He sighs.
“I’m just as old as you are, I bet," I say.
“Not quite,” he says. “But almost.”
“So stop keeping secrets from me,” I say.
“No.”
I snatch my hands away from his and ball them up into fists. My palms are sweating. Salt seeps into my open wounds and makes a searing burn. My knuckles bear into my knees, probably making a bruise like a string of pearls. I think if I don't keep my hands low I might lose all control of them.
"Why are you doing that?" Nathan says.
"Because I want to shake you," I say. My cheeks are hot. Nathan's lips curl back. My blood is boiling and I think his is, too. We're like Adrienne and Nars, turning on each other off at the drop of a hat, with only the slightest of provocations.
"I wish you would," Nathan says. It's another dare. I want to take him up on it this time. I think I'm angry enough to shove him, to slap him, but I can't do it. Something else is squeezing into my stomach, making room for itself where there shouldn't be room, a hot angst I don't want Nathan to know about. I think if I put my hands on him now, he'll know.
"Go on," Nathan says. "Shake me."
"What's the point?" I say.
"The point?" He laughs, but it's a foul sound. "You really don't know? I just want you to touch me, Cass. Every second that I'm around you, I'm just waiting for you to touch me. Can't you tell?"
I pause. I can feel every muscle in my face turn to stone. Close your mouth! I tell myself, because I'm staring at him with a slack jaw. He likes me? How can he like me when all I do is irritate him? How can I like him when all he does is infuriate me?
He's shaking his head, like I should've known better. My face is warm. My cheeks are burning with embarrassment. The rest of my body burns with something else, something I shouldn’t feel in the midst of all this anger. But I feel it, anyway.
I don't like this version of myself. It's too tumultuous. In the bunker, I was so self-assured. I was certain of myself, of all the people around me. I never had nightmares, I never cried. I never felt so much excitement and ire. I kept the peace, I cooled Nars's awful temper, I dried Adrienne's tears and rocked her to sleep. I was as calm and as flat as the night. Now I'm as hot as the sun that almost killed me. I'm in a bed that doesn't feel like mine, in clothes that don't fit quite right. If I grab onto Nathan now, I don't know what I'll do, if my head will guide my body, or if it will be the other way around.
Nathan stares at me. He's waiting for me to say something. But I'm just as clammed up as he's always been. I might be brave, but I'm not brave enough to close the gap between us.
I think I should make a great leap away from this discussion, or who knows where it might lead? What I might do? "Someone drugged me," I say.
"I'm certain no one did," Nathan says. "I wish you could believe me. I'm here to take care of you, you know." He exhales. It's a weary sound, like he's resigned himself to the task. "Transport and Guardianship," he says. "That's my department."
"I don't need a guardian," I say.
"Clearly," he says, but he isn't serious. "You're only alive right now because of me."
He sits back on his hands. I scrape at the dried tears on my face with my fingernail. Nathan's eyes don't stray from mine. I wish there was something else for him to look at, but all of the candles are out now. The room is black again, and there's no stars or satellites above us, just the piping of the bunk over mine.
He wants me to touch him. I can't. I don't know how. Adrienne would know. For the first time, I'm glad she's not here, egging me on. Nathan makes me feel so many conflicting things, and all at once. If I give in to the best of these, I might lose sight of all the rest.
There's a part of me that wishes he would touch me. Not in the brusque way he has before, dragging me off. Adrienne would know how he should touch me. My body quivers, thinking of it. Goosebumps pile over my arms and legs. But then I think of Moreau, of his hands on my skin, of how he touched me with only a pretense of permission, and everything that was amorous inside of me dries up.
I sit on my hands. I think Moreau has made a notch on my spine, and I'm afraid that Nathan might do the same. But my body, my skin, is convinced that he won't. How can I hope to trust him, if I can’t even find the courage to trust myself?
"I was a doctor's apprentice once, you know," Nathan says. "I'm good at taking care of people."
Some of the light has gone out of his eyes. Some of the hope. I count all of the things I can't stand about him, the straight ridge of his back, that arrogant inflection. But my body still swims. Slippery harbingers of desire dip and bow inside of me like fish diving under a broken tide.
"I don't think I like doctors very much," I say with some chagrin.
"Me either," he says.
I can't help myself. I grin. A part of me hopes that he'll lay down with me again tonight, but he doesn't.
When he leaves, I stay upright in my bunk. I think I should go to his dormitory, because I'm too afraid of my own nightmares to go back to sleep. But I stay put.
It's not bravery that keeps me in my own bed. It's doubt.
Epilogue
I've spent a week in the bunker now. I haven't seen Nathan since the night I woke up screaming. I haven't seen Moreau either, and I haven't sought him out. I pass his office sometimes and there's always a line outside of his door a mile long. I wonder if that's one of the strange things that Nathan was talking about.
I haven't received the results of my screening yet. I guess Moreau is too busy with his untimely examinations to track me down. I think everything must have checked out, though. Surely I would've gotten the boot by now if I really was the wrong Cassidy Hartinger.
I haven't had my x-ray yet, either, but my rib seems to be improving. It doesn't send an army of tears marching into my eyes with every deep breath, with every sneeze, but it's still painful sometimes if I touch it just right.
I have antibiotics for my hands, yellow pills in an orange canister the size of my fist. Mya brought them to me on an errand from Moreau. I waited till she was out of sight before I took the first one, and then I sat in the cafeteria for hours, amidst the safety of watchful eyes, just in case.
I don't know why I don't trust her, why I'm so sure I was drugged, why I'm certain Mya's the one who did it. But I keep away from her, just in case. I take the pills and the swelling in my hands goes down till they’re the proper size again, at last. When I pick off my scabs, I find pretty, pink skin underneath.
I wonder how much longer I'll have to wait before the train arrives to take me to the Reservation. I'm starting to like the launch station. I'm getting used to it. Nathan is here and Eli is here and Moreau is easy enough to avoid. I don't want to go to another new place. But when the train comes, I suppose I won't have a choice in the matter. I'll leave the launch station the way I left the bunker, the way I left my parents. I hope the Reservation is the last place I call home.
It's the middle of the night and I can tell my body is tired, and not just from walking on the conveyor belt all afternoon. I work out every day now. I should be exhausted, my arms and legs and chest feel exhausted, but my mind never seems to be ready to fall asleep. I've hardly had a full night's rest since the last time I laid in bed with Adrienne. I wonder if I'll ever sleep well again without her next to me. I don't think I will. I think I might be tired and restless forever.
All of the lights in the launch station are out. They usually are at this hour. I miss the bunker most when I'm lying on my mattress alone, so I've taken to walking the halls of the station while everyone else is asleep.
I feel a little braver now that I know my way around. I think I could find my way back to the cargo hold from anywhere, even at night. I use the cafeteria as a landmark the way I used the tree in the desert, the way Nathan told me to use the North Star. I've got a good sense of direction. I didn't know that about myself before I left the bunker. I wonder what else I might learn about myself now that my bunker days are beh
ind me.
I still look for Moreau when I'm sneaking around in the dark, but the shadows I see are almost always just shadows. My eyes don't play tricks on me the way that they used to, and my ears are attuned to a new orchestra of sounds.
I know the way that steel likes to groan, I know all the grunts and wheezes that iron bones make in the dead of the night. I take a breath and the hall takes a breath. If I close my eyes, it's almost like having somebody beside me.
I hear the sigh of a closing door up ahead. I peek around the corner. It's Nathan. I'm sure it's him, coming out of his dormitory. I shouldn't be so certain. I shouldn't know the shape of his body so well. He should look like anyone else in the dark: just a black figure, almost as black as the hall. But I'm sure it's him.
I've missed him. I don't know what's kept him away these past few days. I've looked for him in the cafeteria, I've walked the conveyor belt for hours, but he hasn't come out to eat or to exercise.
I wonder how he's been spending his time, if he's been with his friends, if he's been alone. I wonder if he misses me, if he's been staying away from me on purpose, if he'll be upset if he catches me watching him now.
I keep everything but my eyes concealed behind the corner. I don't want Nathan to find me out. I wasn't looking for him tonight, but now I'm curious. I wonder what he's up to.
I'm wearing my pajamas. Nathan is fully dressed, coat and all. He's got his hood up and his satchel on. I follow him. I tread carefully, light on my toes.
He stops at the medic first. He knows the pass code to get inside. I wonder if he's supposed to know it. He knew how to get into the file closet and he said he wasn't allowed to be in there.
My pulse trots a little faster while I wait for him to reemerge. Is Moreau in there with him? Will they both come out and catch me spying? I don't have too much time to fret about it before Nathan's out again, alone, and clipping shut his satchel like he's just been rummaging around inside of it.
I think he might go back to his dormitory, but he moves on in another direction. I stay behind him. I haven't made this many turns in the launch station before. I hope I can find my way back.
We come to a door, painted blue, with a punch pad. Nathan dials in a code, but I can't see where his fingers land in the dark. He swings open the door, too wide, I think, but I don't have time to wonder whether or not he's on to me before the door is swinging shut. I dart in behind him.
He's waiting for me. I run square into his chest and my heart almost stops.
"Should I even ask what you're up to?" he says. "Do I really want to know?" I think he'll give me the whole, you get in trouble, I get in trouble, speech again but he doesn't.
We're standing in a circular room, slightly larger than the file closet and much darker than the hallway. Nathan pulls something out of his satchel, a matchbook. He strikes a match and the space between us lights up.
"It's a tube," I say, only there's a spiral staircase instead of a ladder, made of iron and painted blue like the door. It's not as tight as the tubes in the bunker, but we're standing very close to one another anyway. I'm not sure why.
"I can't let you follow me anymore," Nathan says. I wonder when he realized I was behind him. I thought I was being so quiet. My new boots hardly make a sound on the concrete floor.
"What's up there?" I say.
"Garage," he says.
"You're leaving?"
"Don't worry," he says. "You'll see me again soon. I'll be back in time for the train."
But what if he's not? I think. What if he's late, the way we were late, and the train leaves without him? Will I find him again in the Reservation? I'm shocked by how desperately I wish he would stay.
I want to ask him why he stopped at the medic, if he took something from Moreau's office. Maybe the supplies Karsci asked him for? Will he see her again before he comes back? Will he see Nars?
I should send a message with him, just in case. I should think of the perfect thing to say to Nars to make amends, so that we're not angry at each other forever. But my head is moving too fast for me to think of anything suitable or even coherent.
Nathan shakes off the little light from the match. He flicks the smoking matchstick into a corner. It makes a sound like a whisper when it lands. Darkness snaps back into place like a rubber band, making the space around us seem smaller. In an instant, my mind is as blank and as black as the tube.
"Take your hair down," Nathan says.
"You can't even see it," I say, but I pull my hair tie out anyway. My chest feels sore all of a sudden and my breath is short. My stomach is spinning. I usually try to make it stop when it does that, but I don't want it to stop now. What if I don't see Nathan again after this? What if no one ever makes me feel this way again? Does it really matter if I trust him or not, does it matter if I like him or not, if these are our last minutes standing together, just the two of us, alone in the dark?
My eyes are adjusting, but just barely. I can see where Nathan's shadow breaks up the black, how close he is to me. He pushes off his hood and it gathers together behind his neck. I can see him better now. I remember how handsome he was, the first time I ever saw him.
"Where are you going?" I ask him.
"They gave me another assignment," he says.
"You're transporting someone else?" I don't know why the idea should offend me, but it does.
"Yep," he says. "I'll be back in a jiff, so long as she's nothing like you. Most assignments aren't."
I feel like we're standing in a smoke stack, like all of the breathable air in this room is whipping up into the flue. I don't realize I've taken a step backwards till I feel the ridges of the door against my back.
Nathan must step with me. He's just as close as he was before. Closer, even.
He touches my hair. Maybe that's why he wanted me to let it down. His fingers pull through knots and I shiver.
"If you follow me up these stairs, you'll get caught," he says. "Trust me."
"Alright," I say.
His brow makes an arc, like he doesn’t quite believe me. I bite my lip. The gauze is off my hands. I wring them together in front of my chest. I scrape a fingernail over my coarse skin, fraying the edges of new scabs. Nathan puts his hands on mine and makes them still.
"I want you to kiss me," he says.
"No," I say, not as loudly as I thought I would. He's close enough now that I can see his brow pinch together.
"You don't want to?" he says. "Or are you just stubborn by default?"
His lip twitches but he doesn't smile. Neither do I. "I want to," I say. Kiss him? Slap him for teasing me? I can't decide, but it doesn't matter. I do nothing. I'm frozen in place and my body is as hot as it's ever been.
Nathan moves a hand to my neck, beneath my hair. He tilts up my jaw with his thumb. He kisses my cheek. His beard is bristly and rough. It’s grown in more, since I saw him last. The skin on my arms prickles up when his jaw scrapes over mine.
I could push him off, I think. I could look down at my shoes. I could tuck my chin into my shoulder, I could bury my face in my shirt. But I look up at him instead. I don't want him to stop.
I can't see much, but I can see his eyes, black in the shadows. I know mine are black too. I press my mouth against his lips. I'm not sure how to kiss him, but it doesn't matter; in less than a moment, it's him kissing me. His lips are soft on my lips. He grazes my skin with his teeth. I don't think he cares if he's kissing my mouth or my chin or the soft place behind my ear, so long as he's kissing me. I don't care, either.
There is no space in between us anymore. My back is flat against the door. Nathan's whole body is pressed up against mine. I'm sure I must be paralyzed, but when I open my eyes, I've got his collar bunched up inside my fists. Nathan folds his arms behind my waist. He tugs me closer, lifting me up onto my tip-toes, making me tall.
My heartbeat is everywhere, in my chest, in my toes, in my fingertips. I think Nathan must feel it thundering beneath his palms. He latches onto me, pinching my
side, and I cry out. I don't mean to do it.
Nathan stops kissing me. I don't want him to. I wish he wouldn't ever stop. He pulls up the hem of my shirt. I don't need a light to know that there's an ugly, yellow bruise there, spilling out from behind the gauze on my left side.
He brushes his knuckles over my rib cage. I wish I wasn't all wrapped up. I wish I could feel his hands on my skin, on all the places I hurt.
"Don't follow me," he says. He lifts his hood up and straightens the hem of his coat. He moves up the staircase, fast, almost jogging to the top. I can't see him, but I can hear the stairs creak underneath his boots.
I stay in the tube for a long time after he's gone.
I think I'll break my word and follow him, but I don't.
The next time I see him, he's got blood on his hands.
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Cargo (The Reservation Trilogy Book 1) Page 15