by Tahereh Mafi
“Aaron—”
I move slowly at first, kissing her cheek and lingering there, pressing my face to the softness of her skin. There’s no one here but us. No thoughts but hers and mine. She touches my chest in response, sighing softly as she trails a hand up the back of my neck, into my hair.
My body responds before my mind has had a chance to catch up.
I take her face in my hands and kiss her like I’ve wanted to for days. Weeks. I nudge her mouth open and taste her, running my hands down her body now, drawing her closer.
Her desires consume me as they evolve, leaving me slightly intoxicated. It’s always a heady cocktail, experiencing her like this, feeling her emotions in real time. The harder I kiss her the more she wants, the more desperate her needs become. It’s dangerous; it makes it hard to think straight, to remember where we are.
She makes a sound when I kiss her neck, a soft moan followed by the whisper of my name, and the combination incites a riot in my body. My hands are under her sweater now, grazing the satin of her skin, the clasp of her bra, and she’s reaching for me, for the button of my pants, and I can hear, but choose to ignore, the distant voice in my head telling me that there has to be a better place for this— somewhere warmer, somewhere softer, somewhere that isn’t a graveyard—
The dog barks loudly, and Ella breaks away from me with a startled cry.
“Oh my God,” she says, clutching a hand to her chest. “I didn’t— Oh my God. Has the dog been here this whole time?”
I struggle to catch my breath. My heart is pounding in my chest. “Yes,” I say, still staring at her.
I pull her back into my arms, claiming her mouth with a single-minded focus that renders the moment surreal, even for me. She’s surprised for only a second before she goes soft in my arms, breaking open, kissing me back. I haven’t touched her like this in so long—we haven’t been together like this in so long—
Something registers in the back of my mind.
I break away, struggling once more to breathe, hoping the muted warning bell in my head was a mistake.
“What’s wrong?” Ella says, her hands going to my face. She’s still languid with pleasure, her thoughts undiluted by the noise that plagues me always. She kisses my throat, soft and slow. My eyes close.
“Nothing,” I whisper, wishing more than ever that we had a bedroom—or even a proper bed. “Nothing. I just thought I heard—”
“Oh my God. This is where you guys have been hiding?”
I go suddenly solid, ice chasing away the heat in my veins so fast I almost shudder.
“Crap,” Ella whispers.
“You two have no shame, huh? You were just going to desecrate a graveyard? Can’t even keep your clothes on in this freezing weather?”
“Kenji,” Ella says quietly. The word is a warning.
“What?” He crosses his arms. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: gross. I think I need to go bleach my eyes.”
I help Ella to her feet, drawing an arm around her waist. “What do you want?” I say to Kenji, entirely unable to rein in my anger.
“Nothing from you, buddy, thanks. I’m here because I need Juliette.”
“Why?” Ella and I ask at the same time.
Kenji blows out a breath, looking away once before looking back at Ella. Cryptically, he says, “I just need you to come with me, okay?”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen a fraction. “Okay.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Do you need help?”
Ella shakes her head. I feel her apprehension, but she pastes on a smile. “No, it’s nothing—just boring stuff out on unregulated turf. We actually managed to track down one of the pre-Reestablishment city planners in this area, and he’s coming by to discuss our ideas.”
“Oh,” I say.
Ella is hiding something.
I can feel it—can feel that she’s not being entirely truthful. The realization provokes a sinking feeling in my gut that scares me.
“You won’t miss me, right?” Her smile is strained. “I know you always have a ton of stuff to do.”
“Yes.” I look away. “There’s always a great deal to accomplish.”
A pause. “So—I’ll see you tonight?”
“Tonight?” I glance at Ella, then the sun.
There are still hours left before nightfall, which means she intends to be gone for all of them. My mind is overrun with doubt. First our wedding, now this. I don’t understand why Ella isn’t being honest with me. I want to say something to her, to ask her a direct question, but not here, not in front of Kenji—
Ella’s emotions take a sudden turn.
I look up to find her staring at me now with concern, with a palpable fear—for me.
“Or I can stay here,” she says more quietly. “I don’t have to go anywhere.”
“Uh, yes, princess, you do—”
“Be quiet, Kenji.”
“We need you out there,” he insists, throwing his arms wide. “You have to be there—we can’t just deci—”
“Aaron,” Ella says, placing a hand on my chest. “Are you going to be okay?”
I stiffen, then step back.
The question inspires in me a reaction I do not admire. I bristle at the sympathy in her voice, at the thought that she might think me incapable of surviving a few hours on my own.
Understanding hits me with the force of a sledgehammer:
Ella thinks I am broken.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, unable to meet her eyes. “I have, as you said, a great deal to do.”
“Oh,” she says carefully. “Okay.”
I can still feel her studying me, and though I don’t know what she sees in my face, my expression appears to have convinced her that I won’t turn to dust in her absence. An approximation of the truth.
A tense silence stretches out between us.
“All right, great,” Ella finally says, all false brightness. “So, I’ll see you tonight? Or sooner— I mean, depending on how quickly I can—”
Kenji makes a sound; something like a choked laugh. “Yeah, if I were you, I’d clear my schedule.”
“Love,” I say quietly. “Are you sure everything is okay?”
“Absolutely,” she says, straining to smile wider. She squeezes my hand, kissing me briefly before pulling away. “I promise. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Ella is still lying. It hits me like a blow.
“Hey, sorry about the wedding, man,” Kenji says, making a face. “Who knew the downside of overthrowing a corrupt government was that we’d have absolutely no free time?”
I swallow, hard, ignoring the fresh vise around my chest. “I see everyone already knows about that.”
“Yeah, I mean, it was J’s idea to postpone. There’s just so much to do, and trying to have the wedding at night was going to be really complicated, and she thought it would be better to jus—”
“Kenji,” she says sharply. She shoots him a look I can’t entirely decipher, but her anger surprises me.
“My bad, princess.” Kenji holds up both hands. “My bad. I didn’t realize it was controversial to let the groom know what was happening with his own wedding, but I guess I just don’t know how weddings work, do I?” He says that last part with an edge, irritation souring his expression.
I have no idea what’s going on between them.
Ella rolls her eyes, more frustrated with Kenji than I’ve ever seen her. She practically stomps toward him, hugging herself against the cold. I hear her mutter, “You’re going to pay for that,” before they’re off, the two of them disappearing into the distance without a backward glance.
Without me.
I stand there for so long after they’re gone that the sun finally moves toward the horizon, taking with it any lingering warmth. I shiver slightly as the temperatures plummet, but I can ignore the cold. I cannot, however, seem to ignore the dull ache in my chest.
When I woke up this morning I’d thought this would be the happiest
day of my life. Instead, as the day approaches dusk—
I feel hollow.
The dog barks suddenly, a series of sharp yaps in a row. When I turn to face the creature it makes an altogether different sound, something like a growl, and jumps up enthusiastically, lifting its paws to my pant leg. I give the animal a firm look, indicating with my index finger that it should disengage immediately. It sinks, slowly, back onto its feet, tail wagging.
Another bark.
I sigh at the sight of its eager, upturned face. “I suppose I shouldn’t be ungrateful. You seem to be the only one interested in my company today.”
A bark.
“Very well. You may come with me.”
The dog rises up onto all four legs, panting, tail wagging harder.
“But if you defecate on any interior surface—or chew up my boots, or urinate on my clothes—I will put you right back outside. You will hold your bowel movements until you are a considerable distance away from me. Is that clear?”
Another responding bark.
“Good,” I say, and walk away.
The dog chases after me so quickly its snout bumps my heels. I listen to the sound of its paws hitting the ground; I can hear it breathing, sniffing the earth.
“First,” I tell it, “someone needs to give you a bath. Not me, obviously. But someone.”
The dog gives an aggressive, eager yap at that, and I realize with a start that I’m able to get a bead on its emotions. The reading, however, is imprecise; the creature doesn’t always understand what I’m saying, so its emotional responses are inconsistent. But I see now that the dog understands essential truths.
For some inexplicable reason, this animal trusts me. More perplexing: my earlier declaration made it happy.
I don’t know much about dogs, but I’ve never heard of one that enjoyed being bathed. Though it occurs to me then that if the animal understood the word bath, it must once have had an owner.
I come to a sudden stop, turning to study the creature: its matted brown fur, its half-eaten ear. It pauses when I do, lifting a leg to scratch behind its head in an undignified manner.
I see now that it’s a boy.
Otherwise, I have no idea what kind of dog this is; I wouldn’t even know how to begin classifying his species. He’s obviously some kind of mutt, and he’s either young, or naturally small. He has no collar. He’s clearly underfed. And yet, a single glance at its nether regions confirmed that the animal had been neutered. He must’ve once had a proper home. A family. Though he likely lost his owner some time ago to have been reduced to this half-feral state.
I’m compelled to wonder, then, what happened.
I meet the dog’s deep, dark eyes. We’re both quiet, assessing each other. “You mean to tell me that you like the idea of taking a bath?”
Another happy bark.
“How strange,” I say, turning once more down the path. “So do I.”
SIX
By the time I step foot in the dining tent, it’s already nine o’clock. Ella has been gone several hours now, and I have succeeded only a little in distracting myself from this fact. I know, intellectually, that she is not in danger; but then, my mind has always been my fiercest adversary. All the day’s compounding uncertainties have led to a mounting apprehension in my body, the experience of which recalls the sensation of sandpaper against my skin.
The worst uncertainties are the ones I cannot kill or control.
In the absence of action I am forced instead to marinate in these thoughts, the anxiety abrading me more in every minute, corroding my nerves. So thorough is this excoriation that my entire body is rendered an open wound in the aftermath, so raw that even a metaphorical breeze feels like an attack. The mental exertion necessary to withstand these simple blows leaves me worse than irritable, and quick to anger. More than anything, these exhausting efforts make me want to be alone.
I don’t know what’s happening anymore.
I scan the dining tent as I head toward the unusually short serving line, searching for familiar faces. The interior space isn’t nearly as large as it once was; a great portion of it has been sectioned off to use for temporary sleeping arrangements. Still, the room is emptier than I expect. There are only a few people occupying the scattered dining tables, none of whom I know personally—save one.
Sam.
She’s sitting alone with a stack of papers and a mug of coffee, fully absorbed in her reading.
I make my way through the tables to stand in the short serving line, accepting, after a brief wait, my foil bowl of food. I choose a seat for myself in a far corner of the room, sitting down with some reluctance. I waited as long as I could to have this meal with Ella, and eating alone feels a bit like admitting defeat. It is perhaps maudlin to ruminate on this fact, to imagine myself abandoned. Still, it’s how I feel.
Even the dog is gone.
It disturbs me to I think I might trade the relative quiet of this room for its regular chaos if only to have Ella by my side. It’s an unnerving thought, one that does nothing but magnify my childish longing.
I tear back the foil lid and stare at its contents: a single gelatinous mass of something resembling stir-fry. I set my plastic fork on the table, sit back in my seat. Nouria was right about one thing, at least.
This is unsustainable.
After finding someone to take the dog, I spent the afternoon catching up on digital correspondence, most of which required fielding calls and perusing reports from the supreme kids, all of whom are dealing with different—and equally concerning—dilemmas. Luckily, Nazeera helped us set up a more sophisticated network here at the Sanctuary, which has since made it easier to be in touch with our international counterparts. The Sanctuary has been great for many things, but there has been, since the beginning, a dearth of accessible technology. Omega Point, by comparison, was home to formidable, futuristic tech that was impressive even by The Reestablishment’s standards. This quality of tech, I realized, was something I’d taken for granted; as it turns out, not all rebel headquarters are built equally.
When I realized the Sanctuary was to be our new, permanent home, I insisted we make changes. This was when Nouria and I first discovered the depth of our mutual dislike.
Unlike Sam, Nouria is quick to wound; she is injured too easily by perceived slights against her camp—and her leadership—which has made it difficult to push for change. Progress.
Still, I pushed.
We took as much hardware from the local military headquarters as we were able, sacrificing what was once the elementary school tent to piece together a functioning command center, the capabilities of which were entirely unfamiliar to both Nouria and Sam, who still refuse to learn more than its most basic functions.
Lucky for them, I don’t need assistance.
I do my work most days surrounded by the ancient hieroglyphics of sticky children; crayon drawings of indecipherable creatures are thumbtacked to the wall above my desk; crudely formed bees and butterflies flutter from the ceiling. I hang my jacket on a rack painted in colors of the rainbow, slinging my gun holster around the back of a small yellow chair decorated with handprints.
The disturbing dichotomy is not lost on me.
Still, between Nazeera and Castle—who surprised me by revealing he was the mastermind behind most of Omega Point’s innovative tech—we’re close to designing an interface that would rival what we’d built at Sector 45.
I buried myself in work for hours, hardly coming up for air, not even to eat. In addition to all else, I’ve been designing a plan—a safer plan—that would help us bring in the assistance we need while mitigating our risk of exposure. Ella’s, most of all. Usually, this kind of work is enough to hold my focus. But today, of all days—a day my mind continues to remind me was meant to be my wedding day—
It doesn’t matter what I do; I am distracted.
I sigh, resting my hands on my thighs, too uncomfortably aware of the little velvet box still tucked into my pocket.
I scan the dining room again, restless with nervous energy. It’s still surprising to me how easily I shed my solitude for the privilege of Ella’s company. The truth is, I learned to enjoy the mechanics of life with her by my side; her presence renders my world brighter, the details richer. It is impossible not to feel the difference when she is gone.
Still, this has been a strange and difficult day.
I know Ella loves me—and I know she means it when she says she wants to be with me—but today has been ripe not merely with disappointment but also concerning obfuscations. Ella is hiding something from me, and I have been waiting all day for her to return so that I might ask her, privately, a single clarifying question that might resolve this incertitude. Until then, it’s hard to know how to feel, or what to believe.
More simply: I miss her.
I regret even relinquishing the dog.
Upon my return from the gravesite, I searched the grounds for a familiar face—to find someone to take him—and despite my efforts, I couldn’t find anyone I recognized. There’s a great deal of work to do in the previously unregulated areas outside the Sanctuary, so it’s not surprising to see people gone; I was only surprised to find myself disappointed. All I’ve wanted for so long was a single moment of quiet, and now that I have it in abundance, I’m not sure I want it.
The realization has quietly shocked me.
Regardless, I was about to abandon the idea of bathing the animal when a nervous young woman approached me, her face as red as her hair as she stammered aloud a suspicion that I might need help.
I appreciated the effort on her part, but the conversation was far from ideal.
The girl turned out to be a part of a persistent, ridiculous subsection of people here at the Sanctuary, a lingering group of men and women who still insist on treating me like I’m some kind of a hero. I fought off my father’s supreme soldiers in a failed attempt at protecting Ella, and these well-meaning fools have somehow idealized this failure; one of the worst days of my life now fossilized in their memories as a day that should be celebrated.