Only Ever Yours

by Louise O'Neill

  He’s wearing away at my resistance with all of his questions. He asks about isabel and I tell him I’m worried about her. He likes that; he seems to think this proves that I am a good person. I don’t tell him that isabel doesn’t want anything to do with me. I don’t tell him I’m afraid it’s because there is something rotting inside of me, something you can only smell if you get too close. I don’t tell him that she has broken my heart.

  “Why is she isolating herself?” he asks. “It’s kind of you to be so concerned.”

  “We were friends for years,” I say. “I can’t just stop caring overnight.”

  However much I wish I could.

  I turn the conversation back to him. He tells me about music he likes, movies he’s watched and novels he’s read. When I mention the confiscated picture books that I had looked at as a child, he smuggles in a collection of short stories. I hold the book in my hands, feeling the wafer thinness of the paper between my fingertips, examining the markings on the pages. He reads aloud to me, and it’s like magic as he translates the squiggles into words, sentences, stories.

  “I wish I could read too.”

  “I’ll read to you whenever you want.” He tosses the book aside, kissing a trail from my ear to my cheek before claiming my mouth, erasing all my thoughts until I am lost and I don’t know where he ends and I begin. When he kisses me, I want to unzip his skin and step inside him, become a part of him so that we can be together forever, so that no one, not even the Father, could separate us. It’s when we stop kissing that the thoughts come back, sharpening their blades. His hands hover by my stomach, making achingly slow circles, lower and lower until he starts playing with the zipper on my skinny cord jeans.

  “I can’t,” I say, hoping that he’ll try to persuade me to keep going.

  “Are you sure?” His voice is husky, his body still pressed against mine, pushing me against the hard glass.

  Of course I’m not sure.

  “I’m sorry, Darwin.”

  I would if I knew that it wouldn’t change how he felt about me. I would if I knew that he was going to choose me and make me a Judge’s companion.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. I can’t risk it.

  He leans away from me and takes a couple of deep breaths.

  “Have you ever done it before?” I ask him as I sit down, avoiding his eyes.

  “Of course.”

  “What age were you? What was it like?”

  “What? The first time?”

  I nod as he sits beside me, stretching his legs out parallel to mine.

  “I was twelve. My dad organized an hour with a concubine for my birthday.”

  I think back to when we celebrated our 12th design date. We were allowed to eat whatever food we wanted, stuffing our faces with sweeties and chocco and ice-kream. We all fell into a sugar coma when the lamps were turned off, rubbing our swollen bellies, only to be awoken at 4:30 a.m. for a three-hour gym session to atone for our sins. Fat girls should be made obsolete. No will ever love a fat girl.

  “My mother thought it was too young, but my dad insisted,” he says. “Afterward he took me for beer. I started to feel really light-headed so I secretly dumped half of it into this plastic cactus next to our table.” His voice is becoming more and more animated as he tells the story. “The next morning he said he was satisfied with how I was shaping up, that I seemed able to handle both my beer and my women.”

  “And how was it?”

  “How was what?” he asks, happily lost in the memory of his dad’s approval.

  “The sex,” I say impatiently, before controlling myself and smiling sweetly to disguise my flash of irritation.

  “Oh yeah. It was fine. Good. She seemed to enjoy herself anyway. Are you jealous?” he crows delightedly as I smile crookedly at him, my mouth tightening. “And I thought you didn’t care.”

  “I’m not jealous,” I say, softening my voice. “All men go to concubines. It’s no big deal.”

  “Of course not,” he says, his smile fading. “You’re not the jealous type.”

  He holds me away from him, staring at me. No one has ever looked at me like that before, as if I’m everything they never knew they even wanted.

  “You’re staring at her again!” cara pokes me and my spoon jolts, spilling cucumber soup down my dove-gray silk T-shirt.

  “Be careful,” I bark at her, ignoring the girls’ surprised faces. They would be edgy too if they couldn’t sleep. I’m trying to wean myself off SleepSound. My recovery period is over so chastity-ruth is refusing to give me extra supplies anyway, and I’ve told chastity-anne I don’t want my normal dosage at night. Darwin hates people taking medication.

  “No need to bite my head off,” she replies, digging around in her handbag before throwing me a wet wipe. I dab at the stain, groaning as I spread it wider across my chest. “I didn’t do it on purpose.” She looks hurt, drawing her hair over one shoulder and pulling at it, a dusting of blond hairs falling across the table.

  “I’m worried about isabel,” I admit quietly so that the others can’t overhear.

  “That’s obvious.” Of course megan is listening. “You can’t stop staring at her.”

  “I’m worried about her.”

  “She’s a big girl …”

  “Not so big anymore!” jessie giggles to liz.

  “… she can take care of herself,” megan finishes, smoothing her hair into a loose chignon. She looks lovely today, her yellow halter-neck dress cut daringly low, cinched in at the waist and flowing out to a full skirt.

  “I don’t know.”

  “freida, we’ve talked about this.” megan shakes her head in frustration, bulbous sapphire earrings banging off her neck. “Who cares about isabel?”

  We all look at her, sitting alone again, wearing a marl-gray T-shirt dress with cutout panels at the side, her ribs thrusting through her skin like crocodiles’ teeth. She seems to wear less and less clothing these days, as if she wants to draw attention to her shrinking body, using her emerging skeleton as a disguise. But it’s still isabel, still the girl who used to laugh loudly and often, her mouth wide open as if she found our world so delicious she wanted to swallow it whole.

  “Where are you going?” megan hisses. If I am a Judge’s companion, she will never hiss at me again.

  “isabel.”

  She ignores me and keeps playing with her cucumber soup, ladling a spoonful before tipping it back into the bowl.

  “I’m worried about you.” I crouch beside her. “You have got to start eating.”

  The background hum is dying down. I can hear swishing as people turn in their seats to look at us.

  “Leave it, freida,” she whispers, staring into her soup bowl. It feels so good to hear her say my name that my eyes sting. “It’s better this way.”

  “What are you talking about?” My voice is echoing in the hushed room, louder than I intended. “What’s better this way?”

  “Lower your voice, #630.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, standing up straight to meet those wolf-gray eyes, “but I can’t stand by and watch my friend starve to death.” I point at isabel, who is trying to pretend that this conversation has nothing to do with her. “She’s wasting away. She only gets the 0-kcal option at mealtimes, and then throws most of her food away, and no one is doing anything to stop her.” Anger is crawling in my debt, searching for a crumb of SleepSound to smother it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. Darwin doesn’t like girls who take drugs.

  “What are her weighins like?” I lash out, a flash of lightning running through me, white hot. “It doesn’t fucking look like she’s within target range to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say as the curse word shoots into the air, exploding like a firecracker. “That just slipped out. I’m sorry.”

  “Interesting.” chastity-ruth suppresses a smile as she scans isabel’s wasted body. “Perhaps you are correct, #630. But don’t worry your little head about it. We will take care of isabel.” At t
his, isabel’s face crumples like a chocco wrapper held over an open flame.

  “As much as I appreciate your desire to assist us …” she rolls the sleeves of her robes up as if preparing for a fight—“I cannot allow you to disturb the peace during mealtimes.”

  I wait for isabel to defend me but she is motionless, reading the lines on the palms of her hands like a treasure map.

  “#630, what am I going to do with you? This is the second ePad that you have broken this year.”

  “I’m sorry, chastity-ruth.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it, I’m afraid. Apologies are not going to pay for a replacement computer, are they? I don’t know why I continue to be surprised at how utterly useless you are.”

  “It’s not her fault,” isabel broke in. “I broke it. It was my fault. freida was just trying to be a good friend.”

  She kicked me in the shin under the table and I kept quiet.

  “Very well, isabel,” the chastity said finally, her lips tight with annoyance. “You may give #630 your old ePad in replacement.”

  That evening isabel had a new computer, a thinner, lighter one with a hot-pink cover. “A present,” she said.

  I wanted it. I wanted a present too.

  And instantly my gratitude broke, cut to shreds by jealousy.

  “Thank you for the apology,” chastity-ruth says. “However, I’m afraid I’m still going to have to chastise you for your rather ugly display of insolence. What will it be … what will it be?” She taps her mouth with her fingertips. “Ah, yes! I know. You shall be ineligible for the next session of Heavenly Seventy.”

  “But …” I stutter, disbelief and panic spontaneously combusting in my chest, “that’s not fair.”

  She turns away and I want to scream, pick up isabel’s tray of uneaten food and throw it at her. I want to fling a bucketful of Unacceptable Emotions and watch them splash all over her face like paint.

  Nice girls don’t get angry.

  I clutch at the empty locket hanging around my neck, wishing more than anything for it to be full again.

  “So, after that little incident, I’m afraid #630 is unavailable for selection today,” chastity-ruth informs the Inheritants.

  “That hardly seems appropriate, ruth,” Albert says, failing to detect the faint pucker of her lips as he drops the “chastity.” “Surely it’s up to us men to decide whom we want to choose.”

  chastity-ruth is firm. “The chastisement of the eves is under my jurisdiction while they are still at School.”

  There is a frisson of anticipation in the room, everyone wondering who my lucky replacement is going to be. I don’t look up. I don’t want to see Darwin choose someone else, see him walk into our cupboard with another eve.

  And all this because of isabel. I’ve lost precious time with Darwin because of someone who barely acknowledges my existence. Everyone must think I’m so stupid. I am so stupid.

  “Mr. Darwin, who will it be today?” chastity-ruth asks, padding her way softly through the classroom until she’s standing beside me, presumably to have a better view of my misery.

  “I think,” his voice is careful, every eve in the room holding her breath, “I’ll go with agyness.”

  agyness doesn’t move. Earbuds already in place and watching a Nature Channel rerun on her desktop, she cries out in pain when megan grinds a heel into her foot.

  “What?” she asks, looking in confusion when megan points furiously at Darwin. And then I know. He’s chosen her as a message to me, the only eve in our class I won’t feel threatened by. And I feel like I can breathe for the first time since lunch, the tension thawing out of my shoulders.

  “What is Darwin’s deal?”

  “I know! Is he only into freaks?” gisele pauses for a second too long. “Not including you, freida, obviously.”

  Her fake smile is nauseating. We’re at our usual table in the Nutrition Center, but no one is monitoring the buffets. There could be a run on death-by-chocolate puddings and I doubt it would merit a comment.

  “Wait, here she comes,” megan mutters.

  agyness is drifting dreamily away from chastity-anne’s desk, balancing her tray and her vial of daily meds, her peacock-blue maxi dress sweeping the tiles.

  “agy!” megan calls to her, stacks of thin gold bangles clinking on her wrist as she waves.

  “Good day to you, my fellow eves,” agyness announces theatrically, the other girls barely suppressing eye-rolls.

  “I love your dress. The color is adorable on you!”

  agyness looks down at her dress to remind herself what she is wearing.

  “Oh yes!” she says, her velvety skin going pink with excitement. “I was watching a program on peacocks the other day so I requested a dress in the same shade.”

  “So, tell us …” megan’s voice drops as liz asks jessie what a “peecuck” is, “what happened during Heavenly Seventy?”

  “You were there.” agyness blinks.

  “I wasn’t in the cupboard, was I? What happened with Darwin in the cupboard?”

  “You said after the first week it was unfair to discuss what happened during the task,” agyness says, and I bite my lip, trying not to laugh out loud.

  “agyness, just tell us what happened.”

  “Well, nothing.” agyness makes a face to indicate her tray is getting heavy. “We talked.”

  “Talked?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is with this guy and talking?” megan says, turning her back on agyness. “We’re done here. You can go.”

  “She’s painful,” she sighs as agyness floats away. “Well, Darwin sure likes to talk, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah. What’s that about?” daria asks, shaking her wispy bangs out of her eyes.

  “What if he’s an aberrant?” liu exclaims, breathless with excitement that she’s been allowed to sit with us for once.

  “He can’t be. He’s a Judge’s son,” megan snarls, and liu quakes, panicking that she might have ruined her chances of sitting with us ever again. megan catches herself. “And, liu,” she adds smoothly, “you know as well as I do, no aberrants have been born since they made those prenatal tests mandatory. Are you questioning the Genetic Testers’ ability to identify the aberrant gene?”

  “No, of course not,” liu whispers. “I was … I was only joking. Of course I don’t think Darwin is an aberrant.”

  “He’s definitely not,” I blurt out. There is a roar of raucous laughter, a sliver of food flying out of cara’s mouth and landing on the table, making everyone laugh even louder. Questions fly at me, jumbling on top of each other.

  “Are you in love with him?” cara laughs, pressing her hands to her heart.

  “No.” megan’s voice is low but there’s something in it that makes everyone stop laughing instantly. “She can’t be. That would be love before marriage, wouldn’t it?”

  “I’m not in love with him,” I scoff to hide the fear prickling in my chest at her words. “Of course I’m not.”

  Chapter 21

  “Thank you.” I make myself break away from Darwin. I’ve wanted to say thank you since he chose me for today’s Heavenly Seventy, but once the doors of the cupboard closed behind us, he had his hands in my hair and his mouth was on mine, and I forgot where I was. He always makes me forget.

  “For what?”

  “For choosing agyness.” I blush, afraid I’m presuming too much. “At the last Heavenly Seventy session.”

  “Ah, the future chastity-agyness! The first one since chastity-magdalena, I do believe.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “I pay attention, freida.” Darwin winks mischievously at me. He is so cute. We kiss again and my mind goes liquid.

  “agyness is nice,” he says as he pulls me into his chest, his legs wrapped around mine. “I’ve had some great Interactions with her. She’s smart. It’s almost like talking with a guy.”

  “Don’t say that outside this cupboard,” I say, becoming serious. “If chastity
-ruth hears you say that about agyness, she’ll be in trouble.”

  “They’re hardly going to think she’s an aberrant. They sorted that problem out years ago.”

  I freeze, but he doesn’t seem to notice, his lips tracing the veins in my skin.

  “A what?” I ask, pushing him off me. “But she’s a girl. There isn’t such a thing as a female aberrant.”

  “I guess not,” he agrees quickly. Too quickly. “Forget it.”

  He starts kissing me again but I can’t concentrate, my brain swirling with thoughts about what this could mean. Images flash into my mind of isabel and me, lying together on my bed, our fingers intertwined as we talked and talked for hours. I’ve never felt the same connection with anyone else that I have with isabel, not even with Darwin. She has been the other half of me for the best part of sixteen years. What does that mean? Is there something unnatural about me? Could isabel sense it? Is that why she’s been avoiding me?

  “No,” I say, pushing him off me. I need to know. “Wait. What did you mean by that?”

  “Come on, freida,” he pleads. “Can we just forget it?”

  “I can’t forget it.” I shuffle away from him until we are sitting parallel, our backs pressed against the cold mirrored wall. I turn my head to look at him. “Don’t you trust me?”

  He hesitates. “Of course I do.” Indecision is etched all over his face. “But, I just—”

  “Please tell me,” I interrupt. I need to know. “Pretty please?”

  I’m rewarded with a reluctant smile. “If I tell you, do you promise that you won’t repeat it to anyone else?”

  “I promise,” I lean over and whisper into his ear. I lick it with the very tip of my tongue and he shudders slightly. I know what he likes.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groans, shaking his head as he reaches into his pocket to get his eFone, angling it toward me so I can see properly. On the screen appears a large rectangular-shaped hall, cast in gray concrete. There are dozens of huge wooden doors along each side, a wooden label on each one.

  “What do they say?”

  “They’re the names of the rooms.”

  “But what do they say?”