Ell Sadem

TWO: THE RANK-LESS

AN/Yeah, I know I need to rework parts of this chapter but bear with me here. It gets better after this. Edit: so I said I'd put in the part where she runs from her bodyguard so here you go :)

Edit: I couldn't leave it this way so here it is, the version 3 of this chapter because I hate the old one. This may cause discrepancies in further chapters so bear that in mind.

—Ella—

With the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wafting in the air of the cozy café, Dad and I walk to the register to make our 'demands' as he jokingly calls it.

"Hello, welcome to the Brenner, what are your orders?" The young, obviously new barista gives a friendly, cheerful smile only the yellow and green gradient five over her head betraying her nervous excitement.

I scan the donuts and other pastries in the glass display case, listening to Dad as he rattles off our order without hesitation.

"A larger French roast iced coffee, one caramel mocha, and half a dozen glazed donuts with one slice of fudge cake."

The reflection in the glass catches her surprise and a glance at the menu behind her head, a moment later she chuckles. "I guess you're a regular then?"

I look back up just as Dad responds.

"Yes, and Elli here," he jabs me in the ribs with his elbow. "Always gets the same thing."

I rub my side wordlessly, trying hard not to roll my eyes at his antics and the teasing grin; sometimes I wonder if he'll ever stop playing around, but then I remember all the times he has helped me, the dreams and all that. It isn't a game that he can play around with.

She motions at the sleeve of Dad's leather jacket where several patches make their home on his shoulder. "So, you're military?"

(Dad gives a curt nod, a more formal air rolling off of him, "Yes ma'am, I served in the Third World War."

"Oh? My stepfather was in Miami when we pushed the last of the Koreans out, in Jackal Squadron."

"Jackal Squad..." Dad rubs his chin with a scarred hand, "If I remember they were positioned at North Bay Village along with squadrons Delta and Ace."

Her rank turns purple, "I think so. How did you know?"

"I was in Dodge Island with Alpha and Monarch." He shoves his hands in his pockets.

If there were other customers I think they'd be mad by now, if not listening to the conversation. A conversation I am quite interested in; he doesn't talk about Miami often, and when he does though I always catch a new detail or two.

"Dodge Island, as in where the Sombra Muerto was sent? Did you see him?"

"No," his rank turns brown with the lie. "I was on the other side of the island.")

Interesting. I turn to look out the glass storefront, the sensation of being watched crawling up my back;

A few people walk by, and across the street, a group of young adults stands around chatting. Off to the side of them, a solitary man stands on the corner leaning against the light pole, a hat pulled over his face; he's too far away for me to catch his rank, and he isn't even looking in my direction, but a shiver runs its course through me anyway.

Still feeling anxious from my panic attack I tug Dad's sleeve as a way of telling him I'm going to sit down without disturbing his conversation and, barely keeping my pace from an all-out run, walk to the back corner seat out of view from the outside of the café.

My book bag is already off my shoulder and in hand ready to be dug through by the time I sit down, less time wasted, more time to draw. I stare at the blank page in my sketchbook for a moment before putting the pencil to the paper and letting my brain go; shapes forming and connecting, morphing into a distinguishable portrait. I've been drawing for years, and ever since I can remember it's always been a way for me to relax, to let the residual feelings fade from my memory.