The night the lights went out

Anju

Don't come over, don't get too close to me
And dear god don't be too good to me

Anju lifts one hand to smooth his hair back and thumbs away some of the wetness on his cheeks as his words spill out. It’s a maternal motion she’d never planned on learning. Not until Koa had been born and her best friend confidently placed a squalling bundle of baby into her arms; insisting that Anju couldn’t avoid holding him forever, that she’d have to learn how to handle kids eventually, so why not hers?

Anju knew Mahina would have wanted her to take care of her children, and so she had. That’s all there was to it in her mind. But as Koa cries, the fear of inadequacy that had been planted the moment Anju saw his mother’s coffin sink into the ground metastasizes into a terrible sense of condemnation. This is my punishment, she realizes miserably as she wipes his tears while she still can, that I lose him now, because I betrayed you. Because I love him more than you asked me to. More than she thought she could, though a claim of ignorance will not spare her now. The punishment must fit the crime; the scales of judgement must be leveled with the weight of her own broken heart, which might not have shattered so fully had it not strayed. He is not her son, he is not even her soldier anymore, and soon she may have to call him her enemy. 

“No. You stayed alive. The rest doesn’t matter, certainly not my feelings.” She would see every Dragoon code of honor disgraced if it would keep him alive. The same code that, for the first time, feels like a chain around her throat instead of pillars holding up her world. “Forgive me, Koa,” she murmurs, though she has no right to ask it, “but I am.” Riya presses her head against Anju’s hip where she lingers in the Captain’s shadow. At least when the dust settles, she will not be truly alone. “I must. No matter what I think, or feel, or how transparent her evil may be.” After all, where is the line? Cian? Dahlia? Wessex? Zariah? Dragoons - especially the old guard - are not afforded the luxury of moral resignation. They live, breathe, and die for the one who sits in the seat of power. It is not their job to question. “I’m a Dragoon. I’m Captain.” With no identity of her own, these statements are all she has. There is nothing more she can say to explain it because what else could there possible be? “I can only hope that if the time ever comes, someone,” and here her hand drops away in shame as she commits her first act of treason, “might see fit to take advantage of my position.”

A backdoor. A flaw in the code, or a skeleton key. 

It’s a sentiment meant for storybooks with risky heists and valiant turncoats, tomes as childish as the excuse hiding in her useless offer. She is no right hand or confidant; to puppet her would achieve the same access to Dahlia as any soldier or civilian, and Anju cannot willingly lift her sword against Dahlia without falling on it herself.

Anju has always believed that this level of faith - of fealty - was proof of her perfect embodiment of their code. Now, faced with what she stands to lose, she thinks maybe she’s just a coward. Maybe she knows she can’t survive what comes after accepting that her entire life and sense of self has been built on a lie crafted to be sweet enough to die for. If you can’t survive deprogramming, you never become a security risk; exactly as intended.

I'm not proud of it, please
But I want it to sting