Dusk Till Dawn | König x reader |

Chapter 7: Risk

A/N: Hi! Sorry it took a few weeks; I've been having some family problems and could not find the time to write or the energy to do so. But do not fret. Your meal is served.

My nose was bloody, and my heart was beating fast in my chest. 

"Can't you go a little easy on me, Grandfather?" I pleaded. He quickly drove an arm under mine, locking it behind my back. He swiftly took my other arm and plunged me toward the ground. He stuck an arm out in front of me, ensuring me a soft fall.

"Trust me, Y/N, there is no one that will go easier on you than me." He twisted my arms behind my back and pressed his right elbow directly onto my spine. I wheezed and grunted from the pain.

"I kind of doubt that." My voice strained, and I could tell he noticed because he eased up on me. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, he had a soft spot for me. He always wanted me to know that no one can be kinder to me than, well, me. My grandfather always told me that people would come and go in my life, but I would always stick with myself to the bitter end. Logically, that was true, and I still thank him for teaching me that to this day. Now I trust myself, I still trust other people, but I have more confidence in myself. Whenever it falters, I remember what he told me.

Until I was 17, he trained me every week, which I was surprised by since he was 75 years old. The year he turned 76, he started to feel ill. He stopped training me and wouldn't get out of bed for days. My mom got help for him when he started to cough up blood. Though, my grandfather did his best to convince her not to. My mother called a doctor to come to their home and assess him. After my grandfather went through a shit ton of blood tests and scans, he was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer. My mother was horrified, and so was my younger brother. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to process it all.

The diagnosis didn't hit me until he died two years later, three months after my 19th birthday. I received a call from my mother, who had already called my commanding officer and explained the situation. I remember putting the phone down with shaky hands. I didn't think it was real. I kept looking at my grandfathers' death certificate, thinking it would disappear and that he would be in the backyard at the big oak tree we trained under. The death certificate never disappeared, and neither did his grave I visited every Sunday. I got honorably discharged from the military two weeks after my grandfather died. I went back home to live with my mother and had to sleep in my grandfathers' room because we only had three bedrooms. I can't tell you how many times I cried in that room, cried in his closet, his bathroom, and even under his bed. I didn't come out of my room for a month, and when I did come out, it was to eat, drink, or pee. I didn't talk to anybody and shut off my phone. I was a recluse, not self-proclaimed. 

After a month, I turned on my phone. I had hundreds of calls and texts from my friends. Some apologizing, some asking to hang out, and even cousins I don't remember giving my number to reached out as well. Little by little, I started to come out. I did the walk of shame out of my room with the piled-up plates and stacked cups. No one said anything about it, not even my brother. I cleaned up my room, washed the clothes I had worn for weeks, brushed my teeth, and took a real shower, not just washing my feet and crotch with a washcloth. My mom told me I should work out in the backyard again, but it was too soon too many memories. I got a full-time job as a waitress in a fast food chain, I didn't need the money, but I needed to make myself busy. Six months after his death is when I got my cat, Lucky. She had beautiful black fur and green eyes. People told me her name was ironic since black cats are unlucky. I didn't mean for it to be that way, but I liked it. So, I started to piece my life together. I had a steady minimum-wage job, a cat, friends, and a family to support me. Though, it felt like something was missing. A routine and tough love like my grandfather gave me—the Army.

"No, absolutely not."

 "And why the hell not?" I crossed my arms and glared at my mother across the living room.

"Because... Ugh," She put a hand over her forehead and sighed.

"Exactly, there is no reason." I turned around to go to my room, but something inside me lit with anger. 

"You want me to stay here and be your little girl. I'm turning 20 next month, I am an adult, and I can make my own decisions and decide the risk." I raised the volume of my voice slightly, enough to make her know I was serious.

"Now, you could sit here and pout, complaining about how I shouldn't go, or you can support me on my decision. Either way, I'm enlisting in the Army." I had done research for the past couple of weeks, and I had been in the Army before. I stood there waiting for an answer, but I got none.

A few weeks later, I passed my MEPS and was going straight to Direct Shipping. It was a Tuesday afternoon. The house was quiet; it seemed like every zip of my luggage, every pair of pants I folded sounded extra loud. I finished packing and brought my luggage downstairs. My brother ran up to me and hugged me. He was a man of few words. My mother kissed me on the cheek and ran her hand through my hair, her eyes were glossy, and her dark brown hair was pulled to the side in a braid. 

"Be safe, okay?" My mom sounded like she was about to cry, so I did my best to make the goodbyes short before she did.

"I will, and I'll call you guys when I can, okay?" I kissed my mom on the cheek and waved goodbye. I cried that day silently, but I cried. I assumed everyone did; how could you not? I didn't hate my family, but my mom continued to parent me when I turned 18. It was annoying. Sometimes, she would call me to scold me for a mistake, and I would hang up. Four weeks into basic training, my brother called me drunk. He was 15 then, so it was expected. I told him to sleep it off at a friend's house and deal with the repercussions for not telling her ahead of time. I told him it would be better than Mom finding him intoxicated. Honestly, I did worry about him, we weren't close, but I called him from time to time. After ten weeks of basic training, I got stationed with Task Force 141. After I met Konig there... Well, let's just say I didn't call my mom that much.

A/N: Sorry if the military stuff isn't that accurate, I don't know much about it but I tried lol.