and that’s when I notice a bead of red liquid on my thigh.

He made me bleed.

I quickly wipe away the evidence of his mistreatment and finish climbing on his back.

With powerful hands that dig into the dirt, The General carries us out of there with no hesitation. The brighter it gets in the hole, the faster dread and pain boils in my belly. I don’t want to check the traps. I don’t want to see any more blood.

When we reach the surface, I slide off him and step away from the hole. I don’t want to see it ever again. The memories of what happened in there should stay buried.

“Goodbye, Master.” I dip my chin respectfully and walk toward the red ribbons. As I walk away, I stare at my ankles to make sure I don’t have any red ribbons of my own. The General can’t find out I’m bleeding, or he’ll be angry that I lied.

I find the first trap quickly. In its clutches is a palm-sized rodent that squirms weakly. Its guts are spilling out, and the gore is so awful that I, too, feel gutted for reasons other than The General’s domination of my body.

I have to collect the animal, but I can’t approach it. It takes five minutes of stalling to decide I’m not doing this. I can’t. I’ll just have to deal with Tantri’s tantrum and beating.

I walk-limp into camp, feeling dirty in my flesh. None of the Entertainers I pass know that their beloved General is plastered between my thighs under my dress. They will never find out, either. Whatever I had with The General is over.

He is nowhere to be seen, as he should be.

Four hours into my work routine, Tantri finds me.

“So? The traps?” he asks.

My heart beats so strongly that the painful throb between my thighs melodizes with it. I feel like the rodent in the trap. Cornered, dying, helpless. To escape Tantri’s trap, I let the words, “they were empty,” escape me.

He squints. “You are telling me that all traps were empty?”

Well, it’s too late to back out now.

I nod. “Yes. All of them.”

I wait for the taste of his palm, but he doesn’t strike me. He walks away, believing my lie. He’s the second powerful male in this camp that I’ve fooled today, but I can’t keep using the same excuse.

After I clean up the kitchens, I gather water. My body is weaker today, so it’s no surprise that I drop a bucket right as I reach the well. Frustrated, I bend down to pick it up. An Entertainer is in the same position a yard away, but I doubt she’s feeling the same.

“Give it here.”

“Fuck, Malik.” I fall on my ass and clutch my chest. “You can’t sneak up on me like that.”

He’s wearing long pants and a green vest that has knives strapped all over it.

“Give me the bucket now.”

Is he going to help me again? I stand with the bucket, wincing from the pain at my center.

“Did you hurt your ankle?”

I keep my eyes on his chest as I answer, “just pulled a muscle. Thank you, but you don’t have to do this.”

“I will help you with the buckets, and you will teach me how to stitch.” He speaks as if there’s no room for negotiation.

“Huh? You want to learn how to stitch clothes?”

“No. I must learn to stitch flesh, but the Healer is unavailable.”

“Uh, cloth and flesh aren’t quite the same thing.”

“You will teach me this, and I will carry your buckets.” He pauses before adding. “And you may ask me a question daily.”

I watch Tantri B-Line toward us. “Joan, get back to work!”

“I am speaking to her.” Malik flicks his hand to dismiss Tantri as if he’s an annoying bug. It’s a miracle my jaw didn’t drop to the muddy ground.

Tantri returns to where he came from. He knows better than to argue with a Master. I do, too.

“Alright. I accept.”

As if I have a choice in the matter.

He leaves with my bucket, and I follow only to escape Tantri.

“You must have pulled more than one muscle,” Malik observes, although I was trying my best to minimize my limp.

“It’s no big deal.”

But it is. My body is thoroughly abused. It matters to me. I don’t want to be a gutted animal stuck in a hunting trap. I’m hurting, tired, lonely, sad, and so, so angry. But instead of medicine, rest, companionship and happiness, I want to matter.

We make three trips, and Malik carries the bucket each time. Tantri watches us from a distance, looking unamused.

After the last trip, Malik passes the empty bucket. “I think you are bleeding.”

“Huh?”

“I smell it. Or at least I think I do. It is hard to tell because The General’s scent is all over you and it overpowers all other scents.”

Oh, fuck. I forgot these guys have a great sense of smell.

“I was checking the traps earlier and was around some blood.”

“I see,” he says.

Great, so now he knows I fucked his boss.

“I will see you tonight for the first lesson.” He leaves, and I move onto my next task. The sooner I finish, the sooner I can bathe and rest my body for a few moments before I have to deal with the next Master.

who wants The General's Point of View?