I shrug. “At least filing Forgiveness reduces what we owe.”
“It reduces what we owe,” he echoes with a cold laugh. “We owe so much because we are allowed so little. We can’t get better jobs until we pay off our debts and rise in the rungs. We can’t pay off our debts until we get better jobs. Don’t you see? It’s a cycle. It keeps us stuck. That’s where they want us to be.”
His words are bitter, but the rage seems to have dissipated completely. I take his hand in mine and give it a squeeze. “It isn’t impossible. We can get out of it.”
He looks at me, his face softening. “You’re right. We can get out.”
Relief washes over me.
“We can leave. We can go to the outlands.”
And we’re back to treasonous talk of the outlands. I’m so frustrated, I could cry. But what do I do? Make him leave? My heart aches at the thought. He’s clearly suffering, and it probably has nothing to do with real life and everything to do with him not taking his meds.
There’s only one thing I can think to do. I put my hands on my hips and stand so close to him, he has no choice but to look me in the eyes. I keep my voice low but firm. “Darren, what you are saying is putting both of us in danger and I won’t have it. I care about you, but I can’t entertain this for a minute longer. It’s ridiculous.”
A look of deep hurt sinks his features. “It isn’t ridiculous.”
“Isn’t it though? You, coming to my room hours after curfew, trying to get me to run away with you. To the outlands. At midnight. Are you trying to get me killed? I only just started taking care of myself.”
He furrows his brow as if he’s considering my words, but his eyes still hold a wild quality.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you,” I say, “but I can tell you aren’t yourself.”
“How do you know? What if this is the real me?”
I pause, temporarily caught speechless. “If this is the real you, fine. But I can’t stick around with you putting both our lives in danger. Weren’t you the one who told me I deserved happiness? Well, this conversation isn’t making me happy. It’s scaring me.”
He blinks a few times, then his face breaks, twisting as he covers it in his hands. “I’m sorry.”
I put my hands on his heaving shoulders. “It’s okay. You need to take your medication now.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’m taking mine. You take yours.” I retrieve the four pills I left on my desk. He watches me as I swallow them. “Now you.”
He looks dejected as he swings his backpack from his shoulder, then digs inside. I hand him the water.
We stand in silence. I watch Darren swallow two large pills, wondering how quickly they will kick in. He’s trembling. After a few tense minutes, he speaks. “I really am sorry. I’m an idiot. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Are you feeling better?”
He shakes his head. “No, but I will. I feel dizzy.”
I take his hand and lead him to my bed, then pull his arms out of his jacket. “Lie down.”
He doesn’t argue, just kicks off his shoes and settles onto my mattress, eyes closed. I cover him with my blanket, and he scoots against the far wall. There’s just enough room for me to crawl in next to him.
I know I should feel anxious about lying in bed with him, but I don’t. I just feel tired. And confused.
Darren’s breathing becomes slow and heavy. I watch him in the dark. Before tonight he’d been so strong, happy, and gentle. Tonight he was someone else. Terrified. Reckless. Angry.
I can’t help but wonder. Which one is the real him?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I wake up to a kiss on my cheek and blink into the morning light. Darren’s arm is around me, and he’s looking at me with a mixture of confusion and tenderness.
“Hey,” he says.
I turn toward him, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. “How do you feel?”
He smiles. “So much better. Thanks for taking care of me last night.”
“Of course,” I say, then hesitate. “What was that all about anyway?”
“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug. “I hardly remember any of it.”
“Did something happen yesterday? Something that made you want to stop taking your pills?”
He averts his gaze. Another shrug. “I think I just forgot to take them in the morning.”
I narrow my eyes, wondering if he’s telling the truth. “But you’re feeling totally fine now?”
“Yeah. I’m really sorry you had to see me like that.”
“It’s okay.” I put my hand on his arm. “Is that...how you normally are when you aren’t being medicated?”
He meets my eyes with a laugh. “You mean crazy? God, I hope not.”
“So that was just a one-time thing?”
He leans in close to me, brings his hand to the side of my face. “I promise you, Claire. You will never see me like that again. Everything inside me wants to protect you, not scare you. You know that, right?”
Our proximity stirs something inside me. My heart races as I’m struck by the realization that Darren is in my bed. My bed. And he’s staring down at me like he realizes it too. I reach for him, placing my hand behind his neck and pull him close until our lips meet. This kiss isn’t fierce like our others. There’s passion, but there’s an unprecedented gentleness too, like each kiss is an apology from him and acceptance from me.
But that doesn’t mean our kiss is entirely chaste, either.
Darren’s hand leaves my face, trailing down my neck, tracing my collarbone. Then his palm smooths over my shoulders, down my arms, then stops at my hips where he gives me a squeeze. He then runs his fingers along the waistband of my jeans. It seemed sensible last night to sleep with my clothes on, considering I had a delusional man in my bed. But now, I wish I’d thrown caution to the wind.
My hands do their own exploring, moving down his chest, around his waist, then under his shirt and up his smooth, firm back. I feel his muscles flex with every movement he makes, and I can feel myself arching toward him, my body begging to be closer. His hand begins to creep from my waist up my stomach. My breaths are getting heavier. Our kisses deeper.
And then the moment shatters.
A persistent musical tone creeps upon my awareness, coming from somewhere in the middle of my room.
Darren lets out a frustrated groan, his hand over my ribcage, then sits up.
My body shudders with disappointment. I was burning with curiosity to see where his hand would go next. Why couldn’t we have had just a few minutes longer?
Darren makes his way slowly from my bed, then crouches over his discarded jacket that I’d removed from him last night. He reaches in the pocket and pulls out his reader. “My wakeup alarm,” he says with a sigh. “I have to get ready for work.”
My lips pull into a frown.
When his gaze returns to me, his face illuminates with a smile. “I really liked waking up next to you.”
I return the grin. “So did I.”
“Do you think you’d let me do it again?”
My stomach does a flip. Hell yes. “I suppose.”
“Tonight? After work? Today’s your day off, right?”
“Yes, yes, and yes,” I say, trying to keep my voice cool and casual.
He puts on his jacket, shoulders his backpack, then comes to me for a kiss.
When he pulls away, I say, “Take your meds.”
His lips pull into a crooked grin, then he reaches into his backpack for the pill bottle. After shaking a tablet into his hand, he downs the pill with a swig of water. “Done. See you tonight.”
WAITING FOR HIM TO return is agony. Since I’m off all day, I have nothing like work to distract me. I go out for groceries. Tidy my few possessions in my room. Wash my laundry in the communal laundry facility. Refold all my clothes.
As I’m getting dressed in my freshly washed jeans and favorite gray t-shirt, I pause, looking down at myself. It
never occurred to me to care about how old my jeans are, how threadbare my shirt is or the way it slides off my shoulder a bit. At least my jeans hug my legs well, despite my lack of curves. I put my hands on my hips, wondering what they felt like when Darren put his hand there. Did he like what he found? Or am I too bony?
I move in front of my desk and stare in the mirror, surprised to see how much color has returned to my cheeks after weeks—months even—of looking so hollow and gaunt. The circles beneath my eyes have lessened, and there’s less redness lingering in the whites of my eyes. I shake my hair from its messy bun and run my hands through it until my blond tresses fall in a wavy mass to my shoulders.
There was a time when I used to grow my hair nearly down to my waist and would have my mom curl it before school. My clothes were modern and new. That was back when I was allowed to care. Now that I’m a probationary, appearance is considered frivolous. Our clothing stores in the Public District consist of donations from Selects and older fashions that never sold well in Select stores. There is no beauty section at the Public market. No curling irons or hair ribbons. All I have in terms of makeup are a few leftover palettes and pencils from over two years ago.
I watch my frown reflected in the mirror and remember the bitterness in Darren’s words last night. With a shake of my head, I turn away and look for other things to busy myself with.
DARREN’S KNOCK COMES an hour before curfew. I hold my breath as I open the door, wondering which version of him I’ll find.
He smiles and holds up a bag. “Illicit rooftop dinner? I brought food again.”
I steal a kiss before I say, “Did you bring more wine too?” I’m only half-joking.
“Of course I did.”
We make our way up the thirty flights of stairs to the roof. Again, Darren spreads out a ratty blanket and organizes our food. This time it’s a hearty beef stew covered in a layer of flaky pastry, along with roasted broccoli and two rolls of bread. The wine is pale green. Just as gross in flavor as the last, but enjoyable all the same.
We keep drinking well after dinner is gone. Darren is staring into the distance, at the lights of Select city illuminating a portion of the sky. To the right of it, lies a smaller brightness, one of a different quality. More of a shimmering, sparkling. The Elite city. Where the Select city is bright and demanding of attention, the Elite is a sophisticated glow that gains attention from the sinuous curves of its impossibly high towers and gorgeous displays of iridescent light.
Darren points ahead at the Select District. “You can almost see them if you look hard enough.”
I eye the tops of the buildings, wondering what he’s seeing that I’m not. “What is it?”
“Mountains.”
I’m confused until I realize he isn’t referring to the city. He’s referring to what’s far behind it. Vague silhouettes of a landscape that rises and falls. No one looks to the outlands—not even the mountains—with any kind of reverence. We look at them like they’re monsters, lying in wait with their toxic claws, eager to swallow us whole.
Seattle is a haven. Protection. One of the few lucky places untouched by war. There’s only one city left in each territory that used to be considered a state. Our forefathers gathered us from across each state to settle into these cities as strength in numbers was our only chance for survival. I’ve heard rumors that some territories don’t even have a city anymore, without a big enough population like ours to sustain it. Then again, we don’t travel from city to city, nor do we hear much about the other cities at all. As far as I know, a rumor is just a rumor. Who knows what’s really out there?
It’s not for me to think about. It’s not for any of us to think about.
The wistful expression on Darren’s face as he stares at the hulking silhouettes makes my stomach sink with dread. “Did you mean any of what you said last night?”
He turns toward me, eyes locking with mine. “Yes.” It comes out as a whisper.
I can hardly breathe. I want to look away from him, but I can’t.
He leans closer, then laces his fingers through mine. “But that wasn’t me. I’m not reckless like that. Sure, I believe some of those things. I’ll bet most of us probationaries secretly do. But I’m not trying to run away or put you in danger.”
I sigh. I’m disappointed, knowing my boyfriend—is that what he is?—has treasonous thoughts, but at least he’s being honest.
“I could never want to leave,” he says. “Not now. Not ever. Not when I have you.”
My lips pull into a small smile. “Okay. I can accept that.”
He leans closer, places a finger beneath my chin, then strokes his thumb along my jawline. “You make this world bearable. No—beautiful. You are like a bright light in a dark world, brighter than any light in the Elite city. Brighter than the stars. The moon.”
His words are making me lightheaded, and I feel like my chest will explode. No one has ever talked to me like this before.
“Claire.”
“Yeah?”
His hand pauses near my ear. “I love you.”
The words send me reeling, making my throat feel tight and my heart feel like it’s left my body completely to float in the sky above me. There’s only one thing to say. “I love you too.”
We come together with a kiss as tender as our kisses earlier this morning, and the eagerness I felt with him returns in full force. I’m so overcome with it, I can hardly remain upright, so I lean back on the blanket and pull him down with me. There, our hands pick up where they left off before his alarm brutally separated us. Mine rove his back, his chest. His slide up my waist, beneath my shirt, and over my stomach. I gasp and they rise higher, and I arch my back as I pull him against me.
Clothes. I have a sudden disdain for clothes, for anything that keeps us apart. With trembling fingers, I lift the hem of his shirt. He aids me by pulling it over his head, then slowly lifts me out of mine. Pants come off next. Then everything else.
We return to each other, vulnerable and naked beneath the night sky. He lifts himself on his forearms as his eyes take me in. I do the same, letting my hands move where my eyes go. He closes his eyes at my touch. When he opens them, they are full of hunger.
I smirk, delighted I have such power over him. But his power over me is equal. My body is quivering with my need for him, breaths ragged. I slide my hands to his lower back. Then I pull him down to me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
My body feels spent as we lay on the rooftop, feeling his kisses on the back of my neck. I shiver.
“Are you cold?” Darren whispers in my ear.
The shiver was more from delight, but as he says it, I realize I am getting cold. Probably due to my lack of clothes. “Maybe we should head back inside.”
He kisses my cheek. “Come on.”
We dress and Darren repacks his backpack. I feel like my legs are made of water as we make our way down the staircase and back to my room. Once inside, I go to the desk and take my pills. Darren does the same with his. After that, I strip back out of my jeans and sink into my bed. Darren follows, taking his place against the wall, arm pulling me close. I rest my head on his shoulder, my leg draping over his.
I feel his lips move to my ear. “Was that your first time?”
“Yes.” I pull away, seeking his face in the dark. “Was it yours?”
His expression falls, and for a moment I feel a squeeze of disappointment. But I knew it was a possibility. He is two years older than me, after all. Not to mention that disarming smile of his. “No,” he finally admits. “But I’ve never felt like that before. You’re the first girl I’ve loved.”
This, I’m surprised by. “Really?”
He nods. “What about you?”
I don’t hesitate. “You are by far my first love.”
He kisses me, and I feel his lips smiling against mine. “This has been the best night of my life.”
I’m already replaying it in my head, and it isn’t even over yet. “Mine too.”
I stand and move to my desk, then pick up my reader. I press the screen, but it remains blank. “Damn,” I say, realizing the battery is dead. When did I last charge it? I retrieve its charging disk from my backpack, then attach it to my reader. Nothing. I press the button on the bottom of the reader, trying to see if it will reset. My foot taps incessantly as I wait for it to turn back on.
“Finally.” I let out an irritated grumble as the screen illuminates. No alerts pop up, so I tap the message icon. My heart drops, finding it empty. Not only have I not received any new messages, but all my previous ones, most of them from Darren, are missing as well. I click the contacts icon. Empty. My shoulders slump. When I reset my reader, it must have reset everything. I go to the files icon, expecting it to be empty too. But everything is there from the day I left my probation officer.
Okay, so maybe it only deleted everything since then.
I’m so anxious that I can’t message Darren, but I remind myself that he’s sure to message me at some point today. We work the same hours, so as long as he doesn’t have to stay late, there’s a good chance I’ll see him on the way to or from work.
But I don’t see him. Not on the bus, not on the rail. No messages come from him no matter how many times I sneak a look at my reader during my laundry shift. He isn’t on the rail platform, or anywhere I look on my way home that night.
I’m trying not to panic, trying not to go to the worst-case scenario, but it’s impossible not to. After all the attention he gave me earlier this week, I can’t help but feel like something is wrong.
Twisting Minds Page 10