Only Ever Yours

by Louise O'Neill

  “Um, sure.” He continues. “It’s a task where the Inheritants choose an eve that they want to spend time with in private.”

  “And whom did you choose?” the man asks.

  “You know who I chose. I’ve told you this already.” The Judge swivels slowly in his chair, his eyes glacial. “I mean,” the young man adds quickly, “I chose #630.”

  “And why did you choose #630?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was she the only person you could have chosen? Were all the other eves taken when you made your selection?”

  “No,” he answers. “I always got to choose first.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Because I’m the #1 Inheritant.”

  “Any why is that?”

  “Because I’m a Judge’s son.”

  “So, as a Judge’s son, you were entitled to certain privileges.”

  “Yes,” the son says in a low voice.

  “How fortunate you are. You may continue.”

  “I chose her a few times and I guess she got the wrong idea, because the last time we were together she was hysterical and started begging me to make her my companion.”

  A look trembles between the two men. Did one of them forget his lines? The older man trains his brutal stare on the young girl. She’s slumped in a chair, her legs and arms falling at strange angles, like a broken doll.

  “#630, an eve may only love a man that has chosen her to be his companion. This is because men have the necessary experience and intelligence to choose better for you than you could choose for yourself.” He looks at the hollowed-out shell of a girl, openly sneering. “And how you thought that the son of a Judge would choose you …” The boy beside him winces. “The standards are slipping, ruth,” the man says, pressing his fingertips against the wooden desk. “She should be thrown on the pyre.”

  The girl’s head lolls on her shoulders, as silent as if they had cut out her tongue.

  “What?” the boy cries out. “You can’t do that.”

  “Be quiet.” The older man turns to look at him, anger crackling off him like hot oil spitting from a pan.

  “No.” The boy is rash. “You can’t do that. You’re making too big a deal out of this.” He stares at the younger girl. “freida, I’m—” he begins before his dad cuts across him.

  “Too big a deal?” he says, hefting his bulk back into the chair. The wood moans in protest. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong. We have rules. You do realize we have rules, don’t you, boy?” The younger boy nods, his face coloring with embarrassment.

  “I don’t know if you do. Because if you did, I don’t think you would say that we were making ‘too big a deal’ out of this at all.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “You’re right to be sorry. Because you, of all people, need to believe that it’s imperative to stick to the rules. Rules that you, the future Judge of the Euro-Zone, will one day enforce. How can you do so if you are prepared to encourage illicit behavior?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Maybe some of those rules seem outdated to you. Maybe they seem overly stringent or exacting. But they are there to protect us. To ensure our survival. If we begin flaunting those rules, what will we have?”

  None of the other characters meets his eyes; all are staring at the floor. I don’t think I like this play very much.

  “Anarchy,” the Judge announces. “Chaos. Destruction. Is that what you want?”

  “No,” the boy mutters.

  “Of course not. Take a look around you. This world is not what it used to be. We are the final bastion of a faltering people.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “But only faltering. Not dying, as our forefathers feared. We have survived because we created a system that works. If we break one rule and then another and another, our system might warp. It might disintegrate. And what would happen then? How can we risk that? How can we jeopardize our survival?”

  “I understand, Father.” The boy hesitates, doubt written on his face. “But why the pyre?” He holds his breath.

  “Why? Because she broke the rules? Because she must be taught a lesson?” The Judge shrugs. “Because we can, I suppose.”

  “It’s not because of me, is it?” the boy says in a very small voice.

  “Darwin, you are the only son of the Euro-Zone’s Judge.” He pats his hair. “These little sluts need to know their place.” He takes off his suit jacket, his flesh straining against his white cotton shirt. “But don’t worry, this one won’t be thrown on the pyre. She isn’t even going Underground, although we should be making a proper example of her, show the rest of them what happens if they get ideas above their station.”

  The bald woman cowers. “I’m afraid that is outside of my control now.”

  “Yes, I know,” the Judge harrumphs. “She’s a lucky one, isn’t she? Aren’t you lucky, freida?”

  freida. That’s me. They’re talking about me.

  I melt back through my bones and I stretch out inside myself, filling my body once more. But it doesn’t feel right. It feels as if I’m wrapping myself in an old coat, familiar and warm, but suddenly ill-fitting. It constricts at the neck, pulls at the arms. I must need more meds. The room is losing its hazy quality; colors are bleeding back in.

  “Lucky?” I croak, as if it’s a word I’ve never heard before.

  “But …” he dismisses me with a wave of his hand—“you have been disqualified from the Ceremony at least. You are to become a chastity. In a nonteaching role of course. We can’t have you infecting the younger eves with your abnormalities.”

  A chastity. I will never leave this School. I will never see beyond these walls. I wait for sorrow to sweep through me but I feel nothing. I am wasted with nothingness.

  “I want to say again, on behalf of all the chastities and myself, how truly sorry I am for this regrettable incident, Judge Goldsmith.” chastity-ruth leans forward in her seat, her chin almost resting on the table. “I will ensure nothing like this happens again.”

  “It had better not,” Judge Goldsmith says. “I’m only glad that it happened with Darwin. He knew the correct protocol to follow at least.” He swivels in his chair to look at his son. “I must say, this almost makes up for your previous indiscretion. I’m proud of you, Darwin.”

  Darwin merely nods, but when his dad turns away to tuck his ePad away in a real leather briefcase, he bites his lower lip to hold in his smile, almost glistening with bliss, and I know how much this means to him. I understand.

  “Darwin,” his dad adds. “This is confidential.”

  “Sure.” Darwin nods, undoing the top button of his shirt and loosening his tie, relaxing now that the trial is over. Judge Goldsmith gets to his feet again, his belly bulging through gaping buttons. He picks up his briefcase, folds his jacket over his arm and dabs his damp face with a handkerchief. Darwin meets my eyes briefly as he walks out. I understand, I try to tell him silently. I understand. And it seems to me that everything we had, everything we ever meant to each other or could have meant, shimmers between us.

  We both look away. We are strangers now.

  “Darwin.” I hear the Judge’s voice behind me. “That includes your mother. I don’t want cecily knowing about this. It’s not her place.”

  “But who will I talk …” Darwin halts midsentence.

  “Who will you talk to?” Judge Goldsmith’s voice rings out. “Don’t be such a pussy, Darwin.” His voice continues: “And as for you … you’re lucky we’re being so lenient. This is your own fault, isn’t it?”

  He’s addressing me. I twist my upper body around, holding onto the back of the chair. The Judge is standing in the doorway, so large I can barely see Darwin behind him.

  “Isn’t it?” he repeats when I just stare blankly at him.

  “Yes,” I whisper. The word tastes gray.

  “Yes, what? I want to hear you say it.”

  “Yes. This is my own fault.”

  “I
can’t believe you thought you would corrupt my son. I have him well trained. Don’t I, boy?”

  He grabs Darwin and puts him in a headlock under his armpit, rubbing his hair roughly. Darwin’s head is pressed up against the huge sweat stain on his dad’s shirt, the leather briefcase coming precariously close to hitting him in the face.

  “What is this shit?” Judge Goldsmith says, shoving him aside and wiping his hands on the lapels of Darwin’s suit. “Hair gel? You can be such a girl at times, Darwin.”

  Darwin straightens up, his face flushed, his hair sticking up in untidy spikes, a greasy smear on his jacket. His hand jerks up to fix his hair but he stops, smiling weakly.

  And they leave, chastity-ruth escorting them to the train that will take them back to the Euro-Zone, out of my life forever. I will never see you again.

  I’m staring at the poster of the Father in front of me as someone enters the room and lays cool hands on my shoulders.

  “I tried, freida. I couldn’t do anything,” chastity-magdalena says, her voice wrought with emotion. “Are you okay? Say something,” she tries again, squeezing my shoulders tighter.

  But there is nothing left to say.

  “The Ceremony marks the day when the eves can finally be divided into their thirds for easier categorization. Whether they become a companion, a concubine or a chastity, all eves must play the role that has been assigned to them.”5

  5. Audio Guide to the Rules for Proper female Behavior, the Original Father

  Chapter 30

  July

  The day of the Ceremony

  Dawn is slowly pouring out of the light-lamps, chasing the shadows away.

  I get out of bed, tossing my hair back to scan myself in the walls as I do every morning. The bruising has turned purple, blackberries blossoming from my scalp to my temples. My eyes look old in my scrubbed face.

  “Happy design date,” I mouth at my reflection. I am seventeen today.

  My room has been cleaned. New bed sheets, the surfaces are sparkling, any signs of my time here removed. It won’t be vacant for long. A new tribe of 4th years will move in tomorrow, eves at the beginning of their journey. Some other girl will call this room her own for the next twelve years until, at last, it is her turn to await her fate in the Ceremony. I wish her better luck.

  Inside my wardrobe I peel off my nightgown and throw it into the trapdoor set in the wall underneath the vanity table. The steel trap of the changing room opens, beeping loudly. I step in, the door closing like a greedy mouth around me. Sensor beams emit from the ceiling and the walls, measuring and evaluating my naked body.

  “You are at target weight. Close your eyes and remain still.”

  After dressing in the chaste black dress that has been selected for me, I stand in my cubicle, staring at my reflection. My hair, slicked into a low bun, looks so beautiful. Why did I never appreciate how beautiful it was?

  “The Ceremony is today. I repeat, the Ceremony is today,” the intercom shrieks. “Please leave all your belongings in your cubicle. These are the property of the School. You will receive appropriate replacements once you join your designated third.”

  A rustle of clothes, of nervous laughter. Muttered curses, furious commands to hurry.

  “What happened to your eye makeup?”

  “I m-m-moved my head too soon. Is it awful?”

  “Well …”

  “It IS awful. I should just KILL MYSELF right now.”

  I slip into place between freja and daria. We walk in single file, stopping at the checkpoint set up at the main dormitory door.

  “I’m not hungry.” angelina puts her hands on her hips, an open-weave knitted dress clinging to her body like a crimson cobweb.

  “I’m sorry, angelina,” chastity-anne says, standing behind a display case. There are dozens of bottles lining the glass counter, and individual test tubes under this, each one full of brightly colored capsules. She reaches into the desk, pulls out the vial with angelina’s foto on it and hands it to her with one of the bottles. angelina scowls but unscrews the top and gulps down her meds with the thick beige liquid.

  “Good girl,” chastity-anne says. “It’s a high-protein drink. It will keep you full until after the Ceremony.”

  “I told you, I’m too excited to be hungry,” angelina says. “Not that other people seem to be having that problem,” she mumbles under her breath as cara swallows the drink down eagerly.

  “I’m not hungry either …” cara rushes to catch up with angelina, her face reddening with guilt—“but chastity-anne said we had to. I’m too nervous to be hungry.”

  The others start to protest as well, claiming stomach pains and cramps, competing to see who is the most anxious. If anyone asked me, I would tell them the truth. I am unaffected by nerves. But no one will ask me.

  “You next.” chastity-anne points at me, handing me my meds and a glass bottle. I hold the bottle up to her in salute. It slides in chunks down my throat.

  I follow the others through the cloisters and up the long nave, counting the tiles beneath my feet.

  “Careful!” daria snarls when I bump into her. She smooths down the brocaded satin of her clinging cheongsam.

  “Sorry.”

  She doesn’t acknowledge my apology. We’re waiting at the entrance to the Hall, chastity-bernadette flapping her hands in worry.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, girls, do you ever walk in sequence properly?” she asks, splitting the twins up and raising her voice to be heard over their complaints.

  “The twins don’t, but the rest of us do,” agyness pipes up cheerfully, and jessie and liz narrow their eyes at her.

  “Thank you, agyness,” chastity-bernadette says. “Ordinarily it’s not that important, but today—”

  “chastity-ruth said the rules are always important,” megan says, pulling at the emerald gemstone necklace tucked neatly underneath the buttoned-up collar of her sleeveless shirt dress. “Especially after recent events.”

  “Of course,” chastity-bernadette splutters. “Excellent point.”

  “And now, freida.” She’s calling us out alphabetically. “Between daria and freja.”

  “Unfortunately,” daria stage-whispers, smirking as the other eves giggle.

  “Isn’t isabel next?” heidi asks jessie. “Where is she?”

  “How am I supposed to know?” jessie answers petulantly, tousling her hair over the left side of her face to cover up her botched eye makeup. “Can you still see it?” she bleats to liz, a few places back.

  “chastity-bernadette?” heidi can’t let it go. “Isn’t isabel supposed to be before jessie?”

  “Oh,” chastity-bernadette says, her cheeks tingeing with pink. “isabel won’t be here today.”

  “Why not?” megan says gleefully. “Is she going to be a chastity, like freida?”

  “eves!” chastity-bernadette’s entire face is flushing with heat now. “Enough of this. Get in sequence.”

  Is isabel going to be a chastity too? I catch my breath but I will not hope. I have learned my lesson about hope.

  We take our seats in the Hall and I lean back to look at the soaring ceiling, the murals etched in gold paint, the colors sparkling in the crystal chandeliers. How much did it cost to build this room? It’s a relic, the vestiges of a lost fortune. They could have used the money for the Engineers’ research, to make the eves prettier and prettier and prettier. There’s always room for Improvement.

  I drop inside myself, urging the Somnolin to weave its magic spell, to blow like fairy dust into my brain.

  The lamps sink, the chandelier light dappling around us as if we’re moving through water. A few of the girls laugh, coiling their hands in the air to watch the lights rippling against their skin.

  The national anthem curls beneath us, the triquetra blazing onto the huge screen, each triangle of the thirds sliced into the other. The chastities sweep past us, marching silently up the marble steps. They line the stage, six on each side of an opulent jewel-encru
sted gold throne. Gazing at the triquetra, they fall to one knee, their heads bowed low. The music reaches a crescendo, drum rolls booming throughout the Hall as the screen draws apart like curtains.

  “Is it?”

  “oh my … it is … it is …”

  “IT’S THE FATHER!”

  Girls are screaming, clutching at each other wildly as they jump to their feet. I am the only one who is unmoved. It doesn’t matter anyway. No one turns to grab my hand, to hug me with excitement.

  The Father stands in the spotlight, one hand raised in salute. He’s wearing a plush gold-colored cloak, an oversized gold medallion around His neck. He slicks back His gray hair as the screen closes behind Him again and the triquetra divides into separate triangles with a swishing sound.

  “Thank you. You are too kind,” He says as the Hall rings with applause. He settles into the throne, His bejeweled fingers resting on the velvet-covered armrests. His black shoes are poking out under the cloak, not quite touching the ground.

  “Thank you,” He says again. “You may be seated.”

  The chastities get to their feet and form a single line behind him. freja claims our shared armrest as her own. She, like all the others, is on the very edge of her seat, feet tapping restlessly against the floor. They are excited, I tell myself. I try to remember what excitement tasted like.

  “I am delighted to be here today to welcome you into your thirds. I know how eager you are to finally make a contribution to the society that has done so much for you.” He licks his lips, His tongue flickering briefly out of His mouth. “I must admit, I’m looking forward to testing that contribution very soon.” miranda and karlie nudge each other at this. “I know there have been issues this year,” He says, peering into the spotlight. He is looking for me. I should feel embarrassed. I can feel the fury radiating off the other eves. I should feel guilty. I have ruined everything. I should feel worried.

  “But let’s not allow one girl’s selfishness to ruin the day.” This provokes another round of applause. He waits until it settles before continuing. “We will begin with the third of the companions, the eves who shall bear the future sons of the Euro-Zone. In tenth place, Socrates has chosen heidi.”