Objective Consequence (Book Two of the Subjective Justice series)

Chapter Eight: It Gets Worse before it Gets-Worse (Unedited)

Warm water ran over Indra's head, but it brought no comfort, only further irritation. She'd have to tolerate it, because she was tired of smelling the sweat of fear on her body. The reminder that she was just as weak now as she always was. Grabbing the rough hand towel, she scrubbed at her skin, as if by scrubbing hard enough she could get rid of the disgusting crawling sensations every touch jarred through her.

She wanted to feel something, anything to make it stop. The water trickled down her spine, like fingers—claws, longing to rip at her innards. Indra froze, her breath catching in her throat. This was a bad idea. She couldn't do this. Turning off the water, she grabbed her towel from beside the showers and stepped out on trembling legs.

The door creaked open, like the door of a cell.

No.

Indra's chest grew tight. She backed away until her back hit a wall. Trapped. She was trapped. Sobbing, she slid to the floor, curling up into a ball and covering her head with her arms. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.

Trapped.

Indra wanted to scream.

"Hey. I said no one could use these right now. Did your ears stop working or are you just an asshole?" Hawke's sharp voice spat.

"It's just a shower dude, geez. Sorry that the commander's girlfriend gets special treatment. Why don't you build Indra her own shower?" The girl retorted, her footsteps receding.

Of course she would see it that way. They all saw it that way. Special treatment, unfairness. Indra wished they could understand but she couldn't bear the sensation of pity she'd receive as a consequence. It would be a reminder every day of what she went through. Of what she survived.

"You don't get to say things like that and storm off," Hawke growled, a slamming sound on the wall echoed down the corridor.

Indra jolted. Why was Hawke being violent? He never resorted to violence. And that voice—the aggression, it reminded her of Jacque. Indra couldn't stop what little she ate from rising up her throat. She grabbed the bowl she had brought with her and heaved until what little energy remained in her body subsided.

"I am your superior, if you do not respect what I tell you, then you can leave," Hawke hissed, slamming into the wall again. "We only function as long as everyone is in communication and cooperation. Why are you here, Alesia? To cause starshit and throw a pity party when I ask you one time not to use the shower? Take your entitlement and stuff it deep down or I'll toss you out the doorstep myself."

"Sorry," the girl whimpered. "I-I didn't realize it was such a big deal. Ju—just let me go."

"It is. Understand?" Hawke asked sharply.

Indra grimaced, unable to stop dry heaving despite the emptiness in her stomach.

"Yes, won't happen again, sir," Alesia whispered.

"It better not."

Fast scurrying footsteps took off down the hall.

Hawke knocked on the door, announcing his entrance. "Are you okay?" His tone was much softer, kinder, than it had been in handling the vigilante. He sounded like himself again.

Indra barked a laugh. "Is that really a question to be asking right now?" Part of her was tempted to ask him what happened in the hall, but she was afraid of the answer, of the reality. Something was wrong with Hawke. Indra could feel the wrongness wafting in the air between them, but she had no idea how to stop it, nor the strength to try.

"Why doesn't Akio know?" Hawke asked, entering the room and stopping a good distance away. "I didn't tell her, because it's not mine to tell, but how can you be dating someone for over a year and not inform her that there is a month where you can't stand touch?"