Dinnertime has come and gone but I can’t seem to leave my spot in front of the window. Somehow, having all these bags and boxes of clothes piled in the corner makes this too real. My entire life has been narrowed down into this one room, surrounded by things I don’t recognize and with no way to reach the few people left who care about me. All the girls I’d made cautious friendships with at the University will never know what happened to me. Will they care? Will anyone try to reach me?
Wrapping the comforter around my shoulders, I do none of the things on my to-do list. Instead, I cry, staring out at the ocean until I fall asleep on the floor.
Chapter Four
In which Tatiana is introduced to the Infamous Jankowski Beatdown. And Lucca.
Mike Posner - Not Dead Yet
Tatiana…
The alarm jolting me awake brings back a vivid memory of the night Lev hauled me out of bed and away from everything I’d known.
Covering my face, I swallow back the sobs trying to force their way out of my throat. No crying. Tears are weaponized against you at the Academy, I know that much from my brother’s horror stories.
Forcing myself from my warm blankets with a groan, I paw through the unpacked boxes until I find some leggings and a tank top. My first class is Combat Instruction and I’m going to need something I can run in. Preferably, run away.
Lev taught me some Krav Maga and basic defense moves when I was in my early teens, but my mother put her foot down when she heard about it, insisting that he stop. Apparently, it’s “unladylike” for a woman to know how to protect herself. I’ve tried working on what he taught me with the help of some YouTube videos, but I’m not fooling myself into believing I could take out the ancient gardener that I just passed who is laboring in the greenhouses, much less one of the savages enrolled here.
Still, it’s my first day. Surely, the professor would give me some time to catch up.
The building that houses all the classes dedicated to beatings and murder is the farthest from the main hall, the path winds through a series of limestone boulders and for a moment, I’m alone in the mounds and jagged shards of rock. The frigid wind tears through the gaps and I shudder, moving faster until the combat building is back in sight.
There’s a little shower of pebbles and dirt that just misses me, and a little scuff of a sound, like someone stepping down from a boulder.
Well, that’s creepy,I think, walking faster. Was there really someone up there? Watching me?
Just making it into the gym at 8:59 a.m., I smile a bit in relief.
“You’re late, Miss Aslanova.” The cold tone of Karl Zimmerman stops me mid-stride. The rest of the students are sitting in a circle, staring at me contemptuously.
“I’m sorry, Professor Zimmerman, but I thought class began at nine a.m.?” I look at my watch again, as if seeing the correct time is going to make a damn bit of difference. He’s out to Make An Example Of Me, I can tell.
“It’s ten after nine,” he lies, “and I do not tolerate the disrespect of being late to my class.”
Waving my hand awkwardly like I’m leading the Symphony of the Bullied, I try to apologize again. “My watch must be off,” I offer, though we both know it’s not, “I will make sure I’m early to your next class to show my respect.”
Apparently, my apology comes out wrong, because the beefy German’s expression hardens. He’s a giant; almost seven feet tall with close-cropped blonde hair and muscles bulging out alarmingly in every direction.
“You’re first on the mat today,” he says, looking over the other students, who are clearly enjoying this far too much.
“Oh, well, this is my first day and I haven’t had a chance to catch up with-”
Cutting me off, he snaps, “Get on the mat or get out.”
Dropping my backpack, I step into the center of the circle, rubbing my sweaty hands against my leggings.He’s just going to have one of these meatheads knock me off my feet to embarrass me, and…
“Miss Jankowski,” he says sharply, “join your opponent on the mat.”
Oh, crap…The girl he’s picked out is maybe six inches taller than me and better muscled than half the men in the class. She steps in front of me, rotating her shoulders to loosen up. She is completely expressionless, I can’t tell if she’s going to tear my head off or just push me down.
Clapping his hands, the professor shouts, “Begin.”
The next thing I see is a fist heading for me and I’m on the mat, staring up at the ceiling, and my face is onfire.It feels like she shattered my cheekbone. Rolling painfully to my side, I get up, darting at her and trying to land my elbow in her abdomen. She’s in a slight crouch, arms out and still looking completely indifferent as she dodges my pathetic attempt and then barrels toward me, kicking my legs out from under me with a strike to my right thigh.
I land face down this time, and my blood is dripping in a crimson stain on the blue mat. My thigh is screaming in agony. Gritting my teeth, I’m up again, surging toward this Polish machine of death like I have the slightest chance of getting out of this match alive. An explosion of pain under my chin sends me backward and as I hit the ground, everything goes black.
“Your skills are abysmal.”
