When We Were Human

by Kate L. Mary

  Roman smirks, and his eyebrows shoot up, getting lost under his shaggy hair. His expression is the definition of smart-ass. “This isn’t a real town hall, and you are not as powerful as you think you are.”

  Every muscle in the Regulator’s body tightens. He clenches his fists, crushing the lit cigarette in the palm of his hand. His right eye twitches. “You should be in school,” he says through clenched teeth.

  Roman pushes himself away from the wall. “I’ll see you later, Roz.” He walks through the lobby without another look at his father, glancing briefly at me as he goes by. “Nice meeting you, Jules.”

  He winks and my heart stops briefly. When it starts up again, it’s beating so fast I’m sure it’s going to explode.

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  The Book of David

  Chapter One

  I have lived most of my life trapped behind walls. The outside world is a vast and wondrous place, but it’s something I’ll never have the chance to experience. I tried once, years ago, but the sting of failure was too great to risk trying again. I was born a Child of David, and I’ll die a Child of David. This shadow of a life is all I’ll ever know.

  My early years were spent in Southern Texas, although I can’t say I saw much of the state other than miles of flat, brown dust and a few tumbleweeds blowing across the dirt. There was nothing happy or carefree about my childhood, and the landscape and oppressive heat did nothing to improve it.

  It’s been nearly two years since the Children relocated. I have no idea what state we’re in now, and I doubt many other people in our community know either. Not that anyone would tell me even if they did. Wherever we are, it’s cooler here, and we’re no longer surrounded by the desolate nothingness of the desert. The dry, brown landscape I saw for the first sixteen years of my life has been replaced by green. Trees surround us on all sides, and our community is tucked neatly in the shadow of an enormous mountain, giving the impression it’s watching over us. Mount David is what we call it, although I doubt anyone in the outside would do the same. I know just enough about that world to realize not much of what happens here would mirror it.

  I close my eyes when memories, sharp and painful, come back to me and turn my face up, allowing the warm water from the shower to wash over me. It doesn’t rinse the images or feelings away, and it does nothing to soothe the pain. If anything, the ache inside me intensifies as I think about how much time I have left. Three weeks. That’s it. Then my birthday will come, and the destiny Father David thrust upon me three years ago will be finalized.

  The pain and uncertainty press down on me from all sides as I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. Nothing can block out the memories of my fifteenth birthday, and the heat from the shower seems to burn the images into my brain even more. I can’t escape them no matter how hard I try. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d drown myself in this shower, along with the memories. It’s impossible, though. Father David is worse than a puppet master, pulling the strings of my life until I can’t do a thing but dance for him.

  My eyes are still closed when I turn the shower off.

  The small room is thick with steam when I step out, and I take a deep breath, allowing the dense air to fill my lungs and warm my insides. Even though it’s difficult to inhale, I savor it. It makes me feel alive, a sensation I don’t get to experience very often.

  When I crack the bathroom door, chilly air seeps through the opening, enveloping me in its cool embrace and causing goose bumps to rise on my arms. I run my hand across the mirror above the sink, wiping away the steam and condensation collected there. Drops of water make their way down the smooth surface, forming little beads at the bottom before falling onto the counter below. Envy swirls through me when they hit the counter, but I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because they have reached their destination, or perhaps it’s because they’ve reached their end. Both sound equally good to me. Anything is better than where I am now.

  When I lift my gaze to the mirror, the reflection staring back at me feels like a stranger. Who am I? That question has popped into my head more and more lately, but no matter how many times I stare at myself, I can’t come up with a satisfactory answer. Because the truth is, I am no one, and if Father David has his way, that will never change.

  An ache pulses through me, growing in intensity the longer I stare at myself. I look away, hoping to ease the pain, and instead focus on brushing out my long, red hair. My gaze moves over the freckles dotting my snowy skin, and I begin to count. It keeps my mind focused on things other than Father David and my betrothal. It keeps me from looking in the mirror, from focusing on the broken person in front of me.

  I am not a believer. I don’t believe Father David has a direct link to God, and I don’t believe my betrothal was some kind of divine blessing. I don’t know why Father David chose me, but I’m not foolish enough to think it has anything to do with God or some divine purpose I’m destined to fulfill.

  “Willow!” Mother’s voice penetrates the silence surrounding me, and I jump.

  I wrap a towel around my body and press my hand against my chest, trying to control my heart. It doesn’t work—most likely because it was already pounding before she startled me—so I push the bathroom door open the rest of the way. When I step into the hall, the greasy scent of bacon hits me, and my stomach growls. I need to hurry and get dressed so I have time to eat before going to work.

  “I’m out of the shower,” I call as I head for my room.

  “I need you to come here,” my mother says. “Now!”

  Her voice jumps at the last word, and my heart goes with it, moving at a pace that would make a hummingbird envious. Mother never yells, and it’s rare for her voice to reach above a whisper. Something must be wrong.

  I change directions, and when I round the corner, my heart stutters and threatens to stop. My knees wobble until I’m not sure how they’re still holding me up, and ice coats my veins while the temperature in the room skyrockets, covering me in a layer of sweat that feels oddly frosty. David, my betrothed and the only son of Father David, is standing in the living room with his back to me.

  Having this man in my house is never pleasant, but it’s a special kind of torture when I’m not dressed. He turns my way, and his eyes rake over me, and every muscle in my body tightens and turns to stone. I’m a statue carved out of fear.

  David tucks his chin-length brown hair behind his ear and flashes me a smile. It’s his father’s smile, soft and welcoming as long as you don’t focus on his brown eyes. They never smile. He isn’t as tall as his father, only about two inches taller than my five foot seven frame, but he’s just as lean and muscular. Just as good-looking. Just as able to trap people with his charm.

  He walks toward me with a plastic smile still on his face, and my eyes are drawn to the stubble dotting his chin. He’s never clean-shaven like the other men in the community, and I know if I live to be two hundred years old, I’ll never be able to forget how scratchy his stubble felt against my skin. Every hair on my arms stands up when David stops in front of me, less than a foot away. Too close. He’s so attractive, yet so repulsive at the same time. It seems like an impossible contradiction, but I can’t ignore the shudder that moves through me.

  His eyes roam my body, hugging every curve. When his lips part, his tongue darts out, moistening them like he’s preparing to kiss me. Another tremor shoots down my spine, and my head screams at me to run, but my legs won’t cooperate. I tug on the towel, willing it to grow larger, to cover more of my flesh.

  “Willow, David came to see if you would join him for dinner tonight.” My mother’s timid tone has returned, and as usual, she’s oblivious to the paralyzing fear surging through me.

  A lump the size of Mt. David clogs my throat, but I manage to nod. There’s no way to get out of having dinner with David. This is my future. This man, standing in front of me, undressing me with his eyes like I’m a gift he can’t wait to unwrap.

  David steps closer and licks his lips aga
in, and my stomach churns. “I thought we could have a private meal and discuss our future.”

  I try to swallow around the chunk of rock lodged in my throat. Try to find words. It’s impossible.

  My mother frowns, and her eyebrows pull together. She wrings her hands but doesn’t speak.

  I once again search for my voice and manage to stammer, “That sounds nice.”

  When he smiles, the sensations from that night hit me, coming out of nowhere. It’s like I’m fifteen again, and David’s hands are on me. Groping me. Burning my skin with their clumsy touch. He’s heavy, holding me down with his sweaty body. His stubble scratches my face and my body, leaving me raw and sore. It still hurts.

  My lungs tighten. I can’t get air. I don’t want to remember, so I close my eyes. My head swims, and little beads of sweat form on my upper lip. I have to lean against the wall as I try to keep myself steady, but my legs only grow weaker.

  When I open my eyes, David is closer. I can’t look away from his lips. The corner turns up even more, and he sucks his lower lip into his mouth. We are so close now. His stubble taunts me. It scratches my skin from a foot away. He isn’t even trying to hide his roaming eyes. I tug at the towel again, trying to stretch the material so it covers more of me. It doesn’t work. My knuckles grow white, and my hands ache from clenching them so tightly. David takes another step, and the world begins to close in on me. The room heats up, and I can’t breathe. My entire body is drenched in sweat, and the wall behind me feels like it’s slipping away as darkness begins to wrap its fingers around my vision, making it impossible to stand up straight. Fighting hard to remain conscious, I try to regulate my breathing. Taking slow, deep breaths in and out. Focusing on each mouthful of air. In the distance, somewhere far away and intangible, David says something. I can’t focus on the words as the world around me grows more and more hazy, but the sound of his voice is enough to make my knees buckle. I claw at the wall, trying to hold myself up, and a hand wraps around my arm, causing more memories to shoot back. I want to scream or run or hide, but I can’t escape.

  Darkness, thick and welcome, closes in, and I don’t try to stop it. It is my only relief.

  My mother is hovering over me when I open my eyes, frowning. I blink. My brain is heavy, like it’s underwater, and nothing makes sense. I’m in bed, but I don’t know why. And I can’t figure out why she’s staring at me like this.

  Then it hits me. David.

  I bolt upright, searching for him with wide, frantic eyes. I don’t want him in my room. This is my space. The one area of my life he hasn’t managed to spoil. He isn’t welcome here.

  The world spins, and my mother puts her hands on my shoulders, gently pushing me back down. “Don’t try to sit up, Willow.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “You passed out. You need to rest.”

  “David…” It’s all I can get out.

  The rest sticks in my throat. I’m too terrified to speak. Just like I always am when he’s around. I hate being this weak; hate not being able to stand up for myself.

  There was a time when I was strong. When I had plans to escape. When I thought I would one day be able to grab something real for myself. Then David swooped into my life and changed everything. He is my one weakness, and I can’t be in his presence without freezing in terror. Every time he talks to me, my body shuts down as images and feelings come back, crippling me. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to make myself move. I hate him.

  “David’s gone,” my mother says in a voice so devoid of emotion she sounds dead. “He carried you in here and put you to bed. He was so worried about you, but he couldn’t stay. He said he would come back later to check on you.” She brushes the hair off my forehead, and I fight the urge to push her hand away. “He cares about you so much.”

  Her touch isn’t a sign of affection. That’s something she’s never shown me. She’s never hugged me or said she loves me, and I can’t remember a single instance, even when I was a small child, when I knew with certainty that she wanted me around. I used to work hard to please her. To try to earn her love. I gave up on that three years ago. The bitterness living in me now overshadows my desire for affection. All of this is her fault. She’s weak, and it has destroyed my life.

  Looking her in the eye makes my stomach churn, so I turn away. My gaze stops on the towel crumpled up on the floor. That’s when it hits me.

  I’m naked.

  Revulsion clenches my stomach. I suck in a deep breath, and then blow it out, trying to push away the nausea. David carried me to my room. I wasn’t dressed, but of course, my mother didn’t bat an eye. Because he is my betrothed.

  Bile rises in my throat, and I break into a cold sweat. I struggle against it, breathing slowly as the queasiness builds. But like everything else in my life, I am powerless to fight it.

  Springing to my feet, I push my mother aside and dash to the bathroom, thankful it’s just across the hall. I slam the door behind me and fall to my knees in front of the toilet just as the gagging starts. I retch, heaving over and over again, totally emptying my stomach. It doesn’t take long. I haven’t eaten yet today.

  When I’ve finished, I flush the toilet and sink to the floor, curling up into a ball. Naked and spent. Miserable. Alone. I close my eyes in a desperate attempt to block out the memories, but no matter how hard I try to push them away, they refuse to obey.

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  Outliers

  First Place Winner in the 2018 Kindle Books Awards for Sci-Fi/Fantasy Fiction

  Chapter One

  The feast was the biggest one yet. After three years of working in the House of Saffron, I should have been used to it. But there were days when no matter what I did, I found it impossible to block out the sights and smells that accompanied my job. The smoky fragrance of roasted meat that begged my stomach to pay it mind, and the mountain of mashed potatoes, complete with rivers of melted butter carving their way through the peaks. No matter how hard I tried to ignore it all, there were moments when my senses took over. On those days my arms and legs worked on muscle memory alone. Carrying the bottle of wine, pouring it ever so carefully so as not to ruin the fine clothes of the people sitting around the table. Serving the dessert, baked apples with cinnamon or raspberries sprinkled with chocolate, all things that never once in my twenty-four years of life had passed my lips. Things that made my mouth water and my knees threaten to give out. Things that my stomach begged for.

  Today was one of those days.

  It was to be expected. Yesterday had been a bad day, so I had taken my meager rations from the kitchen home to Anja and our mother. It was something that the head housemaid frowned upon, but as long as I only did it sparingly, she chose to look the other way.

  “Indra.”

  The sound of my name cutting through the conversation snapped my brain into focus. Saffron was at the head of the table, sitting with her back so straight that it looked as if she had a board tied to it, and she was waving me over.

  “Mistress.” I bowed when I stopped at her side, careful to keep my head down.

  She was a short woman, as were all the Sovereign, and standing with my head dipped the way it was meant that we were practically eye to eye. This close up her skin appeared fake. It was the same pale shade as everyone who lived in the city, but waxy and much too smooth to belong to a woman more than half a century old. Her cold eyes were the same shade of gray as her hair, and she possessed a healthy roundness that signified her station in life, yet did not boast the same gluttony most of the other Sovereign’s bodies did. Standing next to her always made me feel like a withered leaf that would soon be blown away by the wind, and today was no different.

  “Your master just had the most wonderful thought,” Saffron paused the way she always did when she spoke. It was her way of making sure everyone was paying attention, something she should have been unconcerned about within these walls. When the head of this house spoke, it felt like the whole world was holding its breath. “Do you know of someone i
n need of a job?”

  I kept my head low, but my eyes snapped up faster than usual. Was this a trick? Saffron had no sense of humor, but the request still felt wrong. The Sovereign had not created a new position in decades. Our jobs were passed down from generation to generation. Three years ago, when my mother had gotten too sick to keep working, I had taken her place, just as she had taken the place of her mother when she was a young woman.

  “A young boy, perhaps?” Saffron continued when I said nothing. “It’s just that Lysander is about to become a man and I’m sure he could use a Hand to help him throughout the day. He will be starting his own life very soon, you know.”

  I did know. Everyone knew that the son of Saffron and Bastian was about to marry. The house had been preparing for the celebration for nearly a year. I was also painfully aware of the fact that Saffron’s only child had been a man for many years now. A man who preyed on the kitchen staff, who cornered women in the pantry and had his way with them. I had been in that position myself, but only once after first arriving at the house. After that I had learned how to watch my back, being careful never to make myself vulnerable so I would be forced to endure the humiliation of that day again. Not that my efforts had prevented other women from succumbing to the same fate. It was impossible to recount how many times I had been forced to stand by and do nothing as the pleas of another woman penetrated the pantry door. There was nothing for me to do, of course, but I hated myself all the same. Lysander of Saffron was a monster, and yet he was among the class that ruled our little world, and Outliers like myself were powerless to do anything to stop it.

  Saffron’s gray eyes held mine as she waited for my response. They were like two stones, as cold and emotionless as she was, and yet sincere. She was being genuine in her inquiry, and even though I found it impossible to understand the motivation behind her sudden goodwill gesture, hope bloomed in my chest. A position like this could change a family’s life.