Not My Brute (Angels of War Series #2)

Chapter Seventeen

I rock back on my heels, jamming to the band up on the stage. Iced Latte in hand, I sway my body in time with the beat, enjoying the edgy rock song. Bret is standing next to me but isn't moving a muscle. Not for want of me trying. I shimmed my way around the small dance floor, grabbing on to his wrist more than once in the hopes of it coaxing him to dance. The first time he stepped out of my reach, I took it as shyness, but the second time told me he just wasn't that into it.

He's scared of what people think of him.

In life, other people's opinions never bothered me too hard. I could shake off the throwaway comments without even blinking an eye. I guess I'm lucky for that, as it's not so easy for other people. Self-Doubt and embarrassment can take over your life. For me, it was my own thoughts that took over. Constantly telling yourself that you aren't good enough is tough, and more than a little scarring.

You can escape the bullies, but you can't avoid your mind. It's there twenty-four-seven, taunting and laughing in your face. Waiting for you to crack. It's a dangerous cycle that I'm glad to be out of. Only you can put a stop to it. And, I think that that is the hardest part. You have to change those detrimental thoughts. You have to look in the mirror and tell yourself one thing you like about you. No matter how hard, you have to tell yourself that you're beautiful. That you are strong and one day you'll believe it.

You will because I'm proof.

Nobody hated themselves as much as I did.

It upsets me to think of how mean I was to myself and how I let it affect my health in such a way that I almost died.

Our bodies are amazing, and we should treat them with the care they need. Nourishing them so we can fight off the evils and be the best version of ourselves.

I lean in to shout in Bret's ear. "So, you liked this band when you were younger?"

I try to imagine a younger Bret, but it's hard. He doesn't give a lot away. A closed book for sure. Something tells me that he looked out for people and I'm sure he had fewer burdens on his shoulders.

It saddens me, and I can't help but wonder what his life would be like had he not joined the army.

"Yeah," he gives me a half-smile, eyes moving from left to right on a continuous loop. "It used to be my jam in my late teens."

"They were famous back then?"

Bret cuts his gaze straight to my face. "Back then? You're making me feel old."

I nudge his shoulder with my fingers and this time he lets me touch him. I guide us away from the loud music so we can hear each other a little better. "You're older than me."

He lets out a slight snort. "How old are you anyway?"

I sit down in the comfy armchair and rest my latte on the armrest. "I'm twenty-six."

Bret frowns. "That's all?"

"Yes," I struggle to stop my smile. "Are you trying to say I look old for my age?"

"No, no, it's not that," he breaks off, thinking about his words. "It's your attitude. You seem so pulled together and grown up."

Is twenty-six not grown up? I'm an adult. I laugh. "I'm sure I'm just like every other person in my late twenties."

"You're not."

I shrug. "Everyone's different I suppose. I'm just lucky to know what I want in life. My parents always brought me up as an adult. I think being an only child helped."