“You’re back,” she said, ambling toward the kitchen.
His fingers paused on the strings as he peered over his shoulder. “Need help?”
“Nah, just play. Keeps the monsters away.” Lynden lowered the canvas bags to the ebony wood floor, happy when the song continued. “Mid-terms complete?”
“Yeah. I’ll return at the end of March for my thesis presentation.”
“Before or after your birthday?”
“After.”
“Well, let’s celebrate.” She set the bag from the butcher onto the counter. “Chicken Kiev in basil-garlic sauce or steak linguine with kale salad for dinner? I can’t guarantee that either will taste as good as they sound.”
A corner of Fillion’s mouth hitched up. “Grilled salmon, saffron jasmine rice, and tickets for two to Benaroya Hall.”
“Oh.” Lynden wiped every trace of emotion from her face and lifted a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “I didn’t realize Akiko was in town.”
“Hell no.” Fillion stopped playing and flicked the ashes from his cigarette. “I only take people I like to the symphony. I thought I’d take you out. Belated birthday present.”
“Dad’s idea?”
“Wow. That’s low.” Fillion pierced her with a haughty glare through his thick, dark hair. “Try again, Einstein.”
She nibbled on her lip ring as her face relaxed into walls of granite. The arrogance behind his gaze intensified in reply. A hardness, different from the anger he carried before imprisonment, surrounded him. A new softness, too. Threads of tenderness colored most of his interactions. The unexpected gentleness behind his gestures sometimes took her breath away. The instant their dad was brought up, however, the demons howled and demanded blood.
Charged with two counts of employee sabotage, Fillion had been sentenced to twelve months of juvie. Good behavior and overcrowding had earned him an early release after only five months. Lynden had broken away from the waiting crowd and run to him, throwing her arms around his neck, not caring that she wept publicly. He had held her and whispered words of comfort in her ear, ignoring the clamor of journalists who shouted barbed questions without remorse.
Fillion was her hero, not that she’d let him know and feed that insatiable ego of his. Especially now. The man who emerged from detention was death and life incarnate. His moods flipped from one polar extreme to the other at the speed of light, usually triggered by their dad. She didn’t blame him, though.
Her brother had spent more time locked up pre-trial than he had for being held guilty for the white-collar crimes he was charged with. Crimes their dad “forgave” publicly. His son, the prodigy, the hero of the people, would soon take over New Eden Biospherics & Research. According to Hanley, The Code required that he prosecute Fillion, even though his son had saved hundreds of lives and the experiment itself. But, in a closed loop system, nothing goes to waste. Prison had enabled his son to compare and contrast the journey and experience of the human experiment. To better understand nature versus nurture and its effects on isolation, confinement, and extreme environment syndrome.
The media gobbled it up. So did the shareholders.
She flitted her focus Fillion’s direction. Betrayal and fury oozed from her brother’s gaze. The lava drip of anger glowed bright with the promise of destruction. She understood. A similar fire simmered inside of her, too.
Lynden softened her posture and allowed a touch of emotion on her face. “Sorry,” she offered. “I know you’d never sell me out to earn gold stars from the media. Dumb girl moment.”
And, just like that, the anger winked out and a clearer light reflected in her brother’s gaze. Fillion rubbed his cigarette out and said, “I respect your need to stay home. Whatever you want.”
She didn’t know what she wanted. Lately, it was an effort just to get out of bed each morning. Even breathing hurt at times. Feeling the haunting sharpness in her chest, Lynden released a slow breath through clenched teeth and busied herself with tucking away milk, eggs, and cheese in the fridge. Honeycrisp apples crowded the bottom of another canvas bag. She gathered all of the rogue pieces of fruit and deposited them into the wooden bowl on the middle shelf. It was weird, but she was usually too lazy to pull out a crisper drawer to grab a chilled apple.
Lynden righted her posture to shut the fridge door and started. Fillion stood on the other side, reached over the door, and grabbed an apple. He jerked his hair out of his eyes and took a bite, raising his eyebrow to match hers. He was such a pain in the ass sometimes. But he looked happy—for him. Was he happy to be home? Did he like school? Or maybe it was the sense of purpose he experienced in it all. She didn’t have a purpose, no definable future. Not anymore.
Her gaze wandered over her brother’s face, admiring his clean complexion, his full lips which often curved in a baiting, arrogant smile, and silver-gray eyes made more prominent by dark eyebrows drawn in a perpetual broody line, like he questioned and flipped off the world in a single look, all of it framed by angular features. But a slight softness in the curve of his jaw and cheekbones transformed each line that could be considered harsh into something altogether sensual. He was distinctly masculine, but beautiful in a way she’d never even come close to knowing. A gnawing pain touched her heart and she shoved it aside. Jealousy would change nothing. She slid her fingers through his chin-length hair and watched it fall back into place and then tilted her head.
“You need a makeover.”
A ghost of a smile answered first, followed by, “And you need a real project.” He ducked away from her hands and meandered back into the living room.
Lynden chased after him and crossed her arms over her chest. “You said ‘whatever I want,’ and I want you to do something with your hair. Have you even looked at yourself lately? It’s scary.”
“Context. Going out or staying in.” He fell back into the kotatsu with another bite into the apple and stretched out his legs. “I’m not dyeing my hair.”
“I forgot it was against your religion. I’m not sure how you can stand being around the rest of us sinners and our fake hair.”
Fillion smiled. “Nice.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
Lynden threw her hands up in the air and marched back to the kitchen. The stomping was childish. So was slamming the groceries and cabinet doors. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was overreacting. It was stupid. This entire tantrum was over the state of her brother’s hair. God, she needed help. Maybe Fillion was right. Maybe she needed a real project, a purpose to plunge her into something meaningful. Embarrassment flamed up her neck and she quieted her movements.
“Lyn,” Fillion called over his shoulder. “You really want to corrupt me?”
“Yes!”
“OK.”
She rested carrots from the farmer’s market onto the counter. “Really? God, you’re so moody. What gives?”
“It would make you happy.”
Lynden’s shoulders deflated. “Do you think I’m petty?”
“No. I think you’re bored.”
“We can do something else.”
Fillion smirked. “Now you’re being passive aggressive.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly and her brother took another bite of his apple to hide his amusement. Lynden crossed over to where he sat and said, “I get to choose everything. The hair color. The style. The piercings. Everything.”
His eyebrow rose again. “The piercings? That wasn’t part of the original deal.”
“Does Akiko like facial piercings?”
“I don’t give a shit what she likes or doesn’t like. Akiko will have a nuclear meltdown no matter what I do.”
“Gross.” Lynden couldn’t hide the disgust that formed. “Then let’s give Ms. Bat-shit-crazy something to cry about.”
He shrugged as his lips curved in a conspiratorial smile. “Sibling tattoos while we’re at it? So we can be twinsies?” He ended with a wink.
“Unicorns with heart eyes
. We’ll make yours a tramp stamp.”
“Peachy.”
“Don’t tempt me. You know I’ll get you drunk enough to pull it off.”
A wicked gleam sparked in her brother’s eyes. Oh shit. She knew better than to issue a challenge to Fillion. “You want to play?” he asked in a quiet voice, the dangerous kind of quiet that sent shivers of warning up her spine. “Sibling tats now out. You choose my tattoo and I choose yours.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Like what?”
“Oh no,” Fillion said, shaking his head slowly. “It’ll be a surprise, since you like those so much.”
“Think again, Einstein.”
“Afraid?”
“Please.” Lynden rolled her eyes and flipped her hair with her hand. “You tattoo something stupid on my ass and I’ll kill you in your sleep, and you know it.” Raising her eyebrow, she taunted, “Afraid?” He didn’t answer with words. His face said it all. Fillion was delighted, giddy almost, and her pulse skidded to a stop. “Why do I have the feeling like I was just duped?”
“Tats on the forearm or wrist, so we can’t escape it.” His eyes slid to hers. “Steak linguine with kale salad sounds good for dinner.”
Lynden’s mouth fell open, before she clamped it shut with a growl of irritation. Her brother’s laughter trailed after her as she marched back into the kitchen.
A few hours later, Coral and Devon arrived and began work under Lynden’s instruction. Waggling his eyebrows, Mack turned up the volume on a song and scooted over to where she stood.
“Rainbow?” He offered his bottle of whiskey. She shook her head no, plucking the cigarette from Mack’s mouth, who glared in reply. “Steal a man’s breath, kusogaki? Don’t you understand I need these chemicals to survive?” He tsked. “She-devil.”
“Soul-eater,” Lynden corrected.
Mack considered her a moment, as if taking full measure of her emotional state. “Soul-eater with the biggest heart.”
Lynden rolled her eyes. “Nice try. Find new chemicals.”
Mack turned desperate eyes onto Fillion. “See what I have to deal with, lover? Every. Damn. Day.”
“You like feeling breathless,” Fillion countered, biting his lip.
“Only when I look at you, bishounen.”
“Don’t move,” Coral snapped.
The scissors slid down the front swoop of Fillion’s hair, cutting away at an angle. His gaze shot daggers at Lynden. Her brother hated getting his hair cut, always had. She stuck out her tongue at him then snorted a laugh. Coral was nearly finished and Lynden appreciated Fillion’s improvement from the wild, mopey appearance he was trying to pull off before. In the light, the newly dyed black hair reflected undertones of midnight blue—like a raven’s feather. The left corner of his bottom lip and right side of his nose were now pierced with silver hoops, and a silver bar vertically pierced through the top of his right eyebrow. Black, angular strands fell in a swoop to a couple of inches below his left eye.
Coral fussed with the front strands of Fillion’s hair, pulling the longest piece to a point, then stepped back to take in the full image. To Lynden she said, “Way better. I like the color you chose for him.”
“He no longer looks weird.” Lynden kept a straight face and said, “I might be able to take him out in public now.”
Coral laughed as she left to join Mack and Devon.
“Thanks.” Fillion’s mouth compressed in a tight line. “You know how to make a man feel good about himself.”
“Yeah,” Lynden half-whispered, exhaling smoke. “It’s the only thing I’m good at, apparently.”
She didn’t mean to confess her thoughts aloud. Worry creased Fillion’s brows as he scrutinized her in that irritating, analytical way of his. The music’s electronic beat pulsed in tandem to the echoes of life thrumming in her ears. She dragged on her cigarette, hiding any remnant of emotion from her face.
“Maybe,” Fillion began, “Mack can hire you at TalBOT Industries, give you something to do.”
“I don’t need the money and would feel like a complete ass taking a job from someone who does.”
“What about a non-profit?”
“You mean like my own?”
“Sure.” Fillion patted his shirt for a lighter, pulling it from his pants pocket with an eye roll. Exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke after lighting up, he said, “Give makeovers to the lower class who secure job interviews. Make it a whole experience.”
“Those already exist.”
“I know.” Fillion leaned forward and sought her eyes until their gazes locked. “But you have real assimilation skills and connections within various industries.”
The reminder tightened the air in her chest. “I’ll think about it.”
“Who’s first?” Devon asked over the music as he approached.
“Rainbow,” Fillion answered in reply. He then asked Devon, “You have the picture I sent you?”
“Yep.” The magenta strands of Devon’s hair bobbed along with his head’s movements. “Step into my shop,” he said to Lynden with a wry smile and gestured toward a table propped up in the living room by the wall of windows. “Lie on your back and rest your left wrist on the edge.” She eased onto the table as instructed and turned her head to the right and peered out over the twinkling city. “You know the drill. Corlan says you’re not allowed to watch, upon penalty of death.”
“Asshole.”
The hum of a tattoo needle buzzed in her ear. Laughter floated behind her and the ghostly image of Mack—head thrown back with humor—reflected in the window as Coral animated a story. Fillion stood beside him, shoulders lifted slightly, his thumb hooked into his pants pocket, a cigarette dangling in his mouth. Lynden peered past their reflections to the few stars that had popped through the night sky in the ambient light.
Was Coal staring at the same stars? Did he make wishes for his heart’s one desire, like she did? A knot of pain formed in her gut and churned, grinding against her sanity and her artificial happiness. It was unbearable and she resisted the urge to curl up into herself. She warned him years ago, begged him not to break her heart. The persistent ache was worse than anything she’d ever experienced. Worse than her assault. He never saw her as a real human, but Coal had intimately touched parts of her soul.
That’s what hurt most. He had lied to her, intentionally. She still didn’t know what her dad was talking about over dinner. But it was monumental. Coal had earned her dad’s ultimate trust the moment Lynden learned she could never trust the Son of Fire again. She didn’t care what Coal had to say. Didn’t care if he loved her or if she still loved him. It just didn’t matter anymore. The damage was already done. A tear slid down her cheek to the bed and she blinked back her emotions.
The ground of her mind rumbled until it fissured and cracked wide open. She peered over the edge into the dark abyss. Shadows hissed for her to jump, laughing at her for taking a step back.
Ugly. Unwanted. Whore. Dumb. Freak.
The vile names gusted at her on a hot wind, one that burned and blistered the fragile skin of self-respect protecting what remained of her heart.
“No, I am awesome,” she whispered in her mind, then shouted, “You’re not allowed to hurt me and know it!”
Loner. Cunt. Stupid. Bitch. Unlovable.
Not good enough.
“No pleasure from my pain!”
Toughen up, Rainbow.
“OK, we’re done,” Devin said, oblivious to her internal battle.
The tattoo pen finally silenced and her head no longer vibrated. Lynden loosed a tightened breath as the ground in her mind healed, all traces of the abyss, where the shadows hid, erased.
Devon lifted her arm and wrapped her wrist in gauze, saying “You can look now. I’ve blindfolded your ink until the big reveal.”
Taking her other hand, he helped her to a sitting position. Fillion moved toward the bed after she quietly confirmed details with Devon. She had an idea and hoped Fillion didn’t hate her for it. But the ac
he inside of her couldn’t let go of the memorial picture in her head. Without meeting her brother’s eyes, she slipped past him toward the living room in a haze and plunked down beside Mack on the kotatsu.
Thin air thoughts.
Bury the emotions.
“Rainbow?” Mack whispered in her ear. “Come here.”
She didn’t hesitate. Draping her legs in perpendicular lines across his lap, she curled up where his shoulder met his chest. Mack leaned his head on hers. She didn’t have to say anything. He knew. Per their tradition, he lit up a cigarette and enjoyed the first few puffs and she stole it from his lips. Feeling bold, she also took the bottle of whiskey from his hands and drank. Mack played with the wrap around her wrist, sliding her a sympathetic look every so often. Lynden drank more and closed her eyes.
The world began to spin faster than the vortex of dark whispers in her head until the thumping music and condescending voices faded to nothing.
Saturday, March 17, 2057
“Lyn,” her brother’s voice warmed her ear. “Wake up.”
Her eyes slit open. “What?”
“Come on,” Fillion said, tugging on her hand.
Lynden let Fillion pull her to her feet. She teetered with the weight of alcohol in her system. “I’ve been drinking.”
“I know.” Fillion’s eyebrows drew together. “Let’s get you to bed.”
She swatted his hand away. “Stop telling me what to do. We’re the same age, asshole. God, you’re such a dictator.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “How does bed sound?”
“I’m so tired.” She turned her head and nearly fell over when the world tipped to the side. “Where’s my bedroom?”
Fillion full-on smirked. The smart-ass kind he used only when humored.
“Did Mack vanish into thin air? Like my thoughts?” She giggled and clapped a hand over her mouth with the sound. The laughter bubbled out of her chest until she snorted, and then she giggled again. She hated giggles, especially her own. When the urge passed and sorrow took its place again, she mumbled, “Probably not good enough for him, too.”
Transitions: Novella Collection (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2.5) Page 28