daynight

by Megan Thomason

  I manage to delay my start of classes for 48 hours to allow myself time to fully heal. The doctor pays house calls and assures me that my side effects, although worse than average, are still within normal ranges and that it is all worth it since the procedure was a success. The only time I leave my room is to nibble on the occasional meal when I know Blake is out of the house, not having a huge appetite anyway. I’m such a wimp where confrontation’s concerned.

  The rest the time I hide away, trying to make sense of the nightmare I’m living. The holes in the information, the inconsistencies, and the deceptions have torn the fabric of my sanity. The how’s and why’s may never be answered. I must move forward, fulfill my contract, and then take my scholarship, leave, and never look back. That’s my goal anyway, although I have a growing suspicion that all will not go as smoothly as planned.

  I’ve come to accept that Blake did what he did for a reason. His hand was forced as much as mine, his by his father and childhood, mine when the SCI decided to blow up my friends and remove my reason for staying my senior year. That doesn’t make it any easier for me to sit down and work through my issues with Blake. Or for me to accept the situation I’m in. Thinking that the explosion had been an accident had certainly been traumatic and terrible. But learning that the SCI caused the accident just to get me here? The guilt’s killing me. All that blood on my hands.

  My evening’s online classes are dreadfully boring, and I’m antsy to get out into the canyon again, as our sunroom isn’t sufficient to walk off the bundle of nerves I’ve accumulated. Sitting next to Blake all evening has been torture, but I managed to put on my headphones and turn away. When free time starts I’m the first one out the door. To my disappointment, in a moment of sheer insanity where I forget that I’m on Thera, I expect to see sun and am greeted by a sea of darkness, swimming bits of artificial light, and Tristan and Bri. I resign myself to my misery and walk forward to greet them.

  Bri gives me a hug, being careful to avoid my mid-section.

  “So the princess is finally allowed to leave her castle,” Tristan says. “We’ve missed you. Your BFF Blake isn’t as fun to be around as you are, probably because I beat him at everything. And I mean everything! Come on, we’ll walk you down, since I’m assuming you didn’t master boarding on bed rest?” Blake’s behind me and hears every word Tristan says, which I’m sure was intentional on Tristan’s part.

  “Ha ha. No, I didn’t,” I say. I look over towards Blake, who speeds away on his skateboard without word to any of us.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Tristan asks as we start walking.

  “Paradise is lost,” I say. Mumbling, I add, “Or misplaced at least.”

  “What happened?” Bri says, looking shocked and worried.

  “Seriously,” Tristan says. “You wanted to Cleave and he couldn’t deliver?”

  I ignore Tristan’s crude remark and address Bri. “I guess I suck as a patient and he wasn’t being very empathetic,” I say, as close to honesty as I can muster, since I am a crappy patient and he showed zero empathy for me when he decided my life was worth less than his. No, that’s not fair. We’d both be dead had he told me the truth up front and I probably wouldn’t have believed him anyway. Given the rumors about Blake at the time, I’d have just thought he’d been partaking too liberally of some hallucinogens.

  “Well then, next time you need a better caretaker,” Tristan says, smiling and putting his hand on my shoulder. But he quickly realizes his mistake of doing so in front of Bri and adds, “I’ll send Bri over. Guys are no good at dealing with girl stuff.”

  “Girls aren’t good at dealing with girl stuff either,” Bri says. “I’m sorry—I tried to stop by a couple times, but was rejected by Blake and that odd man with the huge head that seems to be at your house a lot.”

  “Thanks for trying. I was pretty much wailing and whining in my room, so you didn’t miss much,” I say.

  “Sounds like you need a distraction,” Tristan says. “Good thing we’re hosting a dinner party at our house this morn and as our guest of honor your presence is mandatory.” Huh, I wonder if Tristan found a stash of standard-issue alcohol on Thera after all, or if my friends have taken up Pictionary or some other wholesome form of entertainment. I’d bet on a stash. My friends suck at wholesome.

  “You’re right. A distraction sounds perfect. I’ll be there. What time?” I ask.

  “Right after we work out,” Bri says. “Can we invite Blake? Or would that be too weird for you?”

  “Yeah. Of course you should. I’ll be fine,” I say. I can’t avoid him forever, nor do I think I really want to. He’s my best source of information here and I plan to suck every last drop from him.

  The rest of our walk goes quickly, but unpleasantly due to the discomfort of keeping my abs engaged as we climb downhill. I kick a couple lights on the way in disgust at their constant reminder of my sunless prison.

  We arrive at the common area in time for Tristan to get talked into an impromptu game of basketball. Bri and I take a seat at the edge of the flat area, overlooking the lights of the canyon and shortly thereafter, Bailey joins us. She looks like she spent extra time primping today, and that she may have modified her uniform to show more cleavage. Not in the mood for her antics, I watch Blake’s shadowy figure use one of the hilly paths as a makeshift half-pipe, doing various tucks, grabs and turns that I’ve only ever seen on television. If the powers that be are watching, I wonder how long it’ll take him to get busted for boarding rather than spying on the lab rats.

  “So what really happened between you two?” Bri asks me. To Bailey, Bri says, “They had a fight.” Super. Bailey will be all over him. As if she hasn’t been already.

  “Blake’s a great guy, but we see things differently and I’m having a hard time accepting his point of view,” I say, since sharing the truth will never be an option.

  “So you had a big blowout about it?” Bri asks.

  “No. I don’t handle the whole confrontation thing very well. We just stopped talking. I’ve been avoiding him. Which, I know is ridiculous,” I say.

  Bailey pipes in, “I’m not surprised you’re clueless about how to handle this kind of thing, Kira. You got it part way right with the no talking. But where you failed—you forgot about the more touching. And rubbing. And kissing. Less clothes. I’m thinking shower and soap and some of that Theranberry oil…”

  “Stop,” I say. “That’s disgusting.”

  “And that would be why you are incapable of keeping a boyfriend,” Bailey responds.

  “How would you know? And who says I’m not keeping him. We’re just having a small disagreement,” I snap.

  “Oh, I know you, Kira,” Bailey sneers. “Or at least girls like you. Miss Goody-Freaking-Ugly-Shoes. You’re good at snagging the guys, because they all want to taint the whole innocent act you’ve got going on. But when you don’t put out, they go looking elsewhere.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she was talking about Tristan. Since, I’m pretty sure Blake hasn’t been getting anything on the side of our fake deal. He’s too freaked about accidentally Cleaving, just like me.

  “Get. Your. Own. Boyfriend, why don’t you?” I say. “Mine is taken.”

  “He’s always been my boyfriend, Kira. He just doesn’t realize it yet,” Bailey says. “He will, though, I assure you.”

  “Gads, Bailey. You’re seriously PMSing today,” Bri says. To me, “You sure you can’t talk it through with him and work it out? I still think you guys’d make great Cleaves and have wicked cute babies.” I know the reason she’s asking. The thought of me being on the market must have her panicked. Little does she have to fear. Tristan’s toast and not so dear. Ha. I crack myself up.

  “We’ll eventually work it out, but I wouldn’t start planning any baby showers,” I say. Bailey smirks, but Bri looks at me oddly, and I realize she may no longer know what a baby shower is, so she’s probably picturing babies falling from the sky.

  We watch as Blake abrupt
ly screeches to a stop in the canyon, his board flying up and nearly scalloping Spud Rosenberg’s head. They’re too far for me to hear the conversation, but with Spud’s animated arm waving and Blake’s defensive body language I can imagine the tone. Blake wasn’t sent here to improve his boarding skills, but to befriend and spy on the Second Chancers, and his anti-social stance is contrary to the Plan. I see him glance at us before pushing off and heading our way.

  “Ladies,” he says with a nod to Bri and Bailey, before taking a left towards a group of guys.

  “Hold on, Blake,” Bailey says. “Not so fast. Come here, I have to ask you something.” Blake looks a little fearful, but stops and waits for her to approach him.

  Bailey puts her hands on his chest and rubs him up and down suggestively. “We’re having a dinner party at Bri and Tristan’s house this morn. You have to come,” she says and then she whisper something in his ear that makes him turn beet red. Blake’s eyes shift first to Bailey’s lips, then to me, and then to Spud Rosenberg who is making his way up the hill before he looks back at Bailey and answers. She probably mentioned the oil in the shower thing and he kind of looks like he’s considering her proposition.

  “Sure. Sounds, uh, exciting,” he says. “I’ll see you there,” looking Bailey directly in the eyes, which causes a visible swoon to occur. Even Briella looks affected. This isn’t lost on Tristan who caught sight of the exchange from the nearby basketball court and exits to come protect his interests. Not wanting to watch Bailey and Bri ogle Blake any longer, I depart for the gym early, hoping to get changed and on a treadmill before the masses. There’s no way my sore body can handle Tristan’s circuit or the subsequent hate that’d be directed towards me if I agreed to a repeat of the other night.

  Seeing the density of kids packed into Tristan and Bri’s small home makes me shudder with discomfort, not because I’m unhappy to have plenty of distractions from Blake and Tristan, but because the last party I went to with these same people didn’t end so well. The dining table is heaped with goodies and the kitchen filled with bottled waters and soft drinks. Seemingly tame, but something’s off, because it’s only a half hour in and kids are already pairing up and slurring words. What did I miss? I wasn’t that late, only stopping home to take some pain meds, and psych myself up for the event by watching the sunrise from our sunroom.

  I must have missed the memo about wearing party attire, probably because I didn’t realize the skimpy stuff in my dresser was earmarked for that purpose and not some sleazy swimsuit photo shoot. The girls’ outfits make our workout attire look modest, consisting of a sparkly gold tube top and an itty-bitty green tube skort. The boys’ attire is somewhat better, though still right out of some seventies’ disco movie, with a shirtless gold vest and tight shimmery green pants.

  Art skills are being put to use painting bodies, with what I hope to be temporary greenish-blue tattoos. Bri shows me the technique. Then has me practice on her. I’m able to apply a quick Garden Valley High logo to her exposed shoulder blade.

  If the Grand Council were to stop by I’d envision a whole new host of rules would be born, unless they know and look the other way to encourage as many Cleavings to happen as possible.

  I head towards the kitchen to find a drink, but when I see Blake practically drooling at Bailey’s cleavage while she whispers more not-so-sweet nothings into his ear, I promptly turn around.

  “Darn,” I hear behind me. “I was looking forward to seeing you in… less.” I turn to see Tristan, who appears to be imagining me in less than less. “Want a drink?” he says, offering me a glass.

  “What is it?” I ask about the drink, studying his face. His eyes betray the fact that he’s partaken of some mind-altering substance, which I want no part of. My pain meds have already kicked in enough to make me a little loopy.

  “Relax,” he says, as he hands me the cup. “It’s just Theranberry juice.” I smell it and it certainly doesn’t smell like alcohol, but sip it warily regardless. Its flavor is strong, but pleasant like its scent, closest to Hawaiian passionfruit with a hint of berry and citrus. Despite my thirst there’s no way I’m going to down it quickly until I know how Tristan and the others got their ‘high.’ Lucas and a pack of inebriated friends come over to bro-hug Tristan and nod their approval at our conversation, before making a kitchen run.

  “Thanks for the drink,” I say, raising my glass and looking around. “This is quite the rager. Are all your parties like this?”

  “Everyone’s got to eat, right?” he says. “We might as well have fun doing it. Let me show you around,” he adds, motioning me forward, as if his house layout isn’t identical to my own.

  “Looks familiar,” I say.

  “Not the artwork,” he says, taking my hand and leading me back towards the bedrooms. Crap, I do not want to be alone with my dead ex-boyfriend, particularly when his restraints are loosened. He ushers some kids out and closes the door behind us. “The painting’s incredible, isn’t it?” Not really, I think. Looks like a kindergartner tackled this mural, although I’m sure someone would label it modern art.

  “It is different,” I say, immediately turning around and towards the door. “I should get back out there and get to know more people.” And make sure Bailey hasn’t convinced Blake to Cleave her yet.

  “What’s your hurry? You have yet to get to know me and I promise you that I’m the most interested person here in getting to know you. Particularly now that you’ve dumped your loser boyfriend,” he says, pinning me with my back to the door. I squirm and grimace at his proximity, but he leans in to try to entrance me. Doesn’t work. Whatever he’s on has sucked the luster right out of his eyes. And his breath’s fruity, but too strong, reminding me of his drinking days.

  “Blake’s not a loser and this is not the way to get to know me,” I say, feeling woozier than I should.

  “You must be popping something stronger than TB to think that Blake has any redeeming value. He’s a loner with zero social skills,” he says, eyes lasered on me.

  “Ugh. Please back up,” I say, pushing him far enough to wedge my way around him. “You don’t know the first thing about him, or me. And the only thing I’ve ‘popped’ is pain meds for my abdominal pain. What’s TB?”

  “You’ll be teebed soon enough,” he chuckles as he traps me again and pushes my hair away from my eyes. “Fine, defend the boy with the itsy-bitsy cleaver. You’ll come around to my way of thinking when you see what he’s not packing.”

  I ignore the insult to Blake’s manhood, since I doubt Tristan has firsthand knowledge. There’s no love lost there. “Did you drug me?” I say. “What’s in here?” I ask, sloshing my drink around my cup, before setting it down atop his dresser and vowing to never accept another drink from him that isn’t in a closed container. From his expression, he confirms my worst fears.

  “You just need to loosen up a little and have some fun,” he says, pulling me towards him and trying to plant a big one on my lips. The move, altogether too familiar, fails as I turn my head in time for him to suck cheek. Just then the door opens to a very angry looking Briella and Blake. Bailey’s behind them and looks thrilled to see my tenuous situation.

  “In our house? Right under my nose? Really?” Briella says to both of us.

  “What can I say?” Tristan says. “She’s been all over me.” I roll my eyes, push him away again, and shuffle towards the door. My legs move robotically, the drugs hampering with my motor function. As I respond my words slur together.

  “He’s wasted. He drugged me with something called TB, whatever that is, which by the way does not mix well with pain medicine. Nothing happened, nor would it have, despite the roofie. But you guys can believe whatever you want. I’m going home. Thanks for the party, Bri. Sorry about this whole deal.”

  “You drugged her?” Blake says, pushing Tristan against the wall. Tristan reacts by swinging his right arm towards Blake’s jaw, which Blake avoids Matrix-style, before landing a hook of his own in Tristan’s gut.
This has little effect on Tristan who charges Blake full throttle, albeit impaired by whatever he imbibed. Blake sidesteps just enough to get the advantage and flip Tristan onto his back, knocking the wind out of him. Blake stands over Tristan and says, “You try it again and I’ll have no issue facing Exile to make you pay. Understand?”

  Tristan doesn’t bother getting up. Still flat on his back and with belabored breath he says, “What’s your problem? Both of you? Everyone gets teebed here and I had no freaking idea she’d downed pain meds before showing. It was harmless.”

  “I couldn’t give a crap what everyone else does. We don’t do TB or anything like it, understand? And it’s not harmless when you don’t ask first,” Blake says, still fuming. “TB, teebed—what is it?” he says to Bri.

  “It’s not real kosher to talk outside our group, understand?” she says to him.

  “Spill,” Blake says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I won’t mention it to anyone.”

  “The Theranberry bushes in the canyon… The boys figured out the berries and roots give a good buzz. When they’re on it they’re ‘teebed.’ So we always have the juice and root powder on hand for parties. It livens things up, but I’ve never seen someone react the way Kira has—it must be because of her meds,” she says, likely referring to the fact I’ve become as flexible and useful as a wet noodle. Unable to walk, I slump into a pile on the floor. Blake looks even more furious now that the ruse has been explained. He starts towards Tristan, leg up as if he’s going to stomp on him, but upon giving me a gander he thinks the better of it.

  “I’m going to take her home. She’ll never get there by herself,” Blake says as he scoops me into his arms.

  “Sorry,” Bri says. I attempt to wave to her as we leave.

  Blake carries me home and promptly dumps me onto my bed. In my uninhibited state he’s looking pretty darn attractive and appealing.

  “Don’t leave,” I say.

  “What?” he says in an angry tone, though he leans over me to make sure I’m not having a medical issue.