by L V Chase
When Klay had chased away the homeless man who pretended to be paraplegic, he’d been focused on questioning me about my feelings around paralysis. He’d asked me what I’d do if my parents had survived their car crash and were paralyzed.
What if they couldn’t use any part of their body below their shoulders? They would be completely helpless. They’d be at your mercy. They wouldn’t have any true free will.
“Completely,” he says. “You’d be giving yourself over to him in full, body and soul. He’d take the role as your caretaker. We’d arrange it so there wouldn’t be any other option for you.”
“I can’t imagine anyone volunteering for that,” I say.
I’m starting to understand why Klay wouldn’t even mention it. It’s horrific, like turning someone into a pet. Yet if it meant giving myself over to Klay, that would be a little better…maybe in one of my desperate fantasies. Not in reality.
“You wouldn’t?” he asks. “You said—”
“I trust Klay,” I say. “That doesn’t mean I want to be a burden to him or give up my whole life for him, especially when I have a choice.”
“You do have a choice,” he agrees. “But the choice is between taking the surgery that leads to Klay’s victory or flailing about until Klay dies.”
My hand slips off the rail. “There’s no reason for Klay to die.”
“I’ll have no alternative,” he says. “The Society demands absolute loyalty. If they find out what I did, they’ll kill my whole family. I’d rather give up only one of them. I have two other sons ready for another Hunt.”
“You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t kill Klay.”
“You have no idea what it took to get to this point,” he says, indicating the room we’re in. “I wasn’t born into wealth like the Shaws. I wasn’t even born into the upper-class like the Maxwells. My mother was a grocery cashier. My father was a jobless drunk.”
He leans forward, enunciating each syllable precisely. “I built my empire.”
“So, it’s about money.”
A pretentious smile creeps on his face. “The money helped, yes, but it’s not just that. The Society keeps an eye on everyone. They pick out driven people with the ability to put aside their personal needs or flaws for a greater cause. They chose me because I can see the world in a way that people like you can’t.”
“You’re either lying to yourself or lying to me. You only want more power.”
He shrugs. “Think whatever you like. The bottom line is that if I had to sacrifice my family for the Society, I would. They know that. Or they will.”
I hope not. If Klay grew up knowing his father’s view, I could see how it’d turn him cold.
“Besides,” Dr. Harrington continues. “If you’re touting love as the answer to everything, you should be willing to sacrifice your mobility for Klay. Yet you refuse to.”
I look down at my feet. With my memories flooding back, my love for Klay is endless, but I’ve spent so much time confused everything that the doubt still lingers.
I raise my head, turning to Dr. Harrington again. “Does Klay love me?”
“Yes,” he says emphatically.
It’s tantalizing, but there’s no reason for me to believe him. He wants me to agree to the surgery.
“There’s no doubt in my mind,” he says. “Klay was willing to risk this whole scenario for you. He even tried to sneak a note to you before you went under.”
You’re more than I can take, but I’ll take you every time. I love you.
The note I’d found in my mother’s shoes. He’d written it to me. He loved me. He loves me. He gambled his life for me. Even if Dr. Harrington is saying whatever it takes to get me to agree to the surgery, it doesn’t change the fact that Klay would have done anything for me.
“I’ll do it,” I whisper.
Dr. Harrington lets out a breath of relief, standing up. He takes my hand, his grip much tighter than I expected. I try to yank my hand out of his grasp.
“Thank you, Sadie,” he says.
Before I can tell him to go screw himself, I feel another pinch. When he had grabbed my hand, my attention had been on his grip. I hadn’t seen his other hand with the needle, slipping into my arm.
I let the darkness take me under again. I hope Klay isn’t too angry about my choice.
I remember him
I remember his fingers on my lips and how there was the slightest taste of salt. I remember walking into a store in the middle of nowhere, pretending to be interested in all of the little trinkets and rustic decorations, but all of my attention was on Klay. He’d orbit around me, and I’d wait until enough time had passed before I joined him. He’d wrap his arm around my waist, and we’d laugh at the ornaments that weren’t that funny or strange, but seemed funnier and stranger with him.
I remember his habit of cleaning his headlights when he was anxious, but if anyone noticed, he’d lean against his Jeep like he was as calm as the Dalai Lama. When he’s anxious around me, his hand wraps around my wrist, somehow a little too tight and not tight enough. I try to calm him with conversation about anatomy, psychology, or sex.
When I’m agitated, we talk about the same things, but he keeps one hand on me the whole time and gives me all those reassurances that would sound empty from anyone else. When he tells me that everything is going to be okay, I believe him
It’s not always perfect. We argue over my insecurities, my downward spirals every time I’m not flawless, his arrogance, and his familial secrecy, which turns into arguments over the Society. I scare him with how much he enjoys our time together. I’m a threat to the military base that fortifies his heart.
But when we stop tripping over our egos, we come back together with our yearning bodies, my mind full of all the thoughts I saved up for him.
God, I love him. It doesn’t even feel like a punishment that I’ll become his marionette.
I open my eyes, thoughts of Klay swirling in my head. Fear creeps up my throat, but I can’t quite figure out the reason.
And then I see Dr. Harrington moving a tray with a plastic cup on it toward me, and I remember.
I look down at my body. A towel is folded over my breasts and another one over my groin. The rest of my skin has a slick layer of sweat on it, but I’m not bothered by it. I focus on where the blankets are, trying to feel the prickly sensation of cheap towels, but the only discomfort is the numbness.
He said I could keep some physical sensation, but I can’t feel anything.
I try to move my arm. Nothing. I try to sway my ankle. Nothing. I try to curl my hand into a fist. Nothing.
I set my jaw. I’m not going to get upset in front of Dr. Harrington. I don’t regret my choice.
Denial, Dr. Murray told me. You use it to cope with big and small problems. It helped you as a child, but now it’s only acting as a crib that keeps you infantile and unable to escape.
Dr. Murray. I had thought there was a surveillance camera watching our sessions, and she’d acted like there was one, too, but she’d denied it over and over. Was she part of the Society? Or simply one of those citizens existing under their thumb?
She had to be. She worked in one of Dr. Harrington’s hospitals.
Dr. Harrington moves back over to me. He had either left the room, or the washcloth and the small container was out of my periphery.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, dipping the washcloth in the container. It comes out wet. “I’ll let you have a drink after we clean you up.”
“What?” I mumble, but the word sounds more like a grunt.
He squeezes the washcloth out and starts sweeping it down my arms. I bite the inside of my cheek. I can’t feel the wet cloth, but the helplessness is worse than any physical pain. I could tell him to stop, but it would be like a toddler telling a parent what to do.
And I don’t doubt that he’s doing this in part because the sadistic side of him wants to get back at me for questioning his motives. If it weren’t retaliation, he’d have Klay do it.
I did agree to this, after all, and he is a doctor.
If only it were Klay here, though.
I shut my eyes again, trying to return to my memories of him.
I remember him.
I remember the first time we had sex, a week after my birthday, only a month ago. It started out awkwardly because I was trying too hard to be the same as women I’d seen in the movies or those couple of minutes I’d seen of an amateur porn video.
But as we moved together, the world shifted. Sex wasn’t about perfection or performance. It was all about giving and receiving touch, about sinking into our own skin and watching ourselves revel in the depths of pleasure without any constraints.
It was vulnerability disguised as strength, and strength disguised as an unconditional surrender.
I gave up everything to him. It was the best decision I ever made.
36
Klay
I slow down to a walk in front of my house, checking my pulse as music blares through my earbuds. I must have been running at least a five-minute mile for nearly three miles, which means I’ve been gone for about fifteen minutes.
My father’s Maserati is still gone. Normally, it would be a relief, but now it’s a bad fucking sign.
I wipe my sweat up from my forehead to my hair. He could have been called into one of the hospitals. He could have been called in to deal with the Society. Or he found out that I told Sadie the truth, despite his warnings.
I take my phone out of my armband, shutting off the music. I touch my father’s number and listen to it ring.
I would have taken Sadie home myself, but it would have alerted my father that something was wrong. I was confident she could get home without him worrying if I’d talked to her. It wouldn’t have come up in conversation. Sadie isn’t stupid. But if my father was paranoid, he’d notice if she was acting differently.
He doesn’t pick up. Fuck.
He’s always answers my calls. He knows I wouldn’t call him unless there was an issue concerning the Hunt, and he’d want to deal with any of those issues as soon as possible.
He’s either dead or something far worse has happened.
I don’t have Sadie’s current number, so I call her home number instead. I had never called it before because we didn’t want to risk her grandmother finding out anything about us, but Sadie gave me the number in case I needed her in a moment of desperation.
“Hello?” her grandmother’s voice grumbles. “I don’t know who this is, but it’s very late.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Blair, but this is Klay Harrington,” I say hurriedly. “I wanted to check if Sadie got home safely.”
“Sadie?” she asks. “What? No. Sadie isn’t here. She went over to a classmate’s house to work on a history project. I think her name—”
I hang up. She never got home. There’s no fucking reason for her to not be home yet.
I know where my father would take her. He told me he’d use the renovated section of the hospital to do the surgery once she agreed. He wouldn’t do it without the Society standing there as witness to make sure she chose me voluntarily, so, at worst, he’s threatening her into accepting the deal.
I’ll break his neck. I’ll perform the surgery on him and see how he likes being used for the good of the Society.
Getting into the renovated area of the hospital is easy enough. I have a keycard to get through the locked doors, and the security cameras are irrelevant because the guards know who I am. Even if they were a problem, I can’t imagine anyone getting in my way in my current state.
As I move down the hallway, I see the glare of bright lights in one of the rooms. I take quick, light steps as I pull my pocketknife out of my back pocket. I flip it open.
I charge into the room, prepared to get in between my father and Sadie.
My father is sitting in a chair beside a hospital bed. Sadie is in the hospital bed, two towels laid over her body. She raises her head to look at me. Her expression is difficult to read. It’s not scared. It’s bordering on apathetic, but her brow is slightly furrowed, and the edge of her lips is quivering.
“I was just about to call you,” my father says. “Why don’t you put down the knife I gave you and join us? You can see your girlfriend. She’s fine.”
“What did you do?” I say. I try to keep my voice level, but my teeth remained bared. It’s worth it when my father’s eyes flicker between my knife and me.
“Just neurochemistry,” he says. “A paralytic drug, not that much different from what she’d be given during surgery. She’s fine.”
I take a step closer to him. His foot twitches.
“Keep going,” I say. “You know your answer is shit without an explanation.”
“It was a test. I knew that Sadie would be inclined to tell me what I wanted to hear, and that she might even deceive herself. I needed to be sure that she’d truly be willing to accept your offer without backing out when we’re in front of the others.”
Sadie mutters under her breath. I can’t understand her, but the harshness of her tone tells me enough. She just found out that she didn’t get the surgery.
“What’s the half-life of the drug?” I ask.
“She should be coming out of it in the next couple of hours. You know me better than that, Klay,” my father says.
I slowly set the knife down on a rolling tray table. I’d rather keep it, but if she’s not permanently paralyzed, I still have a chance to salvage the situation.
“I wouldn’t do the surgery before we had Maxwell and Shaw there to stand witness,” my father says. “They need to be certain she didn’t make her choice under duress, and I needed to be certain she wouldn’t tell them she was under duress.”
My father smiles, and I don’t like it.
“Well, she won’t,” he says. “She knows what’s at stake. I’m going to call the other families, so we can convene and finish the Hunt.”
He stands up, taking out his phone. As he starts to pass by me, we lock eyes. I see the monster in him and feel the monster in me stir in response.
I slam my fist into his head.
He reels backward, clutching the side of his face. I start moving toward Sadie, but he grabs me by my shirt, yanking me backward. His fist strikes my jaw, and my teeth vibrate from the sudden impact.
I swallow the pain as I ram my fist into my father’s gut. When he doubles over, I snatch my knife from the tray, take a handful of his hair, yank his head back, and press the blade against his carotid.
“Give me a reason,” I say between panting breaths. “Fucking try me.”
“You know what will happen if you do that,” he says, irritatingly calm. “The Society will find out and kill both of you. They don’t appreciate wild cards.”
I know he’s right. I know what they can do.
Sadie and I can’t run. I can’t kill my father. He won’t allow Sadie to walk around knowing this secret.
She either loses her ability to walk, or he’s going to take things into his own hands, which has been proven to be unpredictable and irrational. There’s nothing to do but wait for everything to collapse under me.
I let go of my father, slowly putting the knife back into my pocket. “Nobody is going to be called. I’m going to take Sadie back to our house.”
I walk over to Sadie. I scoop her up, my arm under her knees and around her back. Her face is scrunched in concentration. I know she’s trying to move her body, but the drug still has its grip on her.
I raise my head as I walk out with her in my arms. I can’t look at her. All it does is remind me that she’s in a world she doesn’t understand, and I have to get her through it alive.
37
Klay
I return to my room and lock the door. I walk over to where Sadie is sleeping on my bed. Her eyes are closed, her chest slowly rising and falling. I set the glass of water down on the dresser and sit down on the other side of the bed.
My father hasn’t tried to come near the room, but I can’t risk an
ything now. He considers her to be a risk to his lifestyle and his legacy. In his mind, there are only two options: kill her or get her to agree to the surgery.
Neither are worth considering, but there’s certainly a lesser evil. The problem is that I don’t know which one it is.
I’d want her alive. I’d do nearly anything to keep her alive. But if the choice was between death or a lifetime of captivity with someone having to help me eat, move around, and shit, I’d choose death.
I’m not familiar with this weakness that she brings out in me. When I started falling for her, I’d pretend to be indifferent. I tried to get her to move on.
I thought if she left me alone, I’d stop feeling anything, but her absence only made me crawl back. After the first few attempts, I had spent the rest of the time trying to make it up to her. And I still fucked that up by not locking my bedroom door, allowing my father to walk in and see her.
“Klay,” Sadie mumbles.
I slide farther onto the bed, cradling her body against mine. I place my hand on her shoulder. When I remember she can’t feel it, I pull it back.
“No, keep it there,” she says. “I feel it a little bit.”
I put my hand back. I kiss her shoulder.
“Mmm,” she says. “I felt that a little more. Keep going.”
I had tried to get her dressed, but it was difficult to maneuver her body into anything, and I could sense her humiliation over being a rag doll in my hands. I hid her under the covers instead and let her sleep.
Now, I roll the blankets down a few inches and kiss between her shoulder blades. I curve my hand around her ribs, the warmth of her breasts both comforting me and intensifying that hunger I always have for her.
I need her in a way that’s hard to quiet or keep down. In all this chaos, she brings everything back to the two of us, where nothing exists but cravings, satiation, and worship.
I roll the blankets down farther until the bulk of the weight is on the middle of her thighs. I kiss her as my hand moves between her thighs, rubbing her. Her body stretches and her thighs open up for me.