Only Ever Yours

by Louise O'Neill

  “Having sex isn’t the issue. Who cares?” georgia ignores grace as she clucks loudly. “And love isn’t that big a deal either.”

  “Love before marriage is forbidden.” grace frowns. “How dare this eve assume that an Inheritant would love her before he had formally chosen her? It’s the height of presumptuousness.”

  “Yeah, but come on,” georgia says. “It’s not like it hasn’t happened before. Every few years or so, some eve always gets a bit soppy and forgets her place.”

  “It’s still unacceptable. The eves have extensive training in the correct behavioral procedures.”

  “It’s still not that big an issue,” georgia insists. “Not to my generation. I know I’m a lot younger than you …” the look grace gives her could shred skin—“but young people won’t care that she had sex with him, or even that she fell in love before marriage. The real problem is that she tried to coerce him into choosing her.” She shakes her head in disbelief, in agreement with the two companions for once.

  “She should have had more control,” tyra says, looking straight to camera. For a moment I feel as if she can see me and I duck out of view. A loud ringing in my ears is drowning them out, only a shrill should have breaking through the white noise. She should have … She should have … She should have …

  megan couldn’t have told them about me begging him to choose me; she didn’t know about it. My mind is racing, following every possible trail through the maze, but it always comes back to the same person. Darwin. It had to have been Darwin.

  “Will they put her on trial?” grace asks.

  “Out of respect for Judge Goldsmith, they will have a private one in the School. Just this freida, Darwin, the Judge himself and the principal chastity,” tyra answers, thrilled to be the one with the inside information.

  “Will she offer a defense?” georgia asks, examining her nail polish for chips.

  “What defense?” grace exclaims. “She is an eve. She was designed to meet a purpose and she has been trained for the last sixteen years to perform in a way that meets that purpose.” I’m nodding in agreement until I remember it’s me they’re talking about. “Any deviation from that is unacceptable. This freida has failed in her duty. She has no defense.”

  There is a huge cheer, the camera moving slowly across the audience, their fervent faces. All of them agree with grace. The screen freezes on them chanting, baying for my blood.

  “Thank you for watching! Tune in tomorrow at 1:00 p.m. for a brand-new episode of The Chit-Chat.”

  The room is filled with commercial jingles. They seep in through my ears, swilling around the emptiness in my head before leaking out again.

  The Chit-Chat theme music blasts out again. I can’t remember how to move my limbs; each one feels like a separate entity from the rest of my body, disconnected and unbearably weighted. Throw it at the walls, I’m screaming silently to myself, staring at the ePad cradled in my hands, but I can’t move.

  “And now for the viewers’ comments. Thanks to all of you who called in today in such unprecedented numbers!”

  The screen crackles and a face appears and another face and then another. There are hundreds of them. Concubines and companions. Youthful faces, faces stretched young. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. They are all women, of course. And every one of them hates me.

  “Disgusting … Has she no self-control?”

  “I couldn’t believe it when I saw the report on the Daily Tale. They said this girl is threatening the very foundations of our society.”

  “The Daily Tale said that she’s not even that good-looking. I mean, she was designed perfectly, of course, but I heard reports she was over target weight at the start of the year.”

  “Oh, I thought the Daily Tale said she was too skinny.”

  “We all went through the School system and we obeyed the rules. Who does this girl think she is?”

  “Poor Darwin. He must have felt so manipulated. The eves are supposed to be trained properly and behave themselves.”

  “Of course he was going to take it if it was offered to him. He’s a man—it’s only natural for him to want to have sex.”

  “Her skin is wrecked-looking, isn’t it?”

  “The Daily Tale says that she has an addiction to sleep medication. They had a report by a physician from the Americas-Zone. He’s never treated her, but he’s seen fotos and said she definitely looks like an addict.”

  “I can’t believe she’s only sixteen. She looks thirty at least.”

  “I agree with the last viewer. Her skin is aged. I could see crow’s feet in some of those fotos.”

  “She should have known better. It’s the Inheritant I feel sorry for.”

  “What does she think is so special about her?”

  I can’t turn it off. I’m shaking the ePad, pressing the off switch as hard as I can and muting the volume, but the comments keep coming. Every doubt I’ve ever had about myself, every whisper of self-hatred that I buried deep inside, it’s all there, pouring from the mouths of strangers. I’m ugly. I’m stupid. I look old. I’m repulsive.

  My stomach heaves and I can’t stop that either. Vomit fills my mouth, sputtering through my lips, and I rush to the bucket at the foot of my bed, hunching over until it’s finished. The smell corkscrews up my nostrils, twisting inside my head. It’s spreading through the small room, painting the walls in its stench.

  3:00 p.m. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  4:00 p.m. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  5:00 p.m. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  Every hour a repeat of the show is shown and I can’t turn it off. It’s the same, again and again and again, but each time I pick up a nuance, a new slur that I missed the first time. I’ve buried the ePad underneath my bed and I’m cowering at the opposite side of the room, hands thrust into my ears to drown it out. But it’s getting louder, the words bouncing off the glass surfaces, hunting me down.

  6:00 p.m. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  A red glaze descends over my eyeballs and I grab the ePad from underneath the bed and open it, throwing it as hard as I can at the wall. It bounces off the glass, falling to the ground with a reassuring thud. An electric spark jumps, like a match being struck. The computer screen is shattered, tiny shards of glass glittering on the floor. For a blissful moment, all I can hear is my jagged breath.

  Then the walls turn black, an ear-splitting crack whipping through the room. Crackling lines of static appear on the walls as the mirrors melt away, shaping into pictures, into people, moving and talking.

  “I knitted that myself girls!” grace is saying proudly, not a blond hair out of place. And she’s in the walls and she’s on the ceiling and they’re all there and they’re talking about me, about me, about me, about me.

  7:00 p.m. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  8:00 p.m. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  I’m clawing at the glass wall hiding my dressing room, trying to open it with my ruined nails and the heels of my shoes, blood splitting through my skin. My SleepSound is in there. If I can get to it, I can stop this. I can drown it out.

  9:00 p.m. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  10:00 p.m. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  I’m electrified. My skin is crawling with a million fleas eating into my flesh. The smell of the urine and bile is billowing through the room. I’m breathing it into my lungs, deep into my body. The walls flash with faces, all listing my failings.

  11:00 p.m. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  Midnight. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  I’m banging my head against the steel door, blood clots popping in my head like bubble wrap, and I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.

  4:00 a.m.
“Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  tyra, grace, and georgia dance across the glass; they are everywhere and everywhere. I cover my ears and close my eyes but they are inside my head.

  They are inside my head.

  8:00 a.m. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  My bones are growing and my skin is shrinking. I am too much, too big for this body. I want to break every bone inside me. I want to scrape off all this flesh, clean out the shit that makes me what I am, start anew. Maybe then they’ll stop.

  I watch grace sip her tea in the ceiling.

  “She is an eve. She was designed to meet a purpose and she has been trained for the last sixteen years to perform in a way that meets that purpose.”

  I’m mouthing the words along with her. I know it all by heart now.

  “I can’t believe she’s only sixteen. She looks thirty at least,” jordan, twenty-seven, a companion with three beautiful boys who are the light of her life, says, and I agree with her, I agree with her. “What do you think, jordan?” I ask her in a friendly voice. “Tell me what you think. Because I can’t believe this freida girl is only sixteen. She looks thirty at least.” Fotos of me flash on the walls, on the ceiling, red circles looping around my tired eyes and gray skin and what looks to be the beginning of a frown line. jordan and I chorus together, “I can’t believe she’s only sixteen. She looks thirty at least,” again and again and again.

  I am eating myself. I am an identity cannibal.

  10:00 a.m. “Welcome to The Chit-Chat! And here are your hosts …”

  grace is pouring the cup of tea for tyra again (is it my imagination or does hurt briefly flicker on georgia’s face when she isn’t offered any? I hadn’t noticed before) when the power suddenly cuts, folding the room in darkness. The door inches open and the room explodes with light, particles of dust shimmering in its steamy haze. I fall back in the corner of the bed, pressing my spine against the crook where the base and side wall meet. I hold my hand in front of my face, blinking furiously. A black blob comes toward me, and for a moment I think the door has come to life in an effort to grant me my freedom. The edges harden as the blob morphs into chastity-anne. Her eyes, like two navy buttons sewn into her face, dart around the room, taking in the empty plastic bottles, the disheveled bedding furrowed around me, the streaks of blood smeared on the steel casing of my changing room. The stink hits her and she gags, her face concertinaing in on itself. She stares at the overflowing bucket, clumps of vomit floating in it. There is a puddle pooling around the base of the bucket, staining the edges of the snow-white valance sheet.

  “What?” I ask.

  She points at the wall behind me. The gold lace dress clings to my grimy body, soiled with dark patches under my arms and around the skirt. My skin is dreary with sleeplessness. (I can’t believe I’m only sixteen. I look thirty at least. Don’t you agree, jordan? Don’t you agree?) My hair is matted with dried blood and vomit, clumped into knots, and there is a shadowy ring forming around my forehead, creeping into my eye, like a crown of bruises. I touch it, gasping as the pain pulsates.

  “Come with me, freida.”

  “Where’s chastity-magdalena?” She’s the only one who might be able to help me. “I need to talk to her.”

  “magdalena has been assigned a different duty at this time,” chastity-anne says, her voice sounding rehearsed. “Now let’s go.”

  “Out of respect for Judge Goldsmith, they will have a private one in the School. Just this eve, Darwin, the Judge himself and the principal chastity,” tyra had said, barely concealed glee in her voice.

  “Where are we going? Are we going to see Darwin?” I ask again, my voice rising anxiously. “Can I get changed first?”

  He can’t see me like this. He’ll think I’m ugly. The open corridor beyond my room beckons, the black-and-white tiles forming a road map to freedom. I shuffle to the edge of the bed, pressing the soles of my feet against the ground. Gritting my teeth, I propel myself forward, aiming for the now deserted dormitory.

  “Oh, freida.” chastity-anne steps neatly in front of me, shaking her head. “Where would you run to?”

  We are sealed in.

  “Do I have to go?”

  “Do you have a choice?” she replies, hands folded within the shroud of her cloak so it looks as if her head is floating on top of a black cloud.

  “Do you have any meds you can give me?” I come as close as I can to her without touching and she takes a step back, gagging at my ripeness.

  “I’ll be calmer.” I’ll promise her anything. “I’ll give a better impression of the School that way.”

  “Fine,” she sighs, pale hands peeping out of the sleeves of her cloak and reaching into a pocket at her waist. She pulls out a test tube, clicks a small lever twice and dispenses two capsules, which she drops into the palm of my hand. They are chalk-white and round without any distinguishing markings.

  “What are these?” I gulp them down before she has a chance to answer. “I’ve never seen them before.”

  “Does it matter?”

  The halls are empty. In the few minutes it takes to get to the chastity quarters, the meds start blowing bubbles of serenity through my bloodstream. I stumble, grazing off chastity-anne, and she flinches.

  “Ssssorry,” I whisper.

  She curls her body around the small golden box to input the access code without my seeing it. The gates spring open and she hurries along the candle-lit passageway, urging me to keep up with her. The brass peephole in the huge oak door slides open.

  “You’re late,” chastity-ruth says in reproach, a frown line burrowed between her flint-gray eyes. She shudders when I come into the light, but it doesn’t bother me. A luscious dullness seeps into my brain. She raises an eyebrow at chastity-anne.

  “Somnolin. I thought it would make her more manageable.”

  “True.” chastity-ruth waves me in. “Perhaps we should start grinding it into their food. You may go now, anne.”

  I follow her into the chastity office. It has exploded with light since I was last here; it’s shining from every wall. There is a man sitting in chastity-ruth’s chair, one with snow-white hair, deep lines scored into his forehead. His navy suit and navy-and-yellow polka-dot tie do little to disguise his bulk, rolls of fat spilling from his shirt like a ruff collar. His features are scrunched into the middle of his moon-shaped face, sparse white eyebrows over deep-set eyes, thin lips pulled back disdainfully.

  “So this is the girl who has been causing so much trouble,” he growls. “Really, ruth, has the benchmark for beauty at the School fallen so low?”

  “She’s been unwell, Judge Goldsmith. Ordinarily she would be of a higher standard.”

  That’s the nicest thing chastity-ruth has ever said about me.

  He clutches the sides of the chair and heaves himself up, the armrests quivering in protest. Within two strides he is in front of me. His mud-brown eyes are cold. “You reek,” he says, and backs away, sinking into the wooden seat. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Yes, Judge Goldsmith.” chastity-ruth grabs two chairs from the side of the room and drags them around the desk. She sits on the edge of a seat, an eager student. Why is she staring at me like that?

  “#630.” Her voice sounds as if it is drowning within a wall of water. “Sit down.”

  She points at me, then to the seat beside her. I collapse limply, the chair so low that my face is level with the edge of the desk.

  “Obviously we don’t want the eves to be too intelligent, ruth, but the ability to follow simple directions would be helpful.”

  “I’m sorry, Judge Goldsmith.”

  “Just one more thing we will address in our investigation,” he replies, cracking his hairy knuckles one by one. “But that’s a matter for another day. Today we are here to consider the claims that eve #630 attempted to manipulate an Inheritant, Mr. Darwin Goldsmith, into choosing her as his companion, despite knowing that such be
havior is prohibited. She also declared love before marriage, despite knowing that this too is prohibited.” He taps his ePad and gives a VoiceCommand to start recording. “Do you have anything that you want to say for yourself, eve #630?”

  I have no words.

  He pushes the sleeves of his suit back, creasing them up to his elbows. His arms are covered in hundreds of white hairs. “We shall introduce the main witness.” He shouts at the door. “Darwin, you can come in now.”

  Deep beneath the clouds of the drugs, something moves in my heart. I let it go.

  “Thank you,” Darwin says politely as chastity-ruth dashes to hold the door open. He walks toward the desk, taking his place at his father’s right-hand side. They’re wearing identical suits. Darwin has slicked back his dark curls with gel and his tanned face is closely shaven.

  “freida!” he cries out when he sees me. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “Control yourself,” his father says, and grabs his broken wrist. Darwin’s mouth forms a soundless gasp, his face blanching in pain. Judge Goldsmith lets go and Darwin falls back into place, staring at a spot on the wall behind me.

  “Darwin,” Judge Goldsmith begins, reaching into a pocket on the inside of his suit jacket and retrieving a pair of spectacles. He takes an eggshell-colored handkerchief from his breast pocket and sets about cleaning the lenses meticulously. “Please tell us exactly what happened between you and eve #630. Speak slowly and clearly.”

  “freida …” Darwin begins before the Judge coughs pointedly.

  I don’t want to hear this.

  “I mean, #630 and I got to know each other through the eve/Inheritant Interactions. I chose her a number of times for Heavenly Seventy …”

  This is a play, like they used to have in the time before us, I decide, and I make myself float out of the top of my head and hover on the ceiling, looking down at the bodies in the room below. This is a performance. This has nothing to do with me.

  “Please explain to the court what Heavenly Seventy is,” the fat man interjects, putting his glasses on. The younger boy looks around at the office and the few people in it.