Path to Secrecy

Strengthen

10.39 pm Military Base Camp. 

I stared down at the dirty brown water, slipping into the tornado suction of the shower drain. Mist from the hot water surfaced my surroundings, shading me from my reflection in the 40 by 40 mirror stuck against the brick wall of the barracks. I pushed my head back, relishing the thought and feeling of muck leaving my skin. I lifted my arms, the smell of sweat evaporating in to the smog, my hair crinkling from the impact of the heat. I twisted the shower tap knob to cold, scrubbing my scalp, flicking off the dirt forming under my fingernails.

I felt proud. I felt positive. I felt powerful.

I had made it through a task I never believed I could. Impressed my fellow leaders with the power of knowledge and confidence of an individual. I smiled to myself, a smile I hadn't shaped for such a long time. I had proved that one should never underestimate another. That having poor expectations could to unfulfilled anticipations, like waiting for somebody to fail and suddenly having to re-evaluate your poor judgement, for being so wrong. I closed my eyes. The smell of soap caused me to sigh dramatically, because everything felt normal. Everything felt like it was falling into place. I was improving since my hardship, I had regained my self- confidence. What more could I ask for?

"Yo Aralana, hurry up!"

I peeled my eyes open, staring through the water, up at the shower nozzle shooting clean water with adequate pressure. I twisted around, facing the door that partially covered one's body from neck to knees. Azalea grinned, shaking her head at me with mud sleeked over part of her face. I laughed, a genuine laugh, scrubbing my scalp and rinsing my soap washed hair one last time before twisting the shower off, grasping the towel I previously tossed over the door. "Finally finished?"

She snorted, attempting to pull out the flimsy hair tie in her hair, before giving up altogether and snapping the poor elastic. Beginning to unbutton her service shirt, she shuffled around to remove her boots. "Finally made it a wrap". She laughed and I threw on my undergarments, scrubbing my hair dry with the towel, scented of my mother's favourite laundry softener.

"Impeccable, this place is." I sighed, ignoring the drops of cold water drooling down my forehead and chest. Perhaps I created a different image of the place in my head, but observing the cottage style bathrooms separate from the cabin brought a thrill to the experience of world away from increasing technology. The few shower cubicle were full, a few lady cadets strolling in from their finished routine, I luckily completed almost half an hour ago. During majority of the time, I spent wondering around camp, partly finding the women's shower cubicle and also observing nature at its best. While a few men were preparing for a later bonfire, they somehow assumed I was lost and directed me the appropriate to get myself cleaned up. Although I appreciated the gesture, there was too much time to spare in the bathroom. So I stuck around, admiring the view of the rapid river, inviting danger and thrill. And also helping out in building the bonfire.

"Aha! Now you like this place. Alright then, let's give it a day overlap. Then we'll see who wants their mummy." Azalea winked tossing her boots near the entrance of the place and strolling back. I took my time in throwing on a white tank top, before pulling on a pair of new service pants. Right from the packet. Just like Spencer had ordered.

"Puh – lease, I'm waiting for more to come. You want to know why?" I arched a brow, waiting for her response as she worked at removing the tank top clung to her upper body. She grimaced as removed it from over her head, huffing and making sounds of repulsion as mud slid through the gap between her breasts and into her bra. I curbed my amusement, gathering my used clothes.

"Why?" She questioned, more to herself than to me as she looked down at the mess.

"Because I'm ready." I spoke, pulling open the door in a heroic manner before allowing her to enter. Avoiding the mess she created, I sat on the flimsy piece of wood made as a bench before tossing on my pair black combat boots, I thankfully washed outside with a hose. Including my clothes. If not for the smart move, Azalea's mess would be the definition of spotless. I watched as a few women worked quick at entering and leaving the barrack bathroom, perhaps in need of a filling dinner.