Loving Pride

The Man Who Smells Like Lemons

The girl, who seemed barely twenty, took a deep breath while facing Colonel Marquez Agaria. He, who hadn't noticed her at first, thinking it was a messenger, was surprised to realize that an ordinary passerby—a woman at that—had braved her way into his tent.

"Colonel,"

The girl announced her presence in a soft yet tired voice. She had crossed the plains surrounding her village and spent the last two days confused and lost in the city with her little boy, who was peeping through a tear in the fabric of the tent.

Marquez looked up but was instantly disinterested, as the last woman he had slept with was prettier with more grace and elegance.

"You're in a place where you shouldn't be."

The Colonel who was nearing forty-three, replied in the gruff tone that he had earned during the war.

"I..." She gulped.

Such an interaction was unfamiliar to Lydia. He wasn't the man she had once known on an unceremonious night that made her bear his seed. Marquez was jolly at that time, she thought. But now he was... The Colonel—feared nationwide and admired by his subordinates.

"Pardon me," She took a quick breath. "I've come from Palona, which was destroyed amidst the war..."

"Ah, I heard. Were you sent here by the Reds? Should I expect an assassination?" The Colonel scoffed without looking up from his papers. She noticed that his left hand clutched something under the desk. Lydia knew quite well that it was a revolver.

She stammered, not knowing how to express the news until she took a different route, "I... I don't have a place to stay, Colonel."

"And am I supposed to pity you?"

He asked in the same bored tone, once again without glancing up. Lydia felt the urge to say something sensible—to win at least an ounce of respect that would make the Colonel glance at her again.

"I can sew quite well, and I can sew anything," she said in a low voice while hinting at the loose button on the Colonel's uniform.

He looked up, glanced down at the button, then stared at her intently again.

Colonel Marquez Agaria was a fierce man in the eyes of everyone. A true man.

He could smoke as many cigars as he wanted, gulp down a dozen cups of booze at a time, charm and seduce three ladies together without partiality, shoot six men dead without batting an eye, and stay covered in their blood for days or even weeks until he could rest and wipe himself clean.

But nobody—no ghost or devil—could point out the loose button. Even the Colonel had dismissed it as something trivial. It disturbed him, so he couldn't let this young girl go.

"What's your name?"

"Lydia," She replied in a more confident voice, "Lydia Thorne."

"Lydia Thorne of Palona," The Colonel leaned back on the wooden chair. The bustling of soldiers, vigilantes, beggars, and rowdies could be clearly heard outside the tent. "You could work in a whorehouse for all I care." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

"I am not a whore, Colonel," she replied in a composed and polite tone, "I was brought up in a proper family with money, and I have a bag of coins that can last me a month or two. But I need work and purpose during this war. I don't want to idle about."

Colonel Marquez Agaria got up from his chair, revolver in hand, and walked over to the girl, who wasn't as tall as he hoped upon getting close. They were inches apart, and she didn't dare look into his eyes. Instead, Lydia stared straight ahead at the remaining buttons on his uniform.

"Look at me, girl."

His voice was commanding, and no one in the regiment had ever been able to disobey him. She looked him in the eye, swallowing the lump in her throat. It felt like cold steel was staring at her.

"Take off my shirt."

It was again a command—but in a more professional tone.

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

"Take off my shirt before I pump lead in your womb, Lydia Thorne."

He replied in a calm voice and pressed the revolver against her stomach. With trembling hands, she slowly unbuttoned him one by one. He could sense the fear in her, yet she was trying quite hard to remain steady.

On unbuttoning him all the way, she was met with the hair on his bare, toned torso, along with the scars he earned in the war. Colonel Marquez Agaria looked manlier than she remembered, but a newfound fear surged through her.

"I said, take it off completely."

She gulped once more before walking behind the tall man and pulling the shirt off his broad shoulders.

"Now, leave until I call you back inside."

The Colonel commanded, and Lydia promptly left his tent. She was utterly relieved to do so. On making it outside in one piece, she took a long, heavy breath while clutching his uniform against her heaving bosom. Young, arousing curiosity was brimming within her, and she couldn't help but lift the shirt slightly towards her face.

Lydia took a soft sniff. He smelled just like she expected—warm, hardworking, with a certain tinge of lemon that she liked very much.