by Aline Ash
“What did you do?” he asks.
I feel my cheeks flare with heat as embarrassment and shame course through my body. I was stupid to think Kon would like this. He is not the hearts and flowers, candlelit dinners and walks on the beach sort of man. Why in the hell did I ever think he would enjoy a romantic dinner? Stupid me. My vision blurs but I fight like hell to keep the tears from falling. I will not cry in front of him.
“Did you use your astrat to buy all of this?” he questions.
I nod, but don’t say anything as I see him growing more agitated by the second. He gets to his feet and goes to the screen by the door and turns it on. Kon types in a couple of commands and pulls up my astrat. I hear a low growl of frustration slip from his mouth. And when he turns to look at me, I see his jaw clenched and a look of exasperation on his face that makes me feel stupid.
Standing there beneath his withering gaze, I suddenly feel like a child being scolded. And that sends a shockwave of anger surging through me that melts away my embarrassment, leaving me with a bonfire of rage burning away inside of me.
“Yes, I did use my astrat to buy this,” I hiss. “I thought I would try to do something nice for you to show you that I appreciate—”
“How could you be so stupid, Marissa?” he howls. “How could you be so careless and reckless?”
I stand there feeling my eyes widen and my mouth fall open as I stare at him. I can’t believe he’s saying these things to me. All I wanted to do was show my appreciation to him for all he’s done for me. All I wanted to do was show him I cared for him. And he throws it back in my face like this? He calls me stupid? Careless? The anger in me burns brighter than it ever has and I just want to punch him square in the face.
“Do you not understand that the Culling is coming?” he presses.
I shake my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tara mentioned it today, but I did not ask her to explain to me what it is.
He sighs and scrubs his face with his hands in irritation. Kon paces the small chamber, taking several long breaths and letting them out slowly as he tries to gather himself. Finally, he stops pacing and turns to me.
“The Culling is the biggest profit-making venture on Gerr’a,” he tells me. “Every year, they take the one hundred prisoners with the lowest scores of astrat and put them into the arena where they battle to the death. There is only one winner in the Culling.”
The news hits me hard and sends a ripple of fear rushing through me. I didn’t know anything about this, Kon,” I tell him. “But I spent the astrat I did today because it was the right thing to do. Tara needed food—”
He shakes his head. “Who is Tara? And how many astrat did you spend on her?” he asks, his tone aghast.
I tell him about Tara, and as I speak, he grows more agitated and angry. With a low growl, he picks up a cup and hurls it across the cell. It hits the wall with a loud bang, and when it hits the ground, I see that it’s badly dented. I stand firm, though, lifting my chin in defiance as I stare at him.
“Do you realize what you’ve done? Marissa—”
“Yes, I do realize what I’ve done,” I spit back. “I did the right thing. Tara needed food desperately—”
“Nobody cares about what the right thing is around here, if you haven’t noticed,” Kon roars. “Just today, I saw a male beaten possibly to death, and a female almost ravaged by a group of men. And you know what? The Gargolians who did those horrible things did them to receive astrat for their brutality. The vicious are rewarded and the good-hearted are punished, Marissa! You should know this by now!”
I do know this. I’ve seen enough brutality here. It’s why I think trying to do some good is so important. To give people some small taste of kindness and keep even those flickering sparks of hope alive. It’s something I thought Kon, of all people, would have understood.
He sighs and looks at me. He looks angry, but in his eyes, I can see something else—worry. He’s concerned for me. And probably rightly so. I can hold my own in a fight, but in a one hundred person free for all? I probably wouldn’t make it. And even though it scares me to think of being in the middle of that and dying, it doesn’t make me regret doing what I did today in trying to help Tara, nor doing the right thing. That’s kinda why I became a cop back home.
“Marissa, I may not always be here to help you,” he says, his voice suddenly softer. “I may not always be here to protect you. So you need to start being smarter. You need to start thinking about how to survive without me.”
I know he’s talking about him being killed in the arena, but there’s something in his face that gives me pause. There’s something he’s not telling me. I just can’t figure out what it is. I mean, I don’t think this is the kind of prison you’re paroled from.
“What are you talking about, Kon?”
I see a flash of something like affection in his eyes, but it’s gone in the next moment. It’s like watching a curtain descend over his face, one that hides his emotions, leaving nothing but a mask of cold indifference. “I am saying you need to be smarter,” he says. “I need to sleep.”
He climbs into the sleeping pod and turns on his side, his back to me, that wall of ice between us growing thicker and colder. It sounds silly and melodramatic, but I have never felt more alone than I do in this moment. I sit down at the table I’d set for us and turn off the illumination stone, letting it go dark, and let the tears fall. I hear a soft beep and turn to the screen beside the door. I see my astrat going down even more—obviously, viewers are disappointed there will be no sex tonight. I bury my face in my hands and weep softly, not wanting Kon to hear me.
Chapter Eighteen
Marissa
His presence beside me is warm and large, but it’s stopped being comforting. He neither holds me nor tries to initiate any sort of physical intimacy with me. We’re more like two strangers sharing a bunk than two people who share a connection, which I thought we did. I really thought there was something there between us—some spark of something special.
I miss his touch. I miss the way his hands feel on me and the way his body feels pressed against mine. But most of all, I miss the way he looked at me and that light of desire that would shine in his eyes. No man had ever made me feel so beautiful and so desirable. The way Kon looked at me made me feel like a goddess made flesh, or a stunning work of art.
For the past few weeks, though, he’s only spoken to me when it’s been necessary, and even then, it’s only in short, sharp sentences. It’s as if he’s deliberately trying to use as few words as possible with me. Sometimes, it almost looks like he wants to say more. Sometimes, I’ll catch him looking at me with an expression of longing on his face. But he always turns away, and that coldly indifferent mask falls back into place again.
I slip out of bed and go grab a cup of water. As I drink it, Kon slides out of the sleeping pod and exits the cell without a word or even a look at me. There is no acknowledgment that he even knows I exist, which leaves me feeling hollowed out and emptier than I’ve ever been.
I finish my water and sit down at the table in the corner, and try to think of a way to break this wall of ice between Kon and me. Honestly, I feel like I’m at my lowest point since getting thrown into this hellhole. Which, as I look around at the bleak darkness of this cell, really says something, I think.
Heavy footsteps sound in the corridor outside, and I straighten up as Kon walks back into the room. He doesn’t say anything as he sets a tray loaded with food down in front of me. When I don’t do anything but stare up at him, trying to will him to tell me what the problem is with nothing but the power of my mind, he lets out a low, rumbling growl.
“You need to eat,” he says.
Those four simple words set off an explosion of irrational anger in me. And it’s only because I’ve been on edge lately that my rage is this explosive and this intense. I get to my feet and glare at him, my jaw clenched and my eyes narrowed. Kon simply stands there staring down at me impassive
ly.
“What is your problem?” I hiss. “Why have you been acting like such an asshole lately?”
He points to the tray and repeats himself. “You need to eat.”
“I can take care of myself,” I spit.
“You need to conserve your astrat,” he fires back. “Now eat.”
I don’t move to sit down at the table again, and Kon’s rumbling growl grows louder. I can tell he’s growing angry, but at the moment, I don’t really care. He needs to talk to me. He needs to open up and tell me why he’s been so fucking cold and distant lately.
“You are being reckless with your astrat and your life, Marissa,” he says. “The Culling is coming—”
“Yes, as you’ve told me about a thousand times already.”
“And yet you continue being stupid and reckless with your astrat.”
It’s not the conversation I want to be having, but at least he’s finally talking. If I can keep him doing that, I might be able to circle back around to what I really want to talk about. But dragging him from here to there is going to be like pulling teeth.
“How am I being stupid and reckless?” I ask.
“You keep spending astrat on that Tabiean girl,” he snaps back.
“I thought you would understand,” I protest. “And even support it. She’s one of your people, after all.”
“It pains me, yes. But she is weak and you can’t save her from the Culling, Marissa. Not even if you burn your last point. She’ll be going into the pit, and she’ll be dead ten seconds after the starting bell.”
“Not if we help her, Kon.”
“We cannot help her!” he roars. “And if you keep trying to, you are only going to end up as dead as she will be. There is nothing we can do to change her fate.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that,” he snaps. “Just as I know you are being stupid and irrational if you believe otherwise.”
I recoil like he just slapped me across the face. The anger burning inside me turns into a blazing inferno and I drive my fist into Kon’s chest. He, of course, doesn’t move an inch and seems unaffected by it at all. I think it hurt my knuckles more to punch him than it bothered him.
“Then I guess I’m stupid and irrational,” I spit. “Because I don’t believe in letting people die without trying to help. I guess that’s a human thing.”
“You are anything but stupid and irrational, Marissa,” he says, his tone seemingly more conciliatory. “Which is what makes your behavior so maddening.”
“I can help her.”
He shakes his large, broad head. “No, you cannot,” he says, his tone icy again. “And the only thing you will get in return for you trying to help is a brutal death in the arena during the Culling.”
“You think that little of me?”
“No, I think very highly of you. You are surprisingly skilled in many things,” he says softly. “But you cannot withstand the blades of one hundred people, most of which are ruthless, violent, and vicious murderers. Not sure even if I could.”
I look at him for a long moment before turning away. I know he’s right and that he’s being practical—and that’s what gets me the most. I know I’m flirting with danger by spending my astrat on Tara, but I can’t help myself. I started to like the woman. And she’s injured and weakened. She’s a constant target for all of the assholes who feel the need to pick on and bully somebody. I cannot, in good conscience, turn my back on what I see happening in that cell.
“Just promise me to be more calculated, Marissa. To keep yourself out of the Culling,” Kon says finally, his voice calm and almost pleading. “I want you to live.”
The ice cracked, and I rush to nod in agreement just to preserve the momentum a bit longer.
“What is going on, Kon?” I ask carefully. “You’ve been so cold and distant from me. You’ve shut me out and I don’t understand why.”
He opens his mouth but hesitates and we stand there, silently staring at one another for a long moment. He finally throws his hands up and storms out of the cell without another word, leaving me alone with my anger boiling in my veins.
* * *
“You have to understand that Tabiean males are not like your human males,” Tara says. “At least, not judging by how you’ve described them to me.”
“What do you mean?”
A small frown touches her lips. “You see Kon telling you to stop trying to help me as cruelty,” she says. “It is a matter of being practical, Marissa.”
“It is cruel,” I reply. “I don’t see how he expects me to turn my back on you.”
Tara shrugs. “It is just a way of life for our people. Most every species practices this philosophy, even yours, I would wager. The group is only as strong as its weakest link.”
I shake my head. “We don’t. We do not leave people to die.”
I look down at my hands, my mind and heart swelling with emotion, and the reality starts to set in for me. I realize that she is right. On the battlefield or when the hospitals are overcrowded due to epidemics, people are triaged. They’re categorized into groups who can and can’t be saved and then treated accordingly. And I am hardly an expert on how the resources are shared in the places where people are starving. It can be no better than here on Gerr’a—the survival of the fittest. Tabieans prioritize the survival of their people as a group, not as individuals. I realize it’s not too wrong, maybe even the right thing to do in the harsh situation, but still, this somehow feels awkward to me. It feels cold and callous.
“I do not blame Kon for this. In his place, I would tell you to do the same,” Tara goes on. “In fact, I think I keep telling you to do the same, but you humans are obviously a stubborn species as you will not listen to me.”
I purse my lips and turn to her. “I like to think of us as a compassionate species,” I say. “I like to think that we help those who need it and refuse to turn our backs on them. I see compassion as a strength.”
A wry smile touches her lips. “A sentiment not shared by the majority of the Gargolian populace, judging by how hard your astrat have been hit.”
I laugh softly and nod. “Clearly not. But I cannot and will not stop being who I am and doing what I believe is right. I’ll handle the consequences.”
We both fall silent for a moment and I look around the chamber. I still see the hostile glares being cast at me, but nobody seems willing to approach or challenge me. It’s one of the perks of being thought of as Kon’s pet.
“You care for him, don’t you?” Tara asks. “Kon, I mean.”
A small frown crosses my face and I start to wring my hands. I fidget as the emotions swirl around inside of me as I think of him. Finally, I force myself to calm down and take a deep breath. “I do,” I admit. “And I thought he cared about me too. I was wrong.”
Tara gives me a soft smile. “Tabiean males are notoriously difficult to read. They do not express their emotions very well.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You often have to look at their actions,” she explains, “rather than listen for words that may never come.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Kon has taken care of you. From defending you to making sure you are fed, to trying to dissuade you from expending your astrat to keep you out of the Culling,” she says. “All of those are the actions of a man who cares for you. And I would say he cares for you very deeply.”
“Yeah, well, given the fact that he’s been ignoring me and freezing me out, it sure doesn’t feel that way.”
“Trust me on this, Marissa,” Tara says. “He cares for you. But in this place, feeling for somebody can be every bit as dangerous as compassion. And it is frowned upon by the viewers. Just bear that in mind and do not judge him too harshly.”
What she says makes sense. It also pisses me off.
Chapter Nineteen
Kon
She is so frustrating and confounding that she has me teetering on the verge of blowing
up. I want to take something and smash it. I very rarely ever let my anger get that far out of control, but she’s really pushing me close to that edge.
I tell her to do one thing, she does the opposite. I tell her to be careful with her astrat so she does not fall below the line for the Culling, she spends more of her astrat. It’s like she lives to contradict and antagonize me. Or that she wants to die. And knowing her as I do, I do not believe it is the latter.
That I cannot make her understand the seriousness of all this or just how precarious her position is, fills me with a sense of frustration and rage I have seldom known.
“Tell me you did not spend yet more astrat on her again today,” I start, knowing full well that she did. Marissa sits at the table in our cell with her arms folded over her chest and a look of absolute defiance on her face.
“I did, and you know that,” she says. “She needs to eat every day to become stronger for the Culling.”
A growl of outrage bursts from my throat, and I grab the nearest thing I can find, which happens to be a chair, and hurl it across the cell. It hits the wall with a sharp ring and bounces away, hitting the ground with an echoing clatter. Two of the metal legs buckled and bent inward and the entire chair is twisted and deformed. Though she flinched at the sound, Marissa continues to stare at me with the same obstinate light in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and sit on the edge of the sleeping pod, staring at her as I try to calm myself.
“Feel better?” she sneers.
“Do you want to die, Marissa?” I ask. “Is that it? Do you wish to die a horrible and excruciatingly painful death?”
“I don’t wish to die at all.”
“You certainly do not act like it,” I say. “Giving your astrat away as you are and having them deducted by viewers who are displeased with your compassionate gesture make it a near certainty you will end up in the Culling.”