The sun glares at the tower and I wake up with the morning fog. Roman and Apollo are making coffee over a built-in fire pit, dug out of the broken concrete. Our watch is over and we hear the relief hover-craft fly over, land and power down. I recognize Brock and Malcom as the pilot and copilot. I climb out of my sleeping-bag and notice Castor unloading gear from the side door. Why is he always around? But I’m immediately filled with gratitude when I realize he could have been on watch with me all night.
He sees me and smiles, his striking face growing even more excruciatingly attractive, and then the annoying gleam in his eye when he’s about to approach me appears. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on him. After all, my first impressions of him could be wrong. What did I really know about him? I smile, but immediately regret the decision. Swaggering over he says, “How was watch?”
“Good. How are you?” “I’m great—now,” he smiles, and pulls a hat over his dirty-blonde hair. I finish throwing the bags in our bird’s compartments and climb in. When Apollo notices Castor talking to me, he leans out of the door.
“Freya, time to go,” he says, disregarding Castor. He climbs in front and fires up the engines, “I’ll come find you! At the gathering and we can—.” Castor shouts over the roar of the engines, drowning out his voice. I smile politely but wave contemptuously, relieved he’s growing smaller. My stomach is still churning at the sight of him. “He’s might be assigned my spouse. I have a strong feeling Apollo was right,” I think, before his silhouette fades away in the distance.
I’m heading to the gathering… again. Dressed in my figure-hugging pants and V-neck as usual, I’m sitting as close to the front of the Sky train as I can get, away from the athletes and Ursa or anyone that has anything to do with the Creators. I can’t help but think about all those people in the pagos, working, with their fragile bodies worn from the stress. They were probably hungry. True hunger, something I couldn’t fathom.
Last night, I couldn’t get them out of my head. I thought the anxiety would keep me awake forever, but luckily, I found out the human body sleeps eventually, regardless of emotions.
When I step into the lady-filled room, my excitement is nonexistent now. I was nervous the first time, taking this tradition so seriously. Now I feel stupid. What are we doing? Living off of other people, using their very real threat against them to blackmail them into providing us with everything? My heart aches as I watch these women twirl around, getting painted with tattoos, laughing, what if they all knew? Of course I could never tell them. I’d be exiled or executed.
The women giggle, the colors of their dresses range in various hues: green, purple, red, bustling through the room, collectively like a rainbow, a rare phenomenon these days. December pushes between two women. “Freya!” she practically shrieks. “Hi,” I say and smile. “Where have you been? You never answered my messages. How is everything? How’s training going? Is that where you’ve been?”
A million questions, typical December, and none I know how to answer. “I’m fine. Sorry, I’ve been busy…tired,” I say. She doesn’t look satisfied, in fact she seems upset. “They say Ursa always become arrogant and stop talking to everyone, including their own family and friends,” she says.
“It’s not like that. It’s a lot of work,” I argue. I’m not in the mood to deal with this. “Pharmaceuticals are a lot of work, and we have security clearances, too. Why do Ursa think they’re so special?” she asks rhetorically, with bitterness.
“Just please don’t become like them. You may have superior physical attributes, and have the highest security clearance, but that’s it, and it doesn’t give you a reason to seclude yourselves from the world. I know that there are some Ursa who still socialize,” she says.
I don’t have an answer, so I look down, thinking of a way to communicate without actually telling her anything.
“You always talk to me, tell me everything, and I don’t want it to stop just because of your calling,” she says, but a smile creeps at the sides of her mouth when I pull a silly face, waiting for her to take a break and let me speak.
I let out a sigh of relief “Not true. You know it’s not. But I’ll do better. We’ll talk,” I lie. What could I possibly talk about with anyone anymore? Oh, so my brother is in the mountains, and I want to break the law and talk with people who live in pagos and try to help them, just like he did. Oh pagos? You don’t know what they are? Only the villages filled with the slaves feeding you!
I realize nothing I can say will help anything. I pick a dress, a tight black gown with specs of silver glittering through the fibers. It’s the most perfect dress I’ve ever seen. I feel every eyeball on me in the room, the women observe me in confusion as I deliberately and defiantly contrast against them and their gaudy colors. Black gowns are intended for those engaged to future Creators. This may be suicide? Why am I acting out?
We line up and December stares at my ensemble. I can tell she’s surprised at the color. “You look beautiful, Freya,” she says, narrowing her eyes in curiosity. “Is there something I should know?”
“No,” I say. I smile and suddenly become emotional. Darn it. “I’m sorry for everything,” December says, thinking the tears are because of her. “It’s not you, I’m sorry,” I say.
She changes the subject, trying to cheer me up, mentioning something about Phoenix and asks me more questions. Concentrating on what she is saying is impossible right now. “I’ll tell you about Phoenix later,” I say, before the announcers start calling names. I don’t cry often. She looks concerned.
My name is called and I follow December out. The air smells sweet, floral arrangements are weaved in and out of the banisters, the stairs have tiny cylinders bursting with light along the velvety sides of the staircase. The men are covered in sophisticated earth-tones, some matching my dress, and I feel as if all eyes are glued to me, analyzing my attire.
My dress is defiant. It’s out of the ordinary. Of course, it is. I see Astrid Archer in her gold lined box, peering over the railing, piercing me with a look of rivalry, questioning my gown.
I’m intended for Castor right? I quit looking at Astrid, quit caring. I don’t survey the room once at the bottom. I push through guests, brush past gowns, ignoring their looks of judgment, and stop at the corner of the ballroom to pick up a drink from a server. People won’t stop staring. What did I expect? I wanted to flirt with death and this is the consequence. Wasn’t this what I wanted?
I notice Archer Perkins and Mel Quinn also peering down at me from The Box. Great. Did Astrid call them over to gawk? I’ll say this is my favorite color and I forgot the rule…or maybe just spill my guts. This is a waste of time, just like Apollo said. Why does no one question where all of this food comes from? Do they think the Creators are magic and pull it out of thin air?
But I guess I was just as stupid, not stupid just gullible, like everyone here tonight with their miniscule problems and nothing significant on their mind but their careers and potential pairs. I understood why Apollo had to wait, wait until I could catch up before he could finally talk to me.
All of Ursa has to hold on to the truth, never having a real conversation with others, hiding it away callously like it’s inconsequential, only coming forward after someone they can trust gets pinned and receives a security clearance.
It weighs on my chest and heart like bricks, growing heavier by the day. Roman and Castor can have friends. Roman and Apollo can even play a meaningless, violent game like Ignis Impetus and never scream out truth, just entertain the masses, keep them happy. I can barely speak two words to December, my best friend!
I’ll just go to the restroom and hide in a compartment until I can go home. No, December would look for me. I’ll just go for a minute. Maneuvering aggressively into a heavily-lit archway after the announcements are finished, I reach the ladies room. Someone grabs me by the shoulders and forcefully spins me around. My eyes close, preparing to see December completely shocked by my disobedient behavior. Maybe she shouldn�
�t associate with me.
But when I whirl around, it’s Apollo who’s holding me by the shoulders, with an eyebrow lifted in questioning agitation. When he notices the emotion in my eyes spilling forward, he pushes me into the ladies room and locks the side component once the door drops.
He wraps his strong arms around me. It’s illegal and he doesn’t care, neither do I. He hugs me tight to his chest and the emotions buried deep inside burst forward.
“I know. I know how you feel. It doesn’t get easier,” he says, not meaning to be reassuring, but his deep voice is soothing. Tears spill down my cheeks, the heavy makeup probably rinsing away in black streams. He uses his thumb and wipes my tears, and then brushes my blond locks behind my shoulders. “I knew right when I met you that you’d be just like me…and just like Maryn,” he says.
I can see he wants to fix this; it’s crawling all over his face. His eyes reveal a variety of emotion as he thinks. I’m shocked, never imagining he would care so much about me this quickly.
He holds me. I’ve never really cried much in my life, but I’ve never felt this range of emotion either. The numbness is gone, and it’s like I’ve awoken from a deep sleep. Thankfully, the tears are only tears, inaudible, and his embrace strengthens my resolve to stop.
I realize in this moment that hope exists when I’m around Apollo. I allow myself to fall deeper into his muscular arms, feeling so tiny pressed against his monstrous, durable frame. The security and comfort that washes over me is incredible. I soak it in.
“Is anyone in here?” he breaks our embrace to question the empty bathroom; he turns and strolls through the room, glancing austerely into each compartment. “No,” he says mostly to himself.
“Freya, what are you doing?” he suddenly turns on me, scolding me. I’m shocked. “What am I doing? What are you talking about,” I say, becoming defensive.
“Your behavior is drawing attention. You don’t want them to start watching you. You’re acting like a crazy woman trying to get herself killed. You just made Ursa. They watch for this type of behavior! And why are you wearing black? You’re not engaged yet!” he shouts, but then he suddenly looks serious.
“You aren’t engaged to Castor are you?” he asks, his blue eyes boiling with concern. “No,” I say softly, wanting to hug him again. “When you wear black to a gathering, they expect a wedding announcement,” he says, loudly.
“I feel like I’ve lost my identity…like everything that I used to think was a problem isn’t a problem,” I say. “It’s like I want to get into trouble because the guilt is killing me.” He walks toward me, his chin tilted down, looking down at me through his beautiful, dark lashes, “I know. I went through everything you’re feeling.”
“How can anyone stand this?” I dab at the moisture on my cheeks.
“Roman, Castor and the others are just like everyone else. They think they are a superior species to those in the pagos. They wouldn’t risk anything to really save them,” he says, thinking silently for a moment. He’s wearing his usual sexy scowl, completely unaware.
“Freya, you are so much like your brother. He was my best friend. But he’s gone because his emotions blinded him. He didn’t think things through before doing what he did. I need you to stay. You have to make rational decisions; you have to get control over your emotions… at least in front of other people. You can’t trust anyone.”
“I can’t trust anyone?” I say, suddenly wondering if Apollo would report me. Reading my mind, he grabs my face in his hand. “You can trust me, Freya.” The blue of his eyes, not a single supplementary color present, so pure and perfect. And he keeps treating me like I’m his, touching my hair, holding my face to get me to look at him, and staring into my eyes with longing. It feels so natural and right.
He tilts his head back in aggravation, and his scarred eyebrow arches again, bringing back his intimidating smolder. “Promise me you’ll get this under control. We can be on the outside of the bubble…together,” he says softly, and runs his hand through my hair again.
“I’m going to get it under control,” I promise. “They’re going to talk to you about the black,” he says, eyeing my gown again. “I’ll think of something.”
His shoulders drop in relief. “Okay, go out first and make sure no one is around. I’m going to stay here until you send me a message that I can exit without being seen,” he says. After wiping the black streams from my eyes, I straighten myself again.
“Okay.”
I exit into the hallway and already there is a line of women. Panic sweeps over me as they eyeball my expression and the previously locked door. Ignoring me, they begin to enter. I message Apollo once in the clear.
There’s a line of women.
Of course
I’ll message you as soon as they leave. I think there were seven.
I’ll be here
I smile a little. The messages are vague in case a Creator ever checks our history. I take a look in the assembly room and see Castor talking to December, maybe looking for me, maybe interested in her? If only.
But my hopes are shot when I see her motion toward the dining room while pointing and giving him directions. Castor struts away and I can see his mouth say “Thanks.” He’s probably looking for me, so I creep slowly back into the shadows of the hallway.
But then I notice Phoenix. How could I have missed him? He stands on a large platform surrounded by women. He grins, taking a sip from his drink and he turns and stares directly at me. Oh no. How long has he been there? Did he see Apollo come this way? I don’t want him to hate him. But I realize I don’t care if he hates me.
He gives me another easygoing grin when we make eye contact, and while still smiling, he starts to saunter down the stairwell in my direction, excusing himself from the ladies.
What do I do? I can’t run. The line into the bathroom is dying down. I message again:
The bees are almost out of the hive.
Bees aren’t supposed to smell like this
I laugh. Even with everything, I laugh loud. “What’s so funny?” Phoenix says from behind me. “Oh, nothing,” I lie. “A message?” he asks, intrusively. “Yes…from December. It was a joke about my dress.” “So are you engaged?” he asks through a smile that says, “I know you aren’t.” “No, I made a mistake,” I lie, again.
“Well you made quite the statement tonight.” “Yeah, I’ll probably pay the price…and that was never my intention,” I lie a third time. I’m out of control. “Well you look absolutely stunning.” “Thank you.” He’s gazing into my eyes in the same way he did that night on the terrace. I look away.
“So I wanted to talk to you about the other night.” “Okay,” I say, glancing around to see if the coast is clear. The women have vanished, and no new ladies are around. I deliberately lead Phoenix outside the corridor to send another message to Apollo and give him a chance to escape.
No new bees near hive
“December again?” Phoenix says as I glance up from my bracelet. “Yeah,” not that it’s any of your business. “So I wanted to talk about our results. I know we really don’t have a chance, but I’d like to continue seeing you. I’ve been researching and we can appeal with a geneticist if he can identify the advantages of our match. I know the chances are slim, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Andi from broadcasting is staring at Phoenix and giving me the death glare. Phoenix follows my eyes to where she is standing and whips back quickly. “I am also coupling with Andromeda. I want to be upfront with you. I hit my age limit next year and I am trying to avoid being assigned a spouse. But that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
“Honestly, I think it’s great you are coupling. I think you need to do what’s in your best interest,” I say, in absolute honesty.
Hearing this, he drops his chest in disappointment and says “I’m sorry for how I acted after the results. I— there was no—
“I think I’m traumatized for life,” Apollo interrupts unexpectedly,
obviously unware that Phoenix is around the corner, out of sight. He loops his hand through my resting elbow, pulling me back into the hallway. Phoenix is left confused as I’m whisked away from the conversation.
“Apollo?” Phoenix says accusingly, as he rounds the corner to follow us.
“Hey, what’s going on? I didn’t see you standing there,” Apollo says plainly, obvious humor in his voice. It takes everything in me to keep from laughing. To hide my smirk, I look down.
“What’s going on with you?” Phoenix replies, stern. The humor fades from Apollo’s eyes. “You’ve hardly said two words to me since you’ve been assigned to Freya. I knew you would do this.” His voice grows louder. “I even said this would happen. I knew you would want her. I saw it on your face the first time you saw her!”
“Phoenix,” Apollo says, like a parent encouraging a child to calm down. “Every time I see you, you’re touching her! You don’t even care about the law!”
Apollo hardens. “You need to stop. Now,” he replies in a terrifying snarl. Phoenix suddenly looks horrified, like he’s just now realizing who he’s been yelling at. “If you ever say or do anything that draws any unwanted attention to Freya again…I will kill you.”
His words send chills down my spine and I can tell by the look on Phoenix’s face that Apollo has never spoken to him like that before. Apollo glances around to see if any damage has been done by the exchange. A few women waiting around the corner may have heard, but they keep their heads turned in the opposite direction.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say to Apollo, mostly in an attempt to escape any watchful, prying eyes. “No you won’t,” he replies.
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