Chapter 8 - Part 1
Cammie's POV
I walk into the bathroom and lock the door behind me with a resounding click. I undress myself, peeling off the layers of sweat-drenched work out clothes that stick to me like a second skin, thanks to the hours of straining workouts and exercises I have been forced to do by my most wonderful trainer. Looking up, I pull a face at my reflection in the mirror. My body sports an ugly geography of bruises, with the one on top of my right hip looking like a blue and yellow continent against my pale skin. That one was courtesy of Newbie, who decided to throw me against a steel wall barricade to mimic the force of a grenade exploding nearby. That was a fun exercise. Zach was laughing continuously at me for a good couple of hours later, which prompted thoughts of his death to run repeatedly in my brain like a broken record. I have several scratches on my face, almost like I have been in a maul with a tiger. One runs from my right eyebrow down to the curve of my jaw. Zach and I were sparring two days ago with knives and to make a point about my lack of ability to correctly disarm him, he drew a nice line on my face with his knife, like a child would with a crayon. I'm applying a daily salve Sean gave me to try and stop a scar forming. It would be a pretty impressive one, but one I would like not permanently on my face. Others come from accidents involving knives and explosions from C4's and grenades.
I dislocated my shoulder this morning in the end of the week training test. There was a set of monkey bars suspended over a man-made gorge that was constructed out of concrete blocks. In the gorge, there were sharp bits of glass and cement sticking up ominously, like the jaws of a shark ready to pounce on any unwary prey. This was troublesome for me as I have minimal upper body strength. I started out this week with limbs as weak and thin as stick; I could barely do five push-ups. There wasn't an inch of muscle on my arms and Zach had a blast chaining me to the gym so that I could build it up. This feat regarding monkey bars with dozens of rungs on it did not seem achievable in my eyes. Before I had even started, I had locked eyes with Zach, searching for some form of confidence that he could give to me. He knew of my weakness and so I could see the mirrored apprehension in his eyes. I was surprised to find no sign of contempt or humour in them. This would have been the opportune moment for him to take advantage and gloat over how badly I was to fail. However, he didn't. He just set his eyes on mine, and gave me a weak smile. His lips upturned slightly into a gently curve and gave me a small nod of encouragement. I was surprised. I didn't expect to see this encouraging and reassuring side of Zach. All of this week, he has been nothing but hard on me. We barely talked normally. He barked instructions and I returned with grunts and groans. During breaks, I spent time with the girls. Admittedly, it still was difficult being with them. They all had special natural talent that I simply didn't have and to hear them excel was slightly painful. I know that sounds rather selfish and egotistical of me, but I didn't want to be the one to slow these girls down. And it did wonders for my self-esteem. I heard tales of their trainers and how extraordinary they were, how incredibly talented and encouraging they were. I just nod and listen, and try to focus on the things I had learnt with Zach. There are so many things I have to retain in my brain, techniques that will hopefully save my life one day. Fingers crossed.
We climbed the ladder, Zach and I, towards to the platform just before the start of the monkey bars. I hauled myself up and glanced warily at the metal rungs. "I can't do this," I muttered to myself, as I crouched on the small platform. Zach placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed ever so gently.
"Yes, you can. Stand up." I obeyed, and Zach wrapped his hands around my hips from behind. I could feel his warmth radiating from his hands. Over the past week, I revelled in how he could be so hot – temperature wise, his body was constantly running at a temperature just below a fever, and yet he never felt it. It's one of the things I have noticed about him when training.
Without warning, he hoisted me up so that I could grab onto the steel bars. They felt like ice in my palms, such a stark contrast to the warmth I had felt from Zach moments earlier. Before letting go of me, he gave me a quick pat on my upper thigh. I looked down at him angrily, glaring daggers, and watched him throw me his signature smirk and wink combo as he climbed down the ladder and out of my sight. I could feel the burn in my arms already as I stayed there suspended. I could feel my fingers start to slip from the sweat as I dangled 15 feet in the air, and I desperately clung onto the bar, hoping to find some semblance of a grip. I could hear shouts of encouragement from the mess of people below, but my mind only focused on one voice yelling out.
"Move Blondie!"
Following the command of my trainer, I let go of the primary rung with my left hand and swung forwards, using the momentum of my body to propel me towards the second bar. But instead of my hand making contact with the bar, it grasped thin air, jerking me downwards so that I found nothing to support me. With a cry I felt my shoulder spasm with pain as my arm popped out of my joint due to the force of my body and gravity hanging from one point. Searing pain flew down my arm from my shoulder as if I had been stroked with a white-hot poker. Shouts from below me reverberated to were I was hanging but the sensation was becoming too much and I could see in my vision black spots dancing in front of me. They were joining up so that more and more parts of my vision became blocked, but I was fighting it. Just hold on, Cammie. Just a little longer and you can get help. My vision was getting dizzy, and everything I saw started to move, even the walls, which came in closer and closer. I could hear Zach below me, shouting. I looked over to where his voice was coming from and saw his mop of brown tangled hair bobbing. I don't know why, but that gave me extra strength to hang on. And it gave me hope. I smiled faintly as I saw it a few metres from me, coming steadily towards me. But so were the black spots. I don't know which ones got to me first.
Turns out, Zach got to me first. This is the second time he has saved my life in the space of a week. I'm worried it will become a habit. I don't like to be indebted to someone; it makes me feel tethered to them. Since I performed mediocre in the tests before the monkey bar fiasco, I was seen fit to accomplish whatever task Joe has sent out in front of us. I don't remember anything that conspired after my blackout. I'm glad I don't. Many praised me for my bravery, and my ability to hang on for as long as I did considering my injury. Many thought I wouldn't have been able to hold out. Neither did I.
A sharp resounding knock comes from the door to the bathroom.
"One second," I call out. Leaving my clothes in a stinking pile on the floor, I gather up my pyjamas. I am to stay in the Pentagon tonight for my own safety so that I don't injure myself further. This is no problem; John and Jane aren't back for another week. I pull on my shorts without any difficulty only using one arm, however my loose top is proving to be challenging. Looking at my dishevelled hair in the mirror, and the bags under my eyes, I let out a small sigh at my appearance before turning towards the door. I open the door, fully expecting Bex or one of the girls saying goodbye before they made their way home.
"Hey, Bex, can you help me with my top?"
"Of course Blondie, but wouldn't you rather be naked with me?" He raises an eyebrow at my attire, but right now, I couldn't care less if he sees me in shorts and a sports bra. Zach says nothing as I breeze past him into the bedroom, where I unceremoniously dump the dirty clothes into a plastic bag, grimacing as the stench of sweat and the tang of blood hits my nose.
"Piss off." I mutter as I turn away from him to gather the clothes on the floor.
"I thought you needed help."
I roll my eyes and silently curse my bad luck. I turn around so that I face Zach once more and I chuck my top at him.
"Fine. Help me put this on." Zach catches the top deftly in his hands without breaking his eye contact with me. He stalks forward to where I am standing and pulls the top over my head so that both my arms are trapped by my side.
"Seriously?" I whine as I struggle to lift my good-working arm into the sleeve, "you're no help at all."
A small chuckle escapes Zach's lips as he slips his hands under my top. The skin he comes into contact with tingles with small sparks of electricity as he travels his way up to my useless arm. With the smallest pressure, he clutches my hand in his warmth and gently pushes upwards so that I can push my arm through the sleeve. This is all done in silence, not a word spoken, but as my pulls his hand down my top he deliberately brushes all the way down from my stomach to my waist. I gasp at the sensation, and at my small intake of breath, his eyes shoot downwards to meet mine. Green on blue. But his eyes are so dark now, maybe it's the lighting, but now they look dark brown. It's startling. And it makes my heart beat all the more faster. I groan internally at the feeling of butterflies settling in my stomach, please. Don't tell me this is happening. This is hard enough for me as it is, I do not need to add heartbreak into the huge list of troubles I will have to experience for the next year or so. Zach will always be made up of those smirks and jests; he is the ultimate playboy. And just like the deer falls for the lion, I have fallen for him. Damn. My eyes gaze down his jawline, following that smooth hard cut line until I meet his lips. Red and full; like they were made for kissing. I'm sure many of his girls have told him that before. At that thought I step back cautiously, I needed to put some distance between us, and immediately I feel the loss of his heat.
"You better go," I murmur as I turn away from him and make my way over to my single bed. I grab a book from the bedside drawer and open it, burying my face among the pages, hoping to get the message across: he needs to go. Peeking up over the pages I watch as Zach looks to the floor and rubs a hand through his already messy hair. I suddenly feel the urge to run over there and smooth it out myself, but I know I can't and I know I won't. I will not be one of those girls. One of his girls.
"Fine," he grunts out. "Goodnight."
He stalks over to the door, jerking it open and stepping through, leaving me in silence. I breathe out a sigh of relief, dropping the now forgotten book beside me on the bed so that I can lower my head into my hands. Trust me to develop feelings for the biggest asshat in history. Well, at least I know its only surface deep, Newbie's personality is so repulsive, I couldn't possible form any sort of attachment to a person like that. It's just his looks that make his so appealing. Yet, why do I feel like there's a niggling sense at the back of my head telling me that I am only lying to myself?
Just then, the door opens with a creak, and the familiar mop of brown hair pops through the door. "Hey, Blondie?" I grunt in response. "Cute pyjamas by the way." The sarcasm was so thick in his voice, I narrow my eyes in clear frustration and annoyance. With a parting smirk gracing his lips he ducks out of the door quickly, closing it behind him just a second before my book slams into the door, where his head had been just a moment before. With a sigh of defeat, and Zach's laughter from behind the door, I collapse onto the bed exhausted and in slight pain, ready for the mission to begin the next day.
A/N: Not too happy with this chapter, but tell me what you think! Just come back from a wonderful holiday so I am sorry for the long wait. Tell me what you think though, reviews are love after all :)
