Free Sovereign (Sovereign Series) by E.R. Arroyo Page A

cheek.
    Apparently
the men share a shower room down the hall, so they all walk past me.  Not one
is concerned with the bruised and bloodied girl in the floor with her arms
wrapped around her knees.  I would rock back and forth for self-comfort if I
didn’t fear it would look too feeble.  I hate that I’m wounded at all.  Where
the hell is Marsiana?
    A
soldier trips over me, and catches his balance by placing his hand on my head
where I’m wounded, I wince in pain and he wipes my blood on his pants. 
    “Are
you okay?” he asks softly as he kneels beside me.  It’s the blond-headed
soldier from Cornelius’s room, Titus.  His familiar blue eyes fill with what
looks like genuine concern.
    “I’m
fine,” I hiss.  The way worry dances on every corner of his face reminds me of
Dylan.  I already miss Dylan.  I’m used to seeing him three times a day, but I
haven’t seen him since last night.  I think I can finally admit to myself that
last night was strange.  Something felt awkward, but I think it’s just because
we’re both starting new lives.  It’s normal to be nervous, and for things to
change.  I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.  Suddenly my tightened chest
hurts more than my wounds.
    Apparently
Titus has been speaking but I’ve completely missed it.  I meet his dark eyes,
hoping he’ll repeat what I missed. 
    “Can
I help you get cleaned up?”  He seems sincere.  I bring myself to my feet. 
    I
glance down the hall and see Marsiana making her way through.  “No, thank
you.”  He sees her coming, too, and nods.  He waits until she reaches me before
dipping his chin and walking away.
    Marsi
lets out a heavy sigh when she lays her eyes on me, and part of me feels ashamed. 
She is what a soldier should be.  She’s tough, she’s an officer.  She’s not
like me, wounded inside and out.  I want to be like her , I allow myself
to think before stopping in my tracks.  What am I thinking?  I don’t want to be
a pet soldier.  I want out of here.  I want to live on my own terms.  Or die on
them.
    She
ushers me into our room and as soon as the door shuts, she launches into her
lecture.  “So, don’t leave meals without me until you have your chip and
clearance.  I was really hoping you weren’t going to be any trouble.  You can’t
give Nathan a reason to doubt you if you want to keep on the straight and
narrow.”  She looks me over.  “Is that what you want?”
    I
hesitate, “Yes.” 
    “Who
did this?”  She places a soft hand on my shoulder, forcing me to look her in
the eye. 
    “Nobody,”
I mumble. 
    “Did
you start it?”  I’m genuinely offended, but I do have a reputation.  I guess I
deserve that. 
    “No. 
You can check the security cameras if you’d like.”  I scuff my foot across the
floor, biting down on my lip.  I guess that’s enough to convince her to move
on.
    She
pulls out a first-aid kit, grabs a pouch, and gives it to me.  “Shake it,” she
says.  When I do, it turns ice-cold and I hold it to my face, assuming that’s
what it’s for.  She wipes the blood off my scalp and I feel a sting when she
puts some chemical on the wound.  “Do you want me to stitch it myself, or take
you to the Medical wing?”
    “You,
please.”  No need to display my weakness around the whole building. 
    The
needle stings going in, and while she stitches she tells me there’s probably no
deeper injury, and hopefully no concussion.  “I’m fine,” I assure her. 
    “Good. 
Tomorrow’s lab day.”
     
    After
a couple of hours of sitting upright and her checking on me every so often, she
finally lets me lie down for bed.  I’m still exhausted.  I’m wounded.  But I
can’t fall right to sleep.  There’s too much information vying for my
attention.  The tiring first day, the new home, the new housemates.  Marsiana. 
Titus, the soldier in the hall.  The resurrection of childhood rivalries.  My
aching wounds. 
    The
lack of a best