My eyes reach his. “My entire cell is smaller than your bedroom, you know.”
He nods. “Come here.”
I sit beside him, and he slips his hand into mine. “I wanted to show you something.” His other hand reaches for the binder and pulls it close.
“What is it?”
“Remember when I told you my mother’s in charge of the solar panels?”
I nod.
“The past couple of years, they’ve been keeping track of weather patterns. With the aid of these.” He swings the binder open, and my jaw drops. It is full of photographs of the sky, and my hands stream over their glossy surfaces, flipping through them with hunger. I see the sun roaring with fire, I see it swollen and orange and barely cresting the earth’s crust, I see the moon a thousand times closer than when Wren and I lay side by side in the Oracle.
“This is… This is amazing.”
“I thought you’d like it.”
“Why are they doing this?” My eyes don’t move from the pictures as I speak.
“It has something to do with how poorly the panels have been working lately. They’re trying to optimize their effectiveness by studying weather patterns.” He shrugs.
“Look at the colors,” I murmur as my thumb grazes a photo of the sun sitting low in the sky, pink clouds in front of it. All around it are cascading stripes of purple and red.
“It’s called a sunset. Ever heard of it?”
I shake my head.
“It happens at the end of the day. We should watch it sometime.” He closes the binder and sits back on the couch with my hand nestled in his. I follow him back, and he kisses me softly.
“Hey,” I say, my voice squeaky, “you know how you said you’ve never kissed a girl like me before?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you, you know…” I take a deep breath. “Kissed a lot of girls?”
He presses his lips together as his gaze shifts to the ceiling. Like he is deep in thought. His hand strokes his chin. “Let. Me. Think.”
I punch him. “Very funny.”
He smiles. “You want to have the talk, Eve? That feels like very official boyfriend-girlfriend business.”
“Well, you are my boyfriend, aren’t you?”
“Known only to the two of us, I might add.”
“Well. It still counts.” I draw my knees up to my chest. Every time I blink, my face hurts, but I am distracted right now by Wren, and that is a good thing. I don’t want to think about what happened. I don’t.
“It still counts,” he repeats slowly, and then his head nods forward.
“And you already know my sad history.”
“What, never having kissed anyone before? Come on, it’s only a little sad.” He nudges my arm. “Okay, fine. Keep in mind that I’m two years older than you.”
I shift in my seat. “Okay,” I say.
“I’ve had two girlfriends. One doesn’t really count because we were both young. Kids, practically. The other…the other you’ve actually met.” Now he is the one to shift in his seat. His gaze blinks onto mine, but it doesn’t stay there for long.
A lightbulb goes off in my head. “Please, please, please tell me it isn’t her.” I hated her when I saw her in the Preme hallway. I hated her long red hair and the way she touched his arm. Now I really hate her.
He runs a hand down his face, then draws his hood up. If anything, it draws more attention to his defined cheek and jaw bone, to his straight nose, his level eyes. “Addison is her name. We dated for a couple of years, on and off. I ended things for good a few months ago.”
“She still likes you.”
His face is serious as his eyes meet mine. “So? She’s nothing to me. Hasn’t been for a while.” He seems to spit out the words. “Can we talk about something else?” he adds.
I am silent. The only thing I can think about is her. And the fact that he’s had a serious girlfriend before. But what should I expect? I look at him and reiterate his words: “You’re two years older than me.”
“Yeah, Eve. What about it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Do you think it’s an issue?”
“If I’m being honest, it isn’t something I’ve even noticed. Have you?”
“No,” I admit. “But Hunter dated someone a year older recently, and it didn’t end well.”
His eyes are unsmiling as they stare into mine. Finally, he looks away and forces his head up and down. I am about to ask him what is on his mind when there is a knock on the door, loud and completely unexpected. It startles me, and I jump.
It startles me because we had been enveloped in complete silence, because we were talking about uncomfortable truths, because I feel more vulnerable after last night’s attack than I ever have before. I startle and reach for his hand before I can stop myself.
He eyes me as he stands. “I thought you were made of steel.”
The words sting, and I don’t turn my head as he opens the door, as someone enters his apartment. Sometimes Wren is kind, and sometimes he is anything but. I suppose I am no different.
“Where is that binder I didn’t authorize you to take?” comes a woman’s voice, and it is cold and vaguely familiar. “Tell me I didn’t raise a thief, though it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.”
“Nice to see you too, Mother,” says Wren, and I know why her voice sounds familiar. Not because I’ve heard it before, but because they share the same disinterested way of speaking. But where Wren’s voice is low and smooth, hers is crisp as ice.
“Drop the pleasantries,” she snaps. “I don’t have time for it.”
“What else is new.”
“Don’t try me, Wren. The binder. Quick.”
“The binder’s over there,” he says lazily, and I shut my eyes as I feel her gaze land on the back of my head. “Help yourself to it.”
Silence.
I don’t want to meet Wren’s mother. Especially not right now, with my face looking like this. But I grit my teeth, then look over my shoulder, and my eyes meet hers. She is average height and razor thin—not like Wren at all. But her nose is the same; her wide-set, intelligent eyes are his, too. But hers are slivers, and his are the giver of light.
“Mother, this is Eve. Eve,” he says with a shrug, “meet my mom.” My eyes slide briefly to him, and I see that he is relaxed. There is no warmth his body shows for her, no reverence in his eyes. There is no fear there, either.
“Good God,” she says slowly as her gaze meanders down my face. If I blush, it would be well-hidden by bruises. But I don’t blush. I stare at her without batting an eye. She turns back to Wren. “Make sure you hide the damage next time.”
“Hide the damage next time?” I sputter, drawing myself gingerly to my feet. “You think he did this to me?”
She looks amused. “You might be dressed up in my son’s clothes, but I can spot a Mean any day of the week. Next time, do remember to hold your tongue until a Preme invites you to speak.”
Yes. She is a Preme—an important one, at that. I think about Commander Katz’s visit to the Mean cafeteria, I think about a life of misery, I think about Jack…and just like that, my injuries from last night are completely forgotten.
“I’m not sure which is worse,” I say bitingly, taking a step forward and completely disregarding her orders. “Being so dismissive of someone so beat up or thinking your own son is capable of it.”
“I don’t think you know my son very well, then,” she says, and as she does, I glance at Wren. I expect him to react to these words, but instead he looks passive. His arms are folded, and he stares at his mother with hardened eyes, yes. But there is no anger in them, no emotion whatsoever.
All at once, Hunter’s words come rushing back to me. You can never…never trust a Preme.
“Are you trying to punish me?” she asks her son. “Bring
ing this—this creature into your home, dressing her in your clothes? You may as well traipse her around the common areas while you’re at it for all the rest to see.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Be my guest. You’ll realize your own foolishness in good time. Do me one favor, though, and keep in mind the company a person like this must keep.” She glances once again at me and frowns. “To know such violence…”
“Perhaps you ought to watch your back, then,” I say, and my voice is clear and level. “Those who know great violence are capable of great violence.”
She smiles. “Perhaps you and Wren share something in common after all.” Then she turns to the door. “Bring me the binder within the hour,” she snaps at him. Her heels tick against the floor as she leaves.
I stare at him, but his eyes don’t meet mine, and he seems lost, like he is somewhere else. “I’m leaving,” I say simply as I follow her out.
He must wake from his daze, because he is behind me in an instant and has my shoulder in his hand. “I’m walking you back to your place.”
“You’re forgetting,” I say as I wrench myself free, “I’m made of steel.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next day, I feel better. Lighter in my chest, and my head no longer aches. My face is sore to the touch; it is still black and blue, but already some of the bruising has faded to yellow. It is mesmerizing to look at and reminds me vaguely of the sunset that Wren showed me, where colors bleed into one another, where light and darkness collide.
Yesterday I took the elevator down from the fifth floor and managed to make it to my cell without seeing anyone. My heart thumped with every step, my eyes scanned the faces around me, but there was no Daniel, no Landry. What I will do when I see them, I don’t know, yet see them I will. It’s impossible not to.
One thing I refuse to do is cower. It is bad enough they will see me covered in injuries they inflicted. I will not let them think they got under my skin.
They didn’t, they didn’t, they didn’t.
Part of me itches to even the score. The fighter inside me—the cruel, violent monster in me. But part of me doesn’t want to even the score with Daniel or Landry. It doesn’t want to go there, to know such violence ever again. Part of me doesn’t want to fight in the Bowl anymore. Part of me just wants peace.
I don’t know how to reconcile these two parts of me. And I don’t know which side will win.
This morning, though, I am going to breakfast, just like every other morning. Yesterday, I didn’t leave my cell, and I ignored my friends as they pounded on the door again and again, on and off. I turned my back on the guards who searched my cell for the missing gun, squeezing my eyes shut as they ran their hands along my legs and under my pillow, taking no satisfaction in my trickery even though it was well-deserved. I slept often, and when I wasn’t sleeping I was thinking about the Oracle, the outdoors, the oasis. Whenever darkness threatened to overcome me, I pictured myself there, safe and in perfect freedom, Jack’s delicate fingers searching through my clothes for a small object that I hid, just like before, and I was whole again.
I pull on my boots, tuck the switchblade inside; the flashlight, too. The neon light across from my cell shines in my eyes as I leave and turns my white sweatshirt a sickly shade of green. I pull it straight. I smooth my hair that hangs over my shoulder in a braid and breathe in. Out. It is another day, nothing more. This is Compound Eleven, Eve. Where did you think you were?
“Finally,” comes Hunter’s voice from beside me. “Maggie and I were looking for you yesterday, did you know? Emerald kind of—”
He sees my face, and he is frozen, one hand suspended in midair.
“Hunter…”
“What the hell happened?”
“Hunter—”
“Eve. Tell me.” Then, before I can respond, his arms wrap around me and pull me into a tight embrace.
“It’s okay,” I hear myself saying over and over again, but his head is shaking.
“It’s not okay,” he insists as he pulls back to better study me. “It’s not. Who did it? It wasn’t the fight in the Bowl. Maggie said you won easily.” His brow digs together. “Your neck. Holy shit, look at your neck. Someone tried to kill you.”
It feels like there is a stone in my stomach, and the more he says, the heavier it becomes. The quicker it sinks.
“Was it the Preme? It was, wasn’t it? I knew he was bad news—”
“What, Wren? No, Hunter, no. Of course not.”
But he isn’t listening. He is banging on Maggie’s door over my objections, and when she answers, her eyes are confused and heavy with sleep. Then they land on my face, and suddenly she is awake and just as alarmed as Hunter.
“Oh my God, is this why you were MIA yesterday? Why didn’t you tell us? Who was it?”
Too many questions, too much attention. I just want to be. When I speak, it isn’t my normal voice; it is one twisted with frustration. “Stop it. I’m fine, so just leave it alone.” I glare at them, but they only stare back with wide eyes. “Honestly”—and my voice is softer. “Honestly. It’s worse this way—you’re making it worse. I was attacked. It happens all the time down here, and I guess it was my lucky day. Can we just not talk about it? Please?”
They exchange a look. “If that’s really want you want,” Maggie says eventually. “Okay. Okay, let me see. Um. I’m going to go get changed. Then breakfast?”
“Perfect,” I say. Relief floods my veins. But once her door is closed, I can see that Hunter’s face is crisscrossed with concern. He has always been too protective of me.
“You have to at least tell me who it was,” he says under his breath.
Of course I can’t. There is a chance it would get back to Wren. “I didn’t see. It was during the power outage. Can we drop it now?”
He stares at me, waiting.
“Please?”
After a while, he sighs. “Consider it dropped.”
I squeeze him around the middle. Maggie emerges from her cell a minute later, and together we move through the Lower Mean hallways. The two of them talk of the job tours taking place after breakfast, but I barely listen. Instead I think of the stairwell; I think how the steps must be stained with blood. My blood. “Mind if we take the elevator?” I interrupt once we near the lobby, and they look at me. “My leg’s sore,” I lie.
They nod. They are good friends, obliging, and I silently chastise myself for yelling at them. Especially when their only offense was caring. I smile appreciatively at both of them.
When we reach the cafeteria, I see neither Daniel nor Landry. The balloon of dread in my stomach deflates somewhat. I don’t think I could bear looking at them—not right now. Not yet. But time heals everything, and in another day or two, it will be fine. It will be old wounds; it won’t matter to me.
We sit in our usual spot, and I clear my throat. “Any word on Sully?”
Hunter shrugs. “He’s recovering. Apparently, he’s already coming up with ways to leverage what happened to him into action. More frequent protests, a movement in its own right—you get the drift.”
“Mmm. What about everyone else?” I glance around and notice that the atmosphere is more subdued than is typical.
“Things are slowly getting back to normal,” says Maggie between bites. “Talk about an eventful week.”
“Yeah, no kidding. So, how’s Kyle?”
She gives me a look as she butters her toast allotment—a single piece. “Seriously? Give me a break, Eve.” She points the knife in my direction. “I know how much you hate Kyle. I’ve always known it, but…now I really do.”
“Why, what’d she do?” Hunter leans forward with interest. Neither seem to be treating me any differently because of my injuries, at least not now, and I feel lighter, more like myself.
“Yeah, what’d I do?” I ask, smiling. �
��Oh what, because of the other day? Before the fight?”
“Um, obviously. And after the fight, too. I saw you look up at him after you just about decapitated that loon you were fighting.”
“Did Kyle notice?”
She rolls her eyes. “What do you think?” Then she lowers her voice, and it sounds tense. “Look, when you do stuff like that, you’re just making life harder for me. Okay? It just puts him in a bad mood, and…”
“And?”
“He’s just hard to deal with then. Okay?”
I shake my head. “Maggie, trust me. You can do way better.”
“Easy for you to say,” she says slyly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
But she is looking over my head, and I turn around to see Wren as he slides into the seat beside me.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks heavily, and his eyes comb down my face and linger on my neck.
“Can’t complain.”
“You know about this?” Hunter asks, shifting forward so he can see around me and to Wren. His eyes dart in my direction.
“Yes.”
“When exactly did it happen, Eve?” Hunter asks now.
“I told you: during the power outage. Not last night, but the night before.”
“When you were hanging out with Jules.”
My eyes lift, and I see Maggie is watching me. Wren is silent by my side. “Yeah. Then.”
I could tell them the truth—that I was heading upstairs to see Wren. They already know we are friends, and friends spend time together. But it is too late, and admitting I lied requires more courage than I can muster right now.
“Did she get away?”
“Who?”
“Jules.”
“Oh. Yeah, it actually happened as I was heading out to see her. So she didn’t have anything to do with it, thankfully.”
“And yesterday you just laid low.”
“Yep. Rest is best, right?”
“So how does he know?”
“Are you conducting an investigation or something?” Wren demands, sounding annoyed.
My voice is loud: “Can everyone just settle down? I told you, Hunter, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Escaping Eleven (Eleven Trilogy) Page 20