Page 33 of Severed Heart

Either way, I selfishly regret offering, and know he must see that regret before I roll on my back, studying the sagging patch of ceiling above my bed.

“You’re young,”have no crossto bear, “and have many, many tomorrows ahead of you,” I manage through dry lips, the increasing throb at my temples blurring my view of the brown-splotched stain hovering above.

Instead of responding, Tyler stalks into my room as if he has the right to do so and goes straight for the box of powders on my dresser. I sit up suddenly, holding my blanket to my chest, unsure of what I’m wearing beneath it. “What in the hell are you doing?”

It’s then I realize he has a sports drink in his hand. He grabs a packet from the box and thrusts both packet and drink to me as if ready for my excuse.

“I’ll start some coffee and meet you in the kitchen,” he adds. A subtle but commandingorder. Something which should take more time to master so efficiently than his short years.

“Tyler, I do not know what you think you can learn from me.”

“Yes, you do,” he replies vehemently, lingering briefly as if to say more, but he doesn’t, instead turning and leaving my room.

After pulling on my robe, washing my face, and brushing my teeth, I find him sitting at the kitchen table. Next to him sits a steaming cup of coffee and a ready Smirnoff pint. I pause at the sight of the insult and assumption.

“Ido notdrink in the day,” I snap, pushing the bottle aside for the steaming mug. “I have a fucking job.”

“Sorry, I”—he angles his head, considering me—“I just thought you might want a little hair of the dog.”

“Hair of thewhat?” I snap, leashing my tongue when his posture draws up in defense before he lowers his eyes to the forgotten wildflower-covered suitcase dangling from my hand.

“Hair of the dog is when you drink a little of what you had the night before to take the edge off any headaches.” He delivers this carefully as if he knows what precise tone to use while diverting the conversation to lessen any offense.

An artful tactic he might have mastered because of his drink-dependent father, which tells me he’s already wary of me. Shame threatens, with the knowledge that I should spare him my company and take back my offer. I lower my gaze from the boy’s prying eyes and glance back toward my bedroom in desperate need of retreat. Of my bath, of my cleansing.

“What’s in the case?” he asks, clearly sensing I’m weighing my decision. I have no business teaching this boy anything. My past record is every indication that I will fail again.

“Come on, show me, please?” he prompts softly, his expression sympathetic without a hint of the insult it can carry.

Or maybe he’s sincere, Delphine, and you are being insufferable.

Sighing, I place the suitcase on the table before him, brushing my finger over the loose buckle. The sight of it pains me as I carefully unlatch it to reveal the case’s contents.

Tyler curiously stares at what lies inside. “Books?”

“Not just books, your”—I search for the English word—“curricum.”

“Curriculum?” he corrects, holding his laugh successfully, though I see it in his eyes.

I slam the case closed. “I don’t need one more teenage boy making me feel a fucking fool in my own house!”

He stands so abruptly that I shuffle back.

“I meant no offense. I’m sorry, really sorry.” He bites his lip, palms open. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he repeats again. “I’m taking this seriously, I swear to you.”

He’s just a boy, Delphine.

Unsettled by the stillness in the air about my tongue lashing and aching for my bath, I quickly dole out my order. “You must read, comprehend, andmemorizeeach book before we can truly begin.”

“Memorize ...” he repeats softly, apprehension filling his expression.

“Not all of the books, but the wisdom of each strategist and the battle formations ... unless you have changed your mind.” I shrug, lifting and unscrewing the pint before pouring some dog’s hair into my coffee.

“No, no, I’m good with that,” he relays as the weight of my task clouds his eyes—that and disappointment.

“What did you think this would be, a physical fitness trial for trophy?” I flash him a smile I know is unkind. “You can become a brute in your own time, but in our time, you will gain the most important aspect of being a soldier, and it is mentality. But to satisfy you, I will add two miles of running a day to start strengthening your stamina, which is also key.”

“I’ll take them,” he accepts instantly. “I’ll take all of it.”