Talented

by Sophie Davis

  Erik abruptly pulled back, and my eyes popped open. He gave me a look that I didn’t understand. He leaned back down, but instead of pressing his lips to mine again, leaned in until his lips were right next to my ear. I thought that I was going to faint when his bottom lip brushed my earlobe.

  “Good night, Natalia,” he whispered.

  I blinked. His hand was no longer on my back. His thumb gave one last gentle brush across my cheek, smearing something wet, and then he was gone. I wanted to call after him, but I couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.

  As if Erik’s hands had been the only thing holding me upright, I sank to the floor almost immediately after he broke contact. I watched him walk out and close the door quietly behind him, not once looking back. Once he was gone, I wiped my fingers across my cheeks and realized that the something wet he’d smeared were my tears.

  Disappointment washed over me, wrapping my body in a cold embrace. Had I done something wrong? Why did he leave? I felt hollow inside. Why had I cried when he kissed me? I wanted him to kiss me, wanted it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Why was I still crying? I didn’t know exactly, and that made me sob harder.

  There were still two more days of festivities, but I didn’t feel like going into the city the next morning. Thankfully, Penny was so hungover the next day that she wasn’t feeling up to making the trip either. We lounged in my room, eating greasy potato pancakes and cheesy eggs for breakfast instead. Penny delighted in telling me the blow-by-blow of her evening make-out session with Harris.

  “He’s totally a good kisser,” she said, for the tenth time that morning. I gave her a genuine smile. Penny usually crushed on boys from afar and, while she had a lot of boy friends, she’d never had a boyfriend.

  “I’m glad you had a good time,” I replied honestly. I genuinely liked Harris, even if he was one of Donavon’s friends. He’d always been nice to me and last night, after the initial weirdness wore off, he’d treated me just like he always had before I destroyed his cabin. Hmmm, yeah, I probably wouldn’t have blamed him if he did think I was a little nuts. Sane people didn’t destroy whole structures when they were angry.

  “I did! And he even sent me a message this morning to ask if I wanted to have breakfast or something, but my head hurt so bad I totally wasn’t up for getting dressed and doing my hair all cute.” I laughed. Penny’s red hair was sticking out every which way, and she still had dirt smudged on her face from rolling around with Harris the night before. She was wearing a thread-bare, standard issue McDonough Athletics t-shirt that I estimated she had owned since she first started at school, and gray sweatpants speckled with nail polish and hair dye.

  “What about later? Are you going to hang out with him tonight?” I asked, trying to match her enthusiasm.

  “I don’t know! Should I?”

  “I don’t know,” I laughed. “Do you like him?”

  “I don’t know! I liked kissing him, does that count?”

  “That counts,” I confirmed.

  “Did you do anything after we got back?” she inquired.

  “No,” I said, a little too fast and a little too emphatically. My pulse quickened and my face flushed just thinking of Erik’s face so close to mine, his hands touching me in a more than just a friend manner.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Penny laughed, flipping from her back to her stomach so that she could see my face.

  “It wasn’t a big deal. Erik just walked me to my room,” I refused to meet her eyes.

  “And?” she pressed, her eyes shining with excitement.

  “And nothing,” I replied, trying not to let my voice sound too dejected.

  “But you wanted there to be an 'and',” Penny nodded her head knowingly.

  “I think I do,” I buried my face in my hands.

  “Are you embarrassed?!” Penny exclaimed her green eyes growing larger. “He’s totally hot. Every girl I know talks about him, any of them would trade places with you in a second!”

  “Why? He barely even kissed me,” I whined. Last night I’d been upset about the situation – had I done something wrong? I wasn’t the most experienced kisser, Donavon was the only person I’d ever kissed, but Erik hadn’t even given me a chance to show him how much of an amateur I really was. Did he not feel the same current of electricity when we touched? The sensation was so overwhelming, I thought for sure that it had to be our combined reactions I felt. Did he regret the kiss?? He must, that was the only explanation.

  “Barely?” Penny squealed. “Barely kissed you? So he did actually kiss you?”

  “Sorta,” I muttered, humiliated all over again.

  “How do you sorta kiss somebody? Did his mouth touch yours or not?”

  “It sorta did,” I mumbled, my breakfast squirming in my stomach, making me wish that I hadn’t eaten so much.

  “What happened after he sorta kissed you?” Penny demanded, her expression hungry for every detail.

  “Nothing,” I said, clearing my throat.

  “He didn’t say anything? He just left?” Penny looked incredulous.

  “Yeah, he just left,” I confirmed. “I think he regretted doing it,” I added in a small, humiliated voice.

  “He didn’t regret it, give it time,” Penny said wisely. She flopped back down on the bed.

  “Penny?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Totally.”

  “Is it wrong to have feelings for Erik? Donavon and I just broke up. It feels wrong.”

  “No way, Tal. For starters, you and Donavon broke up like months ago. It’s not too soon to have a crush on Erik. It only feels wrong, because you’ve never had a crush on anyone besides Donavon. Trust me, I have crushes on people all the time. You’ll totally get used to it by the third or fourth one.”

  Had it really been months since the fight? I guess it had. In the days following the incident, time had slowed until the seconds ticked like dripping molasses. I even tried to will time to speed up, to no avail; I guess that even my superior powers had their limits. Now, looking back, I realized that the last several months had flown by. Even so, the emotional and mental lacerations left from Donavon’s betrayal were still smarting. Every time that I thought the gashes had scabbed over, I remembered that . . . that blonde, and a dull ache started in my chest, growing steadily stronger until I thought my heart might explode all over again.

  “Thanks, Penny.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Penny returned to her room to sleep off her hangover after breakfast, and I took the opportunity to make good on my promise to Mac. I headed to the workout arena and spent the afternoon training with the simulator. I set the simulator to “random” and pulled on a suit and a Sim headset. The Sim headset had an ear piece and goggles. The ear piece acted like a team leader, feeding me audio instructions regarding the randomly selected Sim scenario. The eye goggles kept scrolling coordinates of my location within the Sim scenario, and mission statistics that I needed to be aware of. Henri once told me that the simulator is programmed with over a thousand different Sim scenarios; despite my best efforts, I only made it through four.

  After my afternoon with the simulator, I headed to the indoor target range, and set up a handful of practice dummies for myself. I intended to rotate through the targets, alternating between my throwing knives, a scoped rifle and a handgun. Throwing knives have always been my specialty; knives were far easier than bullets for me to control with my mind.

  The weightless tungsten carbide blade, in contrast with the heavy steel handle, felt natural, like an extension of my own small hand. I closed my eyes, envisioning the space just slightly to the right of center on the target’s chest. I released the knife in my left had first, directing the dagger, blade over handle, as it twirled through the air and sunk deep in its mark. I liberated the one in my right hand just as the first made contact. I summoned two more knives that had been lying by my left foot. I didn’t wait t
his time, launching both simultaneously. I beckoned the next two, and let them both fly the instant that my fingers closed around the cool handles. When I finally opened my eyes again, ten knife handles protruded from the dummy’s chest, the blades embedded to the hilt. Satisfaction washed over me.

  I held my left hand out to my side, parallel to the ground, and bid the rifle to rise. The heavy barrel sailed towards my outstretched palm. My fingers curled delicately around the cylindrical shaft, as I tapped the orange glasses from the top of my head down onto the bridge of my nose. I ran my finger over the sensor on the sidepiece, activating the simulated targets. In the same motion I tossed the gun lightly in the air, catching the handle in my left, my index finger sliding neatly into the trigger, and the butt of the gun landing heavily on my left shoulder. A little showy, I know, but what I lacked in actual skill, I liked to make up for in finesse. Reaching for the barrel with my right, I cupped the bottom to steady the rifle. I squinted one eye, peering through the sight with the other. I pulled the trigger ten times in fast succession, as ten Sim targets danced across my vision. Several of the targets disintegrated when I fired at them, but over half were still standing when I dropped the gun against my left side. I touched the sensor on the sidepiece again, and my Sim statistics digitally appeared on the left lens. Kills: 4. Wounded: 3. Misses: 3. Overall score: 55%. Yeah, I sucked.

  I hit the sensor a third time, and a countdown appeared on my left lens, counting down from ten. I extended my right arm, calling a handgun resting close by, while tossing the rifle to the floor with my left. The handgun flew through the air, landing hard against my palm. In the same motion I brought my left hand to grip the opposite side of the pistol handle. A “one” appeared on my lens, and I readied myself to fire. I breathed evenly, in and out, in and out. Focus. I concentrated for all I was worth on each individual bullet, as it spun through the rifled barrel of my gun. I felt the bullet explode through the end, as the gun powder residue blew back, coating my white knuckled hands. I tried to guide the bullet’s trajectory towards the intended victim. Once I emptied the entire clip, I lowered the handgun and hit the sensor to display my Sim statistics. Kills: 3. Wounded: 7. Misses: 0. Overall Score: 65%. Slightly better, but nowhere near good enough. Feeling only slight dejected, I reloaded.

  I poured myself into my bed sometime after midnight. I couldn’t muster the energy to shower, so I settled for peeling off my workout clothes, damp with sweat and reeking of gunshot residue.

  I woke up early the next morning, feeling a renewed sense of purpose and determination. I pulled on black mesh tennis shoes and headed to the woods, as fast as my short legs would carry me. I performed sensory honing drills as I ran, cycling from one sense to the next without skipping a beat. I could still hear Mac’s words pulsing in my head, as though he were running alongside me, screaming in my ear. Do you still want to be Hunter, Natalia? I ran harder. If you fail your solo mission, I won’t be able to save you. I ran harder. You have two choices, Natalia. Revenge, I screamed to myself. I pushed harder. Do you want your parents’ deaths to be for nothing, Natalia? My chest constricted and my lungs seared, as I inhaled and expanded my lungs until they felt as though they might burst, willing my body to outrun Mac’s words in my mind.

  Erik hadn’t sent me a message or come to see me at all the day before, but I hadn’t actually thought that he would. Regardless, I would have to see him the following day and, while I was still confused and hurt over what had happened the several nights ago, I found that I really wanted to see him. Donavon would be back from his parents’ house the following, morning and I really didn’t want to see him; I had yet to run into him, but I knew it was only a matter of time.

  I hated him because of what he’d done to me, I was sure of that, I think, but I was starting to wonder if I’d ever really loved him. The feelings that I was developing for Erik were so different, so much more intense than anything I’d ever experienced with Donavon. But could I really hate him if I’d never loved him? After all, hate is love’s counterpart right? At seventeen, did I actually know what love meant? I know that I knew hate; I hated the man who was behind my parents’ murders. I’d loved them, the type of all-consuming, unconditional love that you only feel for those who shared your blood.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around all of this, and it hurt to try. If it weren’t for my feelings for Erik, I never would’ve doubted the feelings I’d had for Donavon. Even though we were young, I’d thought Donavon and I were family. We’d shared so much. He’d been the first person to like me, let alone say that they loved me, mental abnormalities and all. Now, I was left wondering if any part of it had been real.

  Instead of going back to my room after my run, I jogged straight to the practice arena. I programmed five Sim scenarios at random before I suited up, purposely choosing scenarios that listed firearms as necessary weapons. I strapped the knife belt around my hips, holstered two handguns to my thighs, and slung the strap of a scoped rifle across my chest. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a glass-paneled wall and jumped back, unnerved by the steely eyed solider staring back at me.

  As soon as I walked onto the arena floor the lights slowly dimmed, until I was left standing in total darkness. I lowered the Sim glasses into place and tapped my ear piece, causing it to activate. A fluorescent white light appeared overhead, as the Sim scenario materialized around me. I found myself in a dimly-lit hallway, with water trickling down the cement walls surrounding me. I ran one gloved finger horizontally across the stream. The finger, safely ensconced in the soft leather, felt wet when I pulled it away.

  “End of the hallway, make a right,” a mechanical voice said into my right ear. I took off at a jog, expanding my senses as I went. The Sim scenarios were often more difficult for me than a real Hunt; I had to rely on normal, albeit superiorly trained, senses to guide me. I couldn’t feel the minds of the opponents in the scenario, because they were holographic images and not real people. Fortunately, the holograms still made noise when they moved, so I heard the two men before they rounded the corner at the end of the hallway. I dropped low into a crouch and reached for the gun strapped to my right thigh. I didn’t hesitate before I pulled the trigger once, moved the gun millimeters to the left, and fired again. Both holograms fragmented before breaking down completely. I straightened, and covered the distance to the end of the hallway in record time. I turned to the right and slowed slightly, waiting for my next instruction.

  “Third door on left. Proceed to the top of the staircase, and turn right,” the mechanical voice said.

  The mission statistics started scrolling several inches in front of my left eye. Disposed: 2. Remaining: 20. Ammunition: 95%. Time remaining: 28:04. Target: Unacquired. Health: 100%.

  I’d just passed the second door on my left when I heard the soft thud of footfalls behind me. I spun on one foot and dropped down to the other knee. As I turned, I reached down to my knife belt and grabbed a handle in each hand, releasing both before my knee hit the dirty concrete floor. Both blades struck the lead hologram, and he crumbled into nothingness. The two men behind him kept coming for me, and I grabbed for the gun that was snug against my right leg. I wasn’t fast enough. Both men squeezed their triggers, several rounds hurdling towards me in the narrow corridor. I fell backwards, flattening myself against the hard ground and blindly returned their fire.

  Unlike in real life, I couldn’t mentally stop these bullets because they weren’t bullets at all – they were electrical impulses. If one struck me, my suit would register the hit and fire tiny, painful electrical impulses into the injured area until the simulation ended. One of the holograms’ bullets found my right shoulder and I felt the tell-tale shocks attacking my skin. The bullet must have only skimmed me, because the impulses didn’t penetrate into my muscles, but remained superficial. They still hurt.

  I cocked my head to the left and fired my gun again, squeezing off six quick rounds into the still standing holograms. Both flickered, and then disappeared. I scramble
d to my feet and took off in the direction I’d been going before the interruption. The mission statistics flashed again. Disposed: 5. Remaining: 17. Ammunition: 80%. Time remaining: 25:04. Target: Unacquired. Health: 95%.

  I found the door and pushed. The stairwell inside was pitch-black. I felt the stairs under my feet, rather than seeing them. I misjudged the height of the first step and banged my shin hard, against the lip of the second. I swore loudly. I cautiously climbed the remaining stairs, and pushed open the door on the landing.

  I stumbled noisily through the doorway, and into a brightly-lit meeting room. Five holographic men sat around what looked like a conference table. Their heads snapped to stare at me in unison. Crap. If I’d been quicker, I might have been able to creep silently along the length of the wall without being noticed. Now, not so much. I did a quick sweep of the room. Two armed men stood several feet back from the table, one on each side, blocking the exits. A huge glass window was on the opposite side of the table from where I stood.

  One of the exit guards raised his huge gun and fired. I dropped to my knees and covered my head, as shards of holographic wood rained down on me from the splintered door that I’d just come through. The second guard raised his gun to fire. I tucked and rolled as the ground exploded where I’d just been kneeling. I felt a deep shock in my left arm, as one of the guards’ holographic bullets found a home in my bicep. The electric pulses cut all the way down to the bone, rendering my left arm useless. Gritting me teeth against the unpleasant sensation, I gripped the handle of a handgun with my right hand and fired across my body, towards the guard on my left. I mentally yanked three knives from my hips, and sent them whooshing through the air towards the right guard. Both fell to pieces, within seconds of one another. The men at the table appeared unarmed. Not a threat, I decided. I darted to my right in a low crouch, still trying to protect my head, and dove through the now clear right door.