A/N: Hey guys! Thank you for sticking with this story. I'm really excited to be on a possibly more consistent update schedule now. If all goes well, updates should be more often than just every month or so. I'm also excited that the story is moving along, because there are some plot points that I'm really looking forward to writing...and I hope you guys enjoy them as well.
Additionally, I wanted to thank you all so much for your support so far. We've successfully hit 25,000 views! This wouldn't have happened without readers such as you guys. If I didn't get the nice reviews that cheer me on, the PM's about my story, the fanart people have drawn for me, and the friends who give me plot ideas and make suggestions about the storyline...this story certainly wouldn't be where it is today. I'm really grateful for it all.
Alright, I'm done now. Enjoy the chapter!
-XXX-
When Tanya was done speaking, all went silent. I could feel every pair of eyes on me.
It didn't matter how hot it was that day. A cold sweat started its way down my back, giving me the urge to shudder.
Then she broke the silence. "Since you're a scientist, Meyer, I'll propose an experiment. How about that?" She wove her fingers together behind her back and began to pace. "We'll see if you daydream less when you're doing something psychologically challenging. Interrogation training is the perfect method, don't you think?"
"Ma'am-"
"The dependent variable will be your level of boredom, and the independent variable will be the type of activity. That's plenty scientific, right?" She laughed. "But we'll need a control. Perhaps for comparison, we'll have everyone else continue on with their strength training, while only you do this instead."
Richter scoffed. "Major-"
"Or perhaps he'd like to step in for you instead?" She pointed to him.
I shook my head. "I-I'll...do it, ma'am."
My entire body was rigid with fear. I had never actually experienced Tanya's brutal interrogation training, but the battalion had warned me all about it. They'd been put through it while I was earning my wings.
Tanya took a few steps toward me slowly. She seemed a bit surprised that I hadn't just begged for mercy instead, but I held my ground. Maybe this actually gave me a little bit of power over her, because she certainly didn't like the idea of hurting me. Even if it was just a work obligation of hers to so...work and personal life had inevitably intermingled. It would be painful to have to hurt someone she cared about, right?
"Well then… We'll just have to go ahead with it. Do you have any criticism for my experimental design, Meyer?" she smirked. I was obviously supposed to swallow my spit and say no.
But I suddenly didn't want to say no.
Tanya had used the thing I loved the most in a ploy to mock me. To top it all off, she'd been completely awful about confronting the fight we'd had the night before. I felt myself wanting to be more like Richter - to talk back without considering the consequences. After all, it wasn't like I had much to lose at this point if I was about to be put through my own personal session of interrogation training.
I cocked my head to the side slightly. "Actually, ma'am… I don't think your conditions for the control group would work at all. If the others were watching me go through the interrogation training, their emotional states would have the potential to be influenced, which puts too large a margin of error on the experiment. Additionally, the integrity of the control group is compromised from the beginning if initial psychological conditions and emotional predispositions are not constant through each individual in the group."
I could feel the tension in the air rising dramatically. All of the eyes on me began to burn into my back. A quick glance revealed that Richter was sporting an open-mouthed grin. Like a mixture between shock and amusement.
It was the moment of truth to find out if that response was really worth it.
I was about to obliterated, and we all knew it.
Tanya gave me a look of bewilderment, almost as if she were asking, "why are you doing this to yourself?" because we both knew fully well that she had no choice but to discipline me with force.
The rifle strap dropped off her shoulder into her hand.
Oh, no no no no no. Not the rifle again.
I took a step back, put up an arm to defend myself, and-
BAM!
For a moment, I was sure my skull was in several pieces. Shattered like a ceramic vase.
But it wasn't, of course. When the world started to make sense again, I was on my back on the ground. Tanya hovered her foot above my chest and then stomped. I expected to see a look of unadulterated rage on her face, but that's not what I got. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she did it.
All of the air in my lungs was knocked out of me. I heard a choking noise - probably from myself - and began to gasp for breath.
"Do you want to talk back to me again? Because I could always execute you for your disobedience."
I blinked a few times, trying to assess the damage that had been done. On one hand, I didn't want to know. But on the other, the doctoral instincts I'd acquired over time were kicking in and I was desperate to diagnose the problem.
I was still trying to regain my breath, but that's normal for getting rammed in the chest with a blunt object. Hopefully it was nothing more than bruising to my ribs, but I couldn't tell if any of them were broken yet.
"Are you paying attention to what I'm saying, smartass?" Tanya asked. Her foot was still on top of me. Nobody in the battalion was even pretending to train at this point.
I nodded my head.
"Then don't be such a goddamned idiot. I can't believe it, but time has actually made you a worse soldier. And incompetents have no place on my battalion. They belong as targets for artillery fire." She held up her rifle and stared down the sights at me. The end of the bayonet was barely two inches from my face.
I knew I was scared, because I was shaking. But that was the only way I could tell. Adrenaline, norepinephrine, cortisol - all of the stress hormones were undoubtedly coursing through my veins. But then, why couldn't I feel them?
I stared at the sharp endpoint of the knife for a moment, before my eyes trailed up the barrel of the gun. My gaze eventually came to rest on her face.
The sun was shining against the side of her cheek now, presenting to me a brilliant shine in the whites of her eyes. Glossy and wet with unspilled tears.
-XXX-
It's a complicated thing, loving Tanya von Degurechaff. Because it was that day I realized there were some things I hated her for.
Or rather, I suppose it's best to say there were things I hated of her. Parts of her personality, her incredibly unique psyche, that could never be gotten used to. Things about her that were so strangely twisted and inhuman that I sometimes wondered if her soul itself were there at all.
And this was one of them. The incredible ability to ignore her emotional inhibitions and conquer anything. The amazing talent to destroy those she loved if it meant good appearances in front of others. She could give up anything that she felt she had to, with little to no hesitation.
Selfishness, some may call it. But in the case of Tanya von Degurechaff, I think it might be more like psychopathy.
This is the discussion that went on in my head as she leaned down and pulled me to my feet. As the world spun and I made a futile grab at the air to stop myself from stumbling. As I scrambled to return to my feet once I fell again.
Tanya may do all of these things, but if she can fall in love, doesn't that suggest there's hope for her? That she maybe does have a soul? That she's not a true psychopath? That resulted in one leading question.
Does Tanya von Degurechaff love me?
It seemed I had plenty of evidence that she was a psychopath and none that she loved me. Until the moment I saw those tears in her eyes. Of course, it's possible one can simply be attached, but not in love. It's possible that I was more of a prize to her, though I suppose that would be holding myself in considerably high regard. Which I needed to be very skeptical of doing. It was more possible that I was something she felt she had personally raised and developed from a small, incapable state. And now she was beating my will away, destroying the progress she'd made on me. Which in turn hurt her as well, out of disappointment and frustration.
Like a luthier who had crafted one violin for nearly five years, who one day had no choice but to smash it.
But, again. It was wrong to hold myself in such high regard. I was not a finely crafted violin. I was an orphaned soldier who was in love with a madwoman.
