“Good day, Tower citizen, and congratulations on this, your pre-binding day,” she says.
Mom squeezes my shoulders behind me and I can practically feel her smiling through the back of my head.
The woman continues. “In the Manic Age, citizens struggled as a result of choosing poorly-fitted mates. Three out of four people got divorced. But with the testing The Protectorate performs on newborns, they not only know what career each and every citizen is best suited for, but who your ideal binding mate is.” She smiles and clasps her hands together. “As such, you no longer need to worry about making wrong choices.”
“Mmhm,” Mom mumbles, and I hang my head in silence, feeling ashamed. “Just look at your father and me,” she adds.
I know she’s right. I know they were meant to be. They could be the poster faces of the perfection The Protectorate achieves. And now, there’s no divorce in Tower. Not only is it illegal, but it’s rarely spoken about, and only as a dirty word from the past.
I lift my head and watch the woman smile. “We allow you to dream of your binding mate for a full year as a way to build excitement for this special occasion. There’s no one better suited for the unique you. Some have debated that we shouldn’t bother to allow this Dreamscape romance since there’s no other choice but this binding. They’d argue that we should leave the reveal as a surprise. However, we feel that by allowing this to be a daily part of your dream, it makes the happy transition from childhood to adulthood even easier. As always, The Protectorate cares for your happiness and well-being.” She gives a slow nod. “Have faith that we have made the correct choice for you and that we will continue to do so because you are a valuable part of society. This is a day we hope you will cherish forever,” she says in a sugary voice, her face breaking out into a toothy smile. “And know that we are here to keep you safe.”
Mom commands the screen to shut off and our images are instantly reflected again. I meet her gaze in the mirror. Mom’s eyes glisten.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my throat burning. And I am. I don’t want to worry her. I wish we could go back to her reminiscing about good times.
“Thank you, honey. You know your father and I will be gone soon.” She pauses a moment, twisting one of my loose curls around her finger. “I love you, Desiree. I know Asher might not have been your first choice, but he will make a fine husband and take care of you when we’re gone.”
She doesn’t need to say any more. I know my parents will be forty in three months. I know that, because they’re Fours, it means they have to go in for termination. I know she only wants me to be safe. I cast my eyes to my lap. Mom’s right. Asher wouldn’t be my first choice…or my last, but what do I know really? Maybe I just needed Mom to confirm it would be okay.
She smiles at me in the mirror, her green eyes crinkling up at the edges. I manage a tight smile before casting my eyes to my lap again. “It isn’t something to mourn,” she says, mistaking my body language.
It’s true I’ll miss them, but I know how romantic it is to pass on through the Dreamscape with your beloved. I often thought about it growing up. How it would feel to be bound together with your life-mate. To finally connect with the one person meant for you from birth. How happy we’d be together. Often, I even daydream about the one perfect child we would share.
Everyone has to die at some point, so the thought of passing on together while holding hands with my one true love has always sounded like an amazing fairy tale. It reminds me of the old Shakespearean play Romeo and Juliet, and of the powerful love they shared.
I just hadn’t expected all of that to be with Asher.
“Your father and I will pass on through together and stay in the Dreamscape for eternity.” Mom’s eyes light up again, as if she’s already forgotten my mistake. She puckers her lips and grins. “You’ll see. You have your whole life ahead of you, number Six.”
“You’re right, Mom.” I stand and twist around to hug her. “And I love you, too.”
I’ll go to the pre-binding ceremony today and make the best of it. Things will get better with time.
She pats my back. “Now you go ahead and get ready, sweetheart. And make sure to doll up that beautiful alabaster skin of yours with some pretty makeup. A little color will stand out beautifully next to your ivory dress.” She winks. “But try not to cover your fairy dust.”
I laugh at her reference to the sprinkle of freckles across my nose. Burrowing deep into one of my makeup bags, I search for the perfect shade of forest green eye shadow, the one I know best accentuates the pistachio green of my eyes. Today my face is my canvas. After applying makeup, shimmying into my dress, and taking in the appraising ooh’s and aah’s, I thank my mom. She excuses herself from my bedroom, and I gaze out my window into the front yard.
Sitting on the gray brick wall that separates our flat from our neighbors’ is little Shia Four Monroe. I remember the day her parents brought her home from the hospital six years ago. They were so proud that she had received such high accolades from The Protectorate’s assessors. “When she’s five, she’ll get her official letter announcing she’ll be a high-standing Protectorate lawyer,” they said, beaming from ear to ear as they walked up the drive with baby Shia bundled all in pink.
She’s always been a happy kid, bouncing instead of walking, and chatting a mile a minute. I’ve enjoyed babysitting her over the last six years, reading Shakespeare to her, and playing dolls.
But today she’s quiet.
I open the window, watching. A fine wisp of fog slithers in, stealthy as a snake. Somewhere in the distance over the tops of row after row of steel flats, the faint hoot of an owl sounds out. Far off, the silhouettes of the tall government buildings and factories loom up into the clouds in the metro part of Tower. If I strain really hard, I can just make out the red tracks for the hover trams, floating through the sky like streaks of blood twirling through the clouds.
I draw my attention back to Shia as she spins something between her fingers. As I watch her head hang low, it’s her hair I notice. Usually her blond curls are neatly brushed and placed into a simple ponytail with a pink ribbon. But today it hangs down, straggly and matted.
It hits me. I was supposed to visit her today. Her parents were convicted, having been found Noncompliant. And tonight would be the first night of seven they must endure the Terrorscape.
Televised for all of Tower to witness.
With Darian’s escape from Olympus jail and my own pre-binding ceremony today, I’d forgotten. Cursing myself, I hold up the hem of my dress and tear through the front door.
When Shia sees me, she gasps. “You look beautiful, Desiree,” she says, then immediately lowers her face to the object in her hand.
I follow her gaze. It isn’t one object, but two. She holds her parents’ binding necklaces in her hands. The Protectorate has forced their removal from them for their week of punishment. It’s an added reminder of what can be taken away. If they’re convicted of being Noncompliant ever again, they’ll lose the privilege of passing on together. I can’t think about that…the heartbreak it would cause, and the shame it would bring.
I press my hand over hers. “It’ll be okay, Shia.” I don’t tell her I’m not really sure it’ll be okay or that I’m disappointed in her parents. She’s too young to hear those things. Taking the necklaces from her hands, I place them around her neck, one at a time. “You’ll keep them safe until your parents come back.”
Shia swallows hard and her lip quivers. I can tell she’s trying not to cry. She bites her lip and nods instead. “Thank you.”
“Hey,” I say with a shoulder bump, feeling amazed at her maturity. It confirms The Protectorate was right about her all along. She’s definitely special. “C’mon and let me fix your hair before I go to my pre-binding formal.” I waggle my eyebrows. I’d do just about anything to distract her. Even feign excitement over Asher.
Shia gives a weak smile. “It’s okay. My aunt will be here soon.”
I reach ov
er and tickle her until she giggles. “If your aunt’s coming, you don’t want her to see you like this do you?” I wink and lift a strand of her tangled hair and let it drop. “Let’s go, Shia Four. I’ll race you to my door,” I say in a sing-song voice.
“That rhymes!” she says, and giggles again, then hops up and dashes inside my house.
After I fix Shia’s hair, we sit down for the breakfast Dad made. His right eye twitches slightly, and Mom gives us a nervous smile. I know they don’t want to be grouped together with the Noncompliant, but Shia couldn’t have known her parents were stealing. I’m not going to abandon her now.
“Ready for today?” Dad asks me around a mouthful of eggs, as Mom fixes the back of his shirt collar. She idly lifts a lock of his black hair and neatly smoothes it back into place.
I nod, although I’m not sure how I can ever really be ready. I’ve never had what people used to call a boyfriend before. It isn’t allowed. Since our mates are chosen for us at birth, it would be a violation to have eyes for anyone else. And we aren’t aware of our mates until the age of sixteen.
It’s not often a person even recognizes who their mate is once they see him or her at the pre-binding ceremony. Usually they’re from some other district within the big province of Tower. On a yearly visit to The Empire, our dream sequences are updated. And on our sixteenth birthday, our binding mate’s image is added to our data profile. But I refuse to wallow in the misery that I’m stuck with Asher. I’m sure I must have read him wrong all these years. He did throw me in the garbage dumpster, but that was in the third grade, I reason. And the time he forced me to drink sewer water that caused me to get sick for a week with a fever? Well, maybe he’s sorry for that. If The Protectorate thinks he’s my life-mate, I have to believe it.
The room grows quiet as Shia toys with the necklaces around her neck, and I chew my bottom lip. My dad places a hand on top of Mom’s, stopping her from fiddling with his shirt. He pats her hand and squeezes it. Although she would never admit it, I know she’s nervous too.
Dad scoots his chair across the floor, the screech of steel meeting steel breaking the silence. He stands in front of Mom a moment, and since they are both 5’6, his gaze meets hers, eye to eye. I’m really not sure how I ended up 5’9, all arms and legs. I’ve always felt gangly, but Mom assures me I haven’t grown into myself yet.
He holds her gently by the shoulders. “You may be starting to look younger than me after all, Verity,” he teases and pecks her lips. She grins before walking to the front door, waving her key fob as she goes. My stomach does a nose dive. I know I have to get through this day without shaming my parents.
Mom twists around with a smile and holds out the golden bracelet I’m supposed to give Asher at the ceremony. In turn, he’s supposed to give one to me. They’re presents from our parents in good faith. The bracelet is a temporary piece of jewelry to be worn until we’re bound. At that time, we’ll exchange the permanent binding necklaces made by The Protectorate.
I clench and unclench my hands, then stand and walk to Mom. I gaze down, my eyes locking on the letter D boldly placed on the bracelet’s emblem. It feels like a million spiders are crawling on my arm. A burning itch ignites against my wrist, where I will soon sport a bracelet bearing the letter A.
Chapter Three
When Shia’s aunt pulls into the Monroes’ driveway, my parents take Shia home and then we begin the short drive to the nearest Sky Tram Port. I look out the window and notice the sun beginning to poke its golden head from the clouds. Driving is only allowed in Tower to and from the trams in order to cut down on unnecessary pollution. My grandmother told my mom that pollution was so bad when she was little they had to wear masks outside. Accompanying overpopulation was the scary, crazy times of the Manic Age. The pollution, food and water shortages, wild spread of disease, and increasing crime rates led to The Protectorate’s brilliant restructuring plan. It comforts me that our government knows how to fix things. That they know what’s right for us.
I clench the golden pre-binding bracelet in my damp hand.
As we pass the rows of steel flats that loom up from the earth like knocked-over tin cans shimmering in the sunlight, Mom rambles on.
“Remember to smile, Desiree.” Her words are all mumbled as she fixes her lipstick in the mirror. “And don’t forget to thank the official for The Protectorate’s wise choosing and blessing.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes as I stare out the window. As much as I accept my fate, it’ll be hard to thank them for choosing to bind me with Asher.
“I’ll be fine, Mom. I know what to do,” I reassure her as Dad parks in the huge Sky Tram lot. A guy about my age zooms by our car on his skateboard, the rumble of his wheels startling me. His gaze meets mine. He nods, then flips the board up with his foot and catches it. He makes a mad dash through the crowd.
It’s just the beginning of the knowing looks I’m sure to receive. When I get out of the car people will point, smile, and whisper. With the way I’m dressed, everyone will know I’m either going to the pre-binding or binding formal. It’s supposed to be an exciting day, a day that changes everything for the better. If it were my best friend, Laken Seven Skye, she’d be oozing with excitement from every pore. Her pre-binding is scheduled for tomorrow.
We aren’t supposed to share what our binding mate looks like with anyone except our parents, but Laken and I are more what I imagine sisters would be than friends. When her mate began appearing in her dreams, she couldn’t help but tell me. She bounced on my bed like a big kid telling me how handsome and amazing he looked. When I told her Asher appeared in my dreams, she hugged me and assured me everything would turn out okay. I wish her smile had reached her eyes.
I open the door and step outside, the crisp fall air rushing against my face. It feels good against my hot skin. I’m already sticky with sweat, and I don’t want to ruin the makeup I took so long to apply. Straight ahead is the Sky Tram Port. Above it, a grid of tracks, looping and weaving like an intricate spider web. To my left at the end of the lot is a guard rail that overlooks a sharp drop to the ravine.
“Honey…” Dad loops his arm through mine, and starts walking toward the Sky Tram Port’s entrance. “Remember, dream big or go home.” He laughs and pats my hand. It’s my dad’s catch phrase that’s melted into my mind like a brain tattoo. He’s said it to me on every notable occasion. The first day of school when I was nervous to go to class, the day I wrote my final exams, and the first day of nursing studies. I even remember him saying it when he taught me how to ride a bike. I know he means to be brave and to live life to the fullest. And in today’s case, this is supposedly a big dream coming to realization. I take a deep breath. It’s the same nervousness you felt before. You got over it then, you’ll get over it now.
I almost believe it.
I paste on a smile as Mom hooks her arm through my other arm and squeezes. It’s their moment to shine almost as much as mine.
On cue, the spectacle begins—the pointing, the whispers, and the knowing smiles. I know my parents are proud. I have to give them this moment. A little girl reaches out and skims the hem of my dress as I pass. “You’re sooo lucky!” she squeals.
“I am,” I tell her. “And your day will come too, before you know it.” And hopefully it will be with someone you actually like. I smile as big as I can manage. I know how she feels. I longed for this day to come all my life, too. I don’t want to ruin her magical thoughts.
When we reach The Protectorate’s binding dynasties, I stop for a moment to catch my breath. The only other building more majestic than the ones before me is The Protectorate’s main office, known as The Empire.
The two buildings tower above me, each a mirror image of the other. The grand, white-stuccoed building on the left, where I’m going today, is used for the pre-binding formal. It soars high into the sky. A giant statue of an owl sits at the top, its golden wings fanning wide.
Midway up the building, a glass cylindrical walkway joi
ns to the other structure. This dynasty is used for the binding formals. The glass that links the two dynasties represents the binding of two like souls. I’ve seen the dynasties many times growing up. It’s impossible to miss the whiteness of the buildings that rises like a giant crest of a wave amid a dark gray sea.
They always had an ethereal feeling to me then—an enchanted fairy tale, a fantasy.
But of course, until today, participating in the formal was only a dream.
My mom slips the pre-binding bracelet onto my wrist, and soon—too soon—my parents are whisked away after a quick peck on my cheeks. I’m ushered away by a tall gray-haired woman in a sparkly silver dress.
“Name?” she asks with barely a glance in my direction.
“Desiree Six Haven.”
“Desiree Six Haven,” she repeats in a crackly voice. She slides a pen out from the top of the bun coiled on top of her head like a bird’s nest. Sweeping through the list of names on her clipboard, she taps the pen across my name and scratches it out.
“You look lovely,” she says without looking at me. I roll my eyes as she turns and walks ahead down the hallway, her shoes clacking against the gleaming floor.
We pass by what feels like a million doors before she stops and opens one. Inside the small room are about fifteen other girls standing around and waiting. One girl is hopping around from one foot to the next so much that I don’t know if she’s excited, or if she has to go to the bathroom. I stifle a giggle. Another girl is gnawing on her thumbnail, and for some reason it makes me feel somewhat better. Maybe she isn’t too happy with her binding mate either. A few of the other girls are huddled together, giggling and whispering. At that moment I wish Laken was with me. I know she would help me relax.
Awakening Page 2