by Casey Hays
Everything I should want.
I should be pulled to this girl like a magnet. Taken in by her the way my father was taken in by my mother. Completely overwhelmed by her prowess and agility and grace to the point that resisting her is simply not an option. It’s a natural phenomenon in Eden—to be attracted to the strength we see in each other—and it should affect me in the same way. It’s the sole reason Bethany comes back again and again. She has that for me.
I look into her eyes like I have a hundred times before. I search their depths, looking for myself, for my soul reflected in them. For some reason to offer my heart up to her like a gift on an alter. For some reason to commit my life to one of my own people, and in this way wholly turn myself over to the power of Eden. And I might be happy for a little while.
But I don’t see any of this. I see only darkness and danger lingering in the violet hues.
“You know . . . you’ve changed, Ian.”
Her voice pierces my thoughts. I’ve been staring, and she responds by edging even closer. She peers at me, bites her bottom lip provocatively. I break my gaze.
“We all change.” I indicate her own transformation with a wave of my hand. I feel the warmth of her skin tantalizing my arm, and heat begins to gather in my belly.
She shakes her head, a sliver of a smile outlining her features, and she slowly runs the tip of her finger up my forearm and back down again. “I don’t mean the Shift, Ian,” she whispers.
“I know what you mean,” I say, a little harsher than I intend. I stare out across the grassy clearing toward the silhouettes of three swings swaying softly in the faux breeze—back and forth, their shadows chasing them. “I’m not the same person I was, Beth. You can’t ever expect that again.”
“I know. But I can work with who you are now.” She bumps into me softly with her shoulder. “Imagine how things will be between us. We’ve both shifted. We have our whole lives to discover each other.”
She leans in, lays her cheek against my shoulder. I tense.
“You can tell me anything,” she whispers.
“No.”
I feel her stiffen beside me. After a moment, she slides away, putting an inch between us.
“What happened to you out there? We were going to be good for each other. And then, you just . . . you were gone. Even after you came back, you were gone.”
“We were never going to be anything,” I correct as softly as I can. I pin her with my gaze. “I know it’s what you hoped for, and I’m sorry, but . . . I never had those feelings, and . . . things are different now. You should have seen it coming, Beth. I’ve given you no reason over the last few months to expect anything from me.”
I sense the lifting of a burden as my confession spills over. I can’t stop my words, gushing forth like a spilled bucket of water. She stares at me, and then turns her gaze toward the trees at the far end of the park. She is silent for the longest time. When she finally speaks, the quiet night breaks like shattering glass.
“And what do you hope for?” Her voice is edged with bitterness.
It’s a complicated question with a simple answer. I sigh and look up at the artificial moon. It’s dead above us, mimicking its counterpart. I get the distinct impression it’s listening. It waits for me to crush Bethany’s heart for good.
“To end where someone else begins,” I say.
It’s quiet again.
“You found that out there, didn’t you?”
I study my hands, refusing to look at her. Refusing to confirm her suspicions. She stands abruptly, and her face contorts with solid pain.
“I am such a fool,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “No—”
“Let me finish,” she interrupts, and I close my mouth. “All my life, it’s been you. Onlyyou. And just like that, you take it away from me.”
“I never promised you—”
“Don’t . . . say anything.”
Her voice is surprisingly calm, a deadness to it. I sit, numb. Really, anything I say will only make it worse. Tears run down her cheeks in two silver streams, but they don’t affect me. I want them to. I know they should, but they simply don’t. It’s as if I’m watching her in a dream, and it’s fragmented and disconnected like our relationship has always been. Her breath catches dangerously deep in her chest.
“I’ve given you your space like you asked,” she says, breathy and choked. “I have stayed away, letting you get over whatever trauma you faced out there. But you have gone too far—implying that you’ve found someone else. On the outside? That’s . . . sick!”
The last of her sentence spews from her with such repulsion that she shudders as she looms over me, tall since the Shift. I don’t refute her accusation, which only confirms it. And her anger rides in like an animal without sense, without judgment.
I feel the stem vibrate within as my own anger rises to match hers, but it’s a different kind of rage that floods me. It’s defensive. Protective. The survival stem. The kind that harbors an Outsider within its fumes. An Outsider, and the one person for whom I’d give my life to keep safe. I don’t deserve her. She is worth more than I could ever afford, and still, she gave me her heart.
I start to climb to my feet but think better of it. I’ve told Bethany nothing, and as true as it is, she only has speculation on her side.
“You can think what you want.” I keep calm, trying to divert her anger. “Either way, we have nothing. How could you not see it? I mean, everything between us since we were kids has been. . . bland. There’s no . . . spark.”
“No spark? No . . . spark? That is not fair!” she bursts. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to be the one to decide this.”
“Yes, I do!” I rise to my feet, my anger back full force. “I decide what’s best for me!”
She steps back, chokes on another sob. “You want a spark?”
I shake my head, resignedly. “I’m sorry, Bethany, but I . . . I don’t love you. I never will love you. And you shouldn’t want me. I can’t make you happy.”
She drops her jaw, shocked by my confession. “How can you do this? How can you turn away from your people to something that can never make you happy? Someone who will never be like us? Someone who can’t understand you like I do?”
“It’s not hard.” My voice is low, cautious, but filled with a sheer hope. “In fact, it’s refreshing.”
“Refreshing?”
All the anger and hurt lining her features transforms itself into a venomous cloud of hatred. For me. For the girl she believes I’ve chosen over her. For the injustice of the world, perhaps. Her breathing rises heavily, and her face contorts until her violet eyes seem to burn with hatred. And before I can blink, she slams both fists into my chest. I’m not prepared for it, so I don’t raise my defenses. And I gasp, falling to my knees as my lungs crush under the impact.
“Suffer that for a while,” she hisses full of bitterness.
Everything goes black.
I’m unconscious for a couple of seconds only, but when I open my eyes, Bethany is gone. The moon is in the same place, hovering just under the dome. I run my hands across my chest. Everything is intact, and I laugh quietly to myself for checking. With a swift motion, I spring to my feet.
I don’t bother running home. I walk deliberately slow, thinking.
I never intended to hurt Bethany, but the confrontation was inevitable, brewing under the surface, asking for one of us to broach it. I’ve held her off by avoiding her—asking her to give me space—all the time knowing my requests were unfair. Because someone else’s love had succeeded in invading my heart like a swarm of bees to a honey comb, capturing every bit. There is nothing left of it, and my stalling had only given her false hope.
I sigh. I’ll take the blame. And hope she doesn’t run home and spill everything to Tag. He’s the last thing I care to deal with right now.
In my room, I crawl into bed fully clothed. Sleep comes quickly this time—kicking Insomnia to the side
—but so does the dream. Kate in the rain, soaked and frightened and devastated that I’ve deserted her. And again, I can’t reach her until it’s too late.
The dream comes again and again for the rest of the night on a never-ending reel. But my body refuses to wake, and I suffer in it until morning.
When I finally rise to the surface, everything about Kate sits heavy on my chest. And not merely from the dream. All we’ve experienced together presses into me. The dampness of the cave. The taste of stale bread and warm water. The peace mixed with the passionate rage that encompassed both of us and caused me to do and say things I regret.
And Kate . . . so deadly fierce and so compassionate all in the same breath. All of her draws me like nothing ever has before. The darkness of her skin bronzed by the sun, the richness of her eyes outlined by thick, black lashes, her smile, her unusually well-mannered way of speaking—all of it is a brand, fresh and bleeding on my skin that makes me hers forever. I close my eyes tightly.
I remember all of her, but I can’t shake the ugly image from my dreams which greedily tries to replace her.
My encounter with Bethany is responsible for these heavy thoughts as much as the dream is. She interrupts, intrudes on my mind, my reason, and all of it feels like a betrayal. The heat of her body sears my memory. I’m mesmerized and repulsed by it all at once, and I shamefully push the memory away.
I roll out of bed, restless once again. I don’t feel at peace. I don’t trust myself. And I won’t. Not until I see myself reflected in Kate’s eyes again.
In her eyes, I see myself every time. I bite down hard on my lip to stop my tears.
Day four begins.
“Jones says you missed classes yesterday.”
I stare at my untouched plate of eggs, lost in thought, but Mom’s voice pulls me out of my reverie.
“What?”
“You missed classes.”
“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t up to them yesterday.”
“And today?”
I shrink beneath the weight of her question. Today is no different than yesterday. It’s better, and it’s worse. I shrug.
“I’d rather not go, Mom.”
Mom stares at me, not quite sure how to respond. She lowers her glass of juice.
“Your training is vital to hone these side effects into something productive.”
“Yeah,” I say without much interest. I force a bite of eggs into my mouth to prevent myself from having to say more.
Mom’s forehead creases into a mask of worry, and once again I feel a small ping of guilt invade me. My parents, especially my mother, seem to have a gift for bringing it up in me with a single look. I hate disappointing her. More than that, I hate that I will do it again.
“Ian. Please tell me what is going on with you. You’re training should be a priority, and yet you don’t seem the least bit concerned with crafting your abilities.”
I lower my head, poke at my eggs with my fork. “I don’t think you would understand.”
She leans in, raising one brow, and her blue eyes seem to stab straight through me. “Try me.”
I swallow, regretting that I’ve opened this door. I can’t tell her the truth. I’m in love with a girl from a village across the river. I plan to spend the rest of my life with her—somewhere—once we work out the details. I can’t breathe, think, function if she’s not with me. I shut down, have unrealistic dreams, make insane plans just to be near her. I can’t vocalize any of this, even though I desperately want to. Not even Mom would condone my actions. She won’t give her blessing to a girl who can’t step foot into our city. And as understanding as she’s been lately, she will never accept an Outsider.
I force a wary smile. “I’m fine, Mom. Really. You don’t need to worry. Everything is so new. It’s . . . overwhelming,” I lie. “That’s all.”
She relaxes, smiling. And she looks pretty for the first time today. She pushes a mass of blonde curls off her shoulder and leans forward.
“You know, your old mom has been through the program. These natural instincts in us—the ones that faintly live just under our skin? The ones that have recently become more prevalent for you? They can make us want to strike out. To run as fast and as far as we can. To believe we can control them at will. They try to convince us that we don’t need any help—that we can train ourselves.”
I raise my eyes as she continues.
“They’re wrong.” Her expression is soft, her eyes full of wisdom, and they draw me toward her logic. “There must be a balance created between instinct and reason. Left unchecked, our instincts form their own paths absent of reason, and instinctively, you will do the first thing that comes to you whether it’s the right thing or not. ”
I chew on my bottom lip, listening. She makes some sense, even with the small bit of training I’ve had. I’ve been known to kick reason aside and follow my instincts—taking the lead from whichever stem activates them. Justin and Jesse are always ready to remind me of it. And I know what they think: I’m a wildfire raging in a windstorm burning my own path.
“Ian,” she adds. “People who don’t master this are restricted for life. You know this. Your father and I will have no more say in the matter once you test out.”
I contemplate Mom’s words, but they’re for someone else. My instincts haven’t hurt anyone. Not really. I mean, I’ve done a few things I regret, but hasn’t everyone? And I can master my abilities on my own. I know I can.
Mom detects my hardness in my silence. She hasn’t reached me, but just as she considers one more attempt, Ava scuttles into the room, turning Mom’s undivided attention away from me for the moment. She smiles down at my sister.
“Mommy, can you braid my hair?”
“Well, I think I could manage that.”
She scoops Ava up into her lap, and I gratefully seize the opportunity to exit. I stand, dropping my plate into the sink with a clatter.
“Ian.”
I face my mother.
“We are going to finish this conversation.”
I don’t answer her. I’m not certain we are.
Up in my room, I double-check my pack, and then check it again.
I sit on the edge of my bed, rub my hands together. A nervous fear grows as the seconds tick by. It overtakes my body, flowing through as fast as my blood pumps. I tap my foot rapidly. My mind is overly occupied with Kate, and this adds to my anxiousness. I stand abruptly. I need to keep myself busy.
When pacing the floor, counting the cracks on the ceiling, and staring blindly at the empty, white walls of my room fails me for obvious reasons, I turn to more strenuous activity. I run a few laps around the neighborhood, which takes a matter of minutes and does me no good. I stand at my window and shoot arrow after arrow straight through the apples hanging on the tree across the yard, then climb the tree to retrieve them. I even eat a few of the apples in the process. But before long, I’m sitting on the edge of my bed staring at the walls again.
I can’t do this all day and stay sane. I fall back flat on my bed, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands.
Maybe… I’m crazy already.
Chapter 23
The echoing sound of the writing stylus tapping against the board beats an intermittent rhythm in my ears. One long sentence appears letter by letter in Jones’ neat script: Self-discipline is the key to unlocking the power within.
I slump in a seat situated against the rear wall aiming to be discreet, to blend in with the drab walls of the old classroom. A few curious glances floated my way when I first entered. Derek Fram, pumped his chin in a motion of greeting as I took the desk next to him. Laurel Reeves, sitting in front of me, batted her eyelashes flirtatiously until her best friend Cindy nudged her with an elbow. Other than this, no one takes notice, including Bethany, who sits at the very front of the room, purposely ignoring me. I study the back of her blonde head. I suppose that’s for the best.
I blow air through my lips nervously and sink a little deeper in my chair.
&n
bsp; The wooden desks are more like flat tables, really, tall and large enough to accommodate us. There are six rows of eight desks in the big windowless room, and at least two-thirds of them are full today. The room itself is strikingly white and bright and clean-smelling, and it screams “headache” every time I’m in it.
On my third set of laps, my stubborn self finally gave into my reasonable self and agreed that biding my time was the worst kind of torture. Physical activity wasn’t helping; mental exercises weren’t helping. And if I wanted to keep my wits in order to break out of the city tonight, I needed a new plan.
When I could think of no other possible place to go to distract my overactive imagination—which created one scenario after another all involving Kate’s doom—I forced myself to come here. Expedition training. For those who strive to see beyond the wall.
It’s the last place I want to be. Somehow, no matter what the lesson covers, I’m riddled with guilt by the end of it.
I’ve never been a team player, hence my mom’s speech this morning. And these classes? They involve far too much collaboration. I prefer to train alone—on my own terms. Jones, of course, strongly disagrees with my philosophy.
As would Mom. I’ll leave Dad out of it altogether.
I rummage through the small bag I’ve brought along and pull out the rule book by which we live. The Code. I lay it quietly on the desk without opening it. The solid black infinity sign stares up at me from the cover—just below the title: C.O.D.E: The Creed of Desired Ethics.
Self-discipline is the key to unlocking the power within. I scrutinize the glaring, red letters of the phrase which appear to gawk at me with condemnation from the front of the room. It’s not a new edict. It’s written plainly in the Code. The chapter on training. It’s endorsed by my parents. I constantly test its relevance against the better judgment of my friends. It follows me everywhere. I get it. It’s important.
“Until you’ve mastered this one concept, folks, you will not succeed.” Jones turns toward us as he speaks. He lifts his own open copy of the Code and sweeps his eyes across the eager faces of his students before letting it fall with a small thump back onto his desk. He leans forward pressing his weight onto the tips of his fingers until they turn a dangerously pinkish white. “And more importantly, your parents will never let you out of their sight if you don’t. It’s all about trust. Can they trust you to be responsible with your abilities?”