Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Chapter 2

You only see what your eyes want to see. How can-
Rivers slapped the alarm and Madonna died with the hit. When silence reigned in the room, he dared crack an eye open. 10:00–his safety alarm. He'd slept through the three previous ones.
A wet patch drenched the pillow near his mouth that he dried with his hand. Slithers of light filtered through the shades and landed on the blanket, still taut under the mattress.
Rivers rolled on his back and rubbed his bristly face.

Time to sober up and return to reality. Coffee, food, and a heavy session at the gym would sort him right out. A shave, too.

Summoning all his willpower, he pushed himself to his feet that he dragged along the carpet all the way to the empty shared bathroom, his morning glory making it a struggle to go to target in the bowl.

The rewind button of his mind was stuck on that freaking deep throat.

With a splash of cold water on his face, he erased the last memory of the previous night.

Back in his room, he boiled the kettle as he jumped into a pair of short joggers and his favorite Beastie Boys t-shirt. Powder coffee was all he had. Still, the first sip felt as blissful as Leah's espresso machine.

In the real world beyond the door, a nippy air chilled the morning, but the direct sun heated his skin. Rivers sat in the doorway, stretching his legs before him. Sergeant Alesi nodded at him from across the courtyard, and Rivers nodded back. The fountain in the middle of the flowerbed flowed with excited determination. That was all the commotion that went on on that side of the base. Somewhere on the other side, an angry drill instructor was shouting at a recruit for a speck of dust on their boot; but in his corner of paradise, peace reigned.
Rivers leaned against the door, taking a long, caffeinated sip that let alertness seep through his soul.
That's when sergeant Reid stepped his line of vision. He strode under the cream colonnade on the side of the courtyard with his chin high and a folder under his arm. When he turned the corner, his gaze met Rivers, and his pace slowed to a stroll for the remaining distance. In his cammie, the forest green of his eyes stood out like bloodstones.

Samuel saluted him. "Good morning, sergeant."

Rivers squinted as he looked up at Samuel now towering over him. "Morning." He hinted at the yellow folder. "All sorted?"
"Yes. All paperwork signed. Just. I almost got lost and missed the meeting," — he scoffed and shook his head. "I'll tell you, this place is a maze. No matter I did my boot camp here, then my DI training..." He wet his lips, scratching the back of his neck. "Do they move these buildings around?"

"I can't swear they don't. But uh..." Rivers took a sip of coffee. "If you struggle to get your bearings, I'm happy to show you around."

Samuel had a Hollywood smile—pearly, dazzling, and perfect; but the hint of a small-town- boy simper turned it wholesome and approachable. He nodded. "If it's not too much trouble, I might take you up on the offer."

"No trouble."

"Thank you."

An airplane flew low over their heads, its wheels ready to touch down a half a mile away.
Rivers took another sip. "Are you free for the rest of the day?"

"Yes. I'm back on duty tomorrow for the DADT training."

Rivers' plague. What a fucking waste of time. But he nodded. "I'm attending too."

"Oh, cool." Then Samuel's eyes widened as if he'd just remember something of utmost importance. He crouched next to Rivers, sliding a printed sheet off the envelope. Sandalwood mixed with a faint, pungent scent engulfed him, and Rivers breathed in slowly.

"You're my senior DI." Samuel tapped River's surname on the paper.

He leaned over, grazing Samuel's shoulder. "Jacobs is in my team, too. He's a great DI."