Blame Aphrodite - SAMPLE-

Porridge

Since Gibby had kept me on a tight leash now that he knew how slippery I was, I didn't have a chance to escape to Valencia's. That man followed me on breaks, to get food, he slept standing above me and even escorted me to the bathrooms. I didn't have one second to myself ever. That being said, I hadn't seen Valencia in days.

I had been keeping track. It was six days since I'd last seen her and I was growing more irritable by the second. Usually, I was this happy-go-luck lad but not anymore. Anytime Gibby breathed my way, looked my way, or even thought about me, I would grow more and more angry. I had never been one to have a temper but Gibby was bringing it out in me.

Two days ago my father and Gibby had decided to move on to tactical training. Hand-to-hand combat. Why a war strategist would need to know that, I had no idea. To me, this was some sort of punishment my father created to make me into more of a man. I hated to admit it but only two days in and I was already starting to feel myself slipping into my father's ways.

As I said, happy-go-lucky Everett was disappearing and I had to do something to fix that. I couldn't keep going on learning about war and death and fighting. It was depressing, to say the least. Not only that but my father forcing me to do this showed how little he truly cared about it. Of course, I'd always known it but I thought maybe there was a little bit of love in his heart for his only son.

After today, I confirmed my suspicions.

"He hates me," I groaned, collapsing onto my cot. "He actually hates me. With a burning passion!" I whimpered into my pillow.

My body had never been so sore in my life. Sure, the daily walks to Valencia's had helped with the cardio aspect but strength was another story. I was strong but not as strong as my father wanted me to be.

"True. I've never seen him so passionate about another like this before. He really wants you to die." Peter said from across the tent.

"Your father doesn't want you dead, Everett." Gibby chimed in.

"If I wanted you to speak, I would've addressed you." I groaned and rolled myself over onto my back. "Leave me to nap, Gibby."

"I will not. Nap if you wish but be awake in two hours. We have some testing to do."

Disregarding him, I looked at Peter and beckoned him closer. He threw a glance at Gibby but walked over anyway. I pulled him down to my level and whispered to him, "Get Henry to write down basic phrases for me. Tell him I will pay him back when I can."

"What are you whispering about?" Gibby prodded, stepping closer.

"Like I said, if I wanted you to speak, I would've addressed you. It's none of your business. Peter, the sooner, the better."

"Of course," He nodded and disappeared out of the tent.

"What was that?" Gibby asked again.

"None of your business." I retorted and turned over on the cot, facing away from him.

***

"How is this going to help me with war strategy?" I asked, gesturing to the rifle in front of me. "I'm supposed to create plans, not partake in them, correct?"

"You are right but understanding your plans will no doubt make you a better strategist," Gibby explained as he came to stand behind me. "Start pointing out the parts so we can make sure you have a grasp on the mechanics of the gun."

"You can't be serious," I tried to stand from the chair but Gibby's hands on my shoulders forced me back down. "This is pointless."

"Show me the muzzle," He commanded, stepping around to the side of the table. While I didn't really pay any mind to the education my father forced upon me as a child, some of it still stuck. So, with ease, I pointed out the muzzle.