The Facility

by Eliza Green

‘I thought you’d like to know. I passed on your theory.’

  About the vibrations.

  Anya nodded. ‘Good.’

  He stayed where he was, staring down at the floor.

  ‘Sheila told me what happened with Warren.’

  That angered her more than the act. She hadn’t wanted him to know. No distractions.

  ‘She shouldn’t have done that. So I guess everyone knows?’

  He freed his hands from his pockets and pressed his fists against the sides of his legs.

  ‘Not everyone.’

  He strode over to her. She pulled her knees up tighter as he sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘What would you have done if I had?’

  ‘Knocked Warren out, probably.’

  Her anger melted away to be replaced by a small smile. ‘I already did that. I didn’t need you coming to my rescue.’

  ‘I know, I saw.’ Dom grinned. His liquid-brown eyes were filled with mischief, and secrets she desperately wanted to know. Her fear melted away. But his smile disappeared too fast.

  ‘I can’t sit back and watch bad things happening to you. Don’t you get that yet?’

  ‘You and Sheila need to reach the ninth floor. I can’t be a distraction.’

  He smiled. ‘If you hadn’t noticed, we’re doing just fine.’

  Anya glanced away for a second but bravely met his eyes.

  ‘I had. I saw your scores on the fourth floor.’ Her red cheeks betrayed the jealousy she’d hoped to hide.

  She looked down at her lap.

  He scooted closer to her, forcing her to look at him. His brows lifted. ‘You think Sheila and I were... together.’

  Anya pulled her legs in tighter.

  ‘It’s none of my business, Dom. Really.’

  She meant it, but the blush made it harder to convince him.

  Dom chuckled, and she wanted to hit him for being insensitive.

  He held out his arm, the one with the chip. ‘Here, let me show you what we did.’

  Anya looked at him, startled. Her breath hitched at the thought.

  ‘I don’t think we need to—’

  He silenced her by grabbing her left arm gently so their chips were pressed together. Warmth from his fingertips passed through her skin, and she bit her lip. Her pulse galloped at the thought of how soft his lips and hair had felt, the heat from his skin. But then she remembered how he had pulled away from her when she’d touched his scars.

  ‘If you hold them together like this for a while, it registers as if you’ve... you know. It’s all about proximity. They don’t seem to know what you’re actually doing to get that close.’

  Anya thought of Lilly and Ash and wished Dom had told them. But she hadn’t known Ash well enough to be certain that he wouldn’t have tried something, anyway.

  What would it have felt like with Dom?

  She looked away, tried to pull away from him; but he kept a tight hold of her wrist. He rotated her arm, gently examining the wound.

  ‘Is this still bothering you?’

  She saw the flash of anger in his eyes.

  ‘No. It’s beginning to heal.’

  He moved his gaze, softer now, to her face, her mouth, her eyes. Anya saw the hard movement in his throat.

  ‘Just so you know,’ said Anya, ‘I don’t think this counts as a score on this floor.’ She glanced down at his arm on hers, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘I know,’ he said, rubbing circles on her arm with his thumb. ‘I can’t stand it when we’re not this close. Not now. Not since... Everything has been so rushed in here. I miss talking to you. I even miss you giving me a hard time.’ He laughed softly.

  Anya lifted a brow. ‘Well I’m fine with picking up where we left off.’

  ‘It’s been so tense between us. I just don’t want to lose the good stuff.’

  Anya smiled. ‘Even though we used to drive each other crazy?’

  He laughed, moving closer; cautiously, slowly. ‘Actually, that was my favourite part.’

  He grabbed her legs and pulled her towards him; just enough so he could reach her face.

  Anya’s breath caught in her throat.

  He stroked her cheek with his thumb. His touch was light, in contrast to Warren’s.

  She shivered at the memory.

  He pulled back. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed—’

  Anya pulled his hands back to her face. ‘No, it’s fine. I just... It’s nothing.’

  Flashes of anger flitted in and out of his eyes. He whispered, ‘You’re so beautiful, Anya. In more ways than you know.’

  She shook her head. ‘Sheila is beautiful. I’m ordinary.’

  ‘There are plenty of ordinary girls in this world and you aren’t one of them.’ He looked away as if he were mulling it over. “Unique” fits you better.’

  ‘I’d like to be taller,’ said Anya, grinning.

  He stared at her, unblinking. ‘What’s wrong with the height you are?’

  ‘The tall girls usually get the boys.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Sheila always turns heads.’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t turn mine. I prefer girls around five foot six with cinnamon-brown hair, beautifully pale skin and dark-blue eyes that I could stare at all day. If you know anyone who fits that description, would you give me a heads-up?’

  Anya pushed him playfully and smiled before inching closer, trying to forget they were sitting on a bed, alone. Except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, Dom didn’t move. His eyes searched hers for signs of distress. His wore a mix of emotions: concern, worry, anger, fear.

  But then his expression softened.

  He grabbed her face gently and drew her in, until she was close enough to catch the scent that she loved: musky, with a hint of sweet. She stared at his full lips that turned down naturally at the sides when he wasn’t smiling. Strong and certain, like the man before her.

  His kiss was like a feather on her lips that her bones forgot how to hold her up. She melted into a puddle on the bed, her mending heart thudding loud.

  In one swift movement he circled an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. She gasped as her legs slid either side of him.

  ‘Is this okay?’ he asked. ‘I just wanted to feel you again.’

  She tried to say no, that it was too intimate. But her arms were already wrapping around him.

  She nodded and gazed down at his lips that had parted slightly. He wove his fingers into her hair and pulled her closer. Sweet and hot breath landed on her face.

  He brushed his lips against hers, gently at first. She felt him tremble, holding back from touching her the way she wanted him to. She shifted slightly in his lap and he gasped. Then his lips parted hers and he tasted her. Tiny sparks of electricity supercharged the air between them. His breathing turned shallower. She pulled back, before she lost herself completely.

  But the way he looked at her—eyes bright and hungry—made her want to lose herself, give him anything he wanted. No caution, no waiting. No barriers.

  No clothes.

  Instead, she worried about the cameras she knew were there.

  She shifted back and he groaned, reaching out for her again. She silenced him by cupping his face and gently tilting it up.

  ‘You’re perfect,’ she said examining the curve of his nose and his slightly crooked front teeth. She traced her finger around one eye that was a little bit more open than the other.

  Dom squirmed beneath her gaze. ‘I’m not.’ His eyes dropped to her throat. ‘Not like you.’

  She almost laughed. Dom was far from cocky, but how could he not notice how the girls looked at him when he entered a room? He had something that went beyond physical beauty. He commanded a presence.

  The longer he avoided her gaze, the more she wanted to kiss him. Instead, she moved to sit behind him, starting to understand where the lack of confidence came from. His eyes followed her, curious at
first.

  She placed her hands on the outside of his T-shirt.

  He tensed.

  She tugged up the edges.

  He grabbed her hands. His breath quickened.

  ‘Anya. What are you—’

  She should have asked first. But she kept her hands on his tee.

  ‘Please, let me see.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Please, Anya. I—’

  His voice and body shook in equal measure.

  She stayed still, waiting for him to push her away. To stand up. To leave.

  But when his grip loosened and he leaned forward, she pulled up the fabric to reveal what he was so insistent on hiding from her.

  Dom’s skin was pale, not the olive colour she knew it would reach with a little sunlight. She traced her fingers along the edges of the old, ragged white scar shaped like a C that ran from under his armpit to the middle of his back.

  She pulled her fingers away, hesitated, then touched him again.

  He didn’t flinch like before but she heard him draw in an unsteady breath.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ she whispered.

  ‘The opposite,’ Dom said. He turned his head to the side. ‘I just don’t like people seeing it.’

  Anya swallowed. ‘Sheila says you have more.’

  He undid his belt buckle, unbuttoned his combats and inched the waistband down a little.

  A straight scar ran from the middle of his back, curving around his left side. It ended just below his waistband.

  Anya touched it gently and felt Dom quiver.

  ‘And another one on the front.’ He turned around to face her, his tee pulled up to his neck.

  A straight line cut across his flat abdomen with a small intersecting cut in the centre, heading north.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was a sick child and needed surgery. Lung, kidney, liver. My mother took me to see many doctors. This is the result of many tests and eventual surgery.’

  ‘Is that why you run?’

  He nodded. ‘I keep in shape because I don’t want my loss to ever hinder me.’

  ‘And Sheila? When did she, I mean, how does she know—’

  ‘Sheila and I grew up in Foxrush. I’ve known her since we were kids. She used to beat up anyone who teased me about the scars.’

  Anya wanted to say something reassuring, but her throat tightened with sadness.

  ‘I wanted to show you before now,’ said Dom, his voice raw, ‘but I didn’t know how you’d react. It’s not attractive.’

  She bent down and traced a line of light kisses along the scar on his abdomen. He drew in a sharp breath. She turned him around and kissed his other scars before wrapping her arms around him and pressing her cheek to his bare back.

  ‘Like I said, perfect.’

  He pulled her arms tighter around his middle.

  They stayed like that for a while, with just the sound of their breathing breaking the silence. She closed her eyes, feeling safe. She hadn’t felt safe for a long time.

  A knock on the door startled Anya. She sat up straight.

  Sheila peered in, her hand covering her eyes.

  ‘You’d better be decent in here.’

  Anya yanked Dom’s T-shirt down and sat innocently on the edge of the bed. Dom moved slower as he buckled his belt.

  He winked at Anya. ‘No, we’re not. Come back later.’

  Anya slapped him on the arm and he laughed, grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it.

  ‘As much as I hate to break up this thing you’ve got going on,’ said Sheila, ‘you’re needed next door. The witch is back.’

  48

  Anya and Dom joined the others in the dining hall.

  She had tied her hair up in a ponytail, but her new smile and Dom’s protective hand around her waist drew knowing looks from June and Sheila.

  Warren also watched. Anya caught his stare—something between anger and regret—and her smile vanished.

  In the room with the chairs, Supervisor Two divided them into two groups of six. Dom and Anya waited by two chairs on one side of the room, with Sheila, June, Yasmin and one of the new boys. Jerome and Warren were on the other side.

  Anya tensed when she saw Warren get up and head her way.

  ‘Anya. Please. I need to talk to you.’

  She recoiled. ‘Don’t come any closer.’

  Dom stepped between them and pressed his hand into Warren’s chest.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  She’d never heard him sound so angry before.

  ‘Get out of my way, Pavesi. I need to speak—’

  ‘If you take another step towards her, I’ll do more than just punch you.’

  ‘Anya, I’m sorry. I just want to explain—’

  Her back thudded against the wall. ‘No, Warren. Leave me alone.’

  Dom pushed him back. ‘You heard her.’

  Warren let out a frustrated yell and muttered something under his breath. He stalked back to his chair.

  Anya’s hands shook hard as Dom led her away from the wall and the first chair. She looked up into his eyes. Flashes of anger flitted in and out.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  He stared at her, unblinking. ‘No, you’re not. You’re shaking.’

  ‘Please, Dom. I can’t do this right now. I just need to think about something else.’

  Dom stood in front of Anya, blocking her view of Warren. It helped her to calm down. He smiled at her, but his eyes were hardened and angry. She squeezed his hand and felt him relax.

  She looked past him to see the supervisor attaching something to the sides of Jerome’s head. Anya perched on the side of her chair. Dom did the same on the next chair along.

  In her row, June had resumed her chat with the boy from the sixth floor. Anya heard Sheila snort with laughter.

  She looked down at where Yasmin and Sheila were sitting. Yasmin was wiping her eyes, and Sheila was covering her hand with her mouth.

  She couldn’t remember ever hearing Sheila laugh like that. That fake, nasal whine while she’d pretended to be with Dom was all Anya had known. Anya’s eyes flickered to Dom, but he wasn’t looking at Sheila. He watched Anya, amused by her reaction.

  Anya looked at Sheila again. How had she missed Sheila’s pretence? She was too much of a goddess for fake anything.

  Dom grinned now, as if he had a secret that wasn’t his to share.

  Anya stared at him, frustrated. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  But it wasn’t nothing. What had she missed?

  She looked again and it clicked into place.

  Sheila’s fear of negotiating with the boys on the fourth floor. Her easy friendship with Yasmin, someone she clearly trusted. Dom was never her type.

  She grinned at the new, more relaxed Sheila and decided she liked this version much better.

  Her eyes returned to Dom whose soft gaze trailed over her face, then settled on her lips. She wanted to kiss him again. But Supervisor Two was on her way over.

  With a sigh, she settled for lacing her hand into his.

  ‘Please take a seat,’ said the supervisor, eyeing their joined hands. Anya broke away and twisted around in the chair, sitting upright with her feet resting on an elevated bar.

  The supervisor walked round to the back of Anya’s chair and picked up a small white box that sat on a glass shelf there. She removed three flat metal discs and placed one on either side of Anya’s head and one on her wrist, next to her chip.

  ‘What are these for?’

  The supervisor set up Dom before explaining.

  ‘The discs act as relays for your thought processes and the power cell in your chip enables us to download your responses. Each of the consoles will present a series of questions or situations you must solve. You must answer honestly. Answering dishonestly will hurt your chances to progress to the eighth floor. This is a silent test. When you’
re ready, hit the blue button, think about the response, and it will appear on screen. Are we clear?’

  They both nodded: Dom once, tight. She needed to do well, and so did Dom and Sheila.

  Her screen powered up and, as the supervisor set up the other participants in her row, the first question popped up.

  ‘Do you consider yourself to be a good person?’

  Anya immediately thought of Tahlia and how she’d scuppered her chances to make rotation. But Warren had tricked her. And she had tried to save Frank and Lilly. She believed she was a good person.

  She pressed the blue button on the screen, and thought yes. Her answer appeared briefly, then vanished as a new question took its place.

  ‘Are you an ambitious person?’

  Back on the ground floor she would have said no. But the further up she travelled, the more she wanted to reach the end. She thought yes.

  ‘Do the rebels’ actions concern you?’

  Yes, when she’d been new to Arcis. But after nearly three months in the programme, she no longer felt that way. What Arcis was doing, what Warren had done—not just to her, but to Tahlia—concerned her more. She hated how expendable their lives were in Arcis, and she trusted Dom, Sheila and June.

  She replied yes anyway, before adding, I trust Arcis to help keep us safe.

  ‘How many people do you know on the seventh floor?’

  She knew all of them except the three who had arrived from the sixth floor. Nine.

  ‘How many would you save?’

  She answered without hesitation. Eight.

  ‘Would you sacrifice your life for theirs?’

  It depends.

  ‘If there were only four oxygen masks and five people, how would you decide who gets the masks?’

  She frowned. If it came down to it, would she save herself at the expense of someone else’s life?

  I don’t know.

  ‘There are four oxygen masks and they contain only enough oxygen to get one person to safety. Would you give everyone equal amounts of oxygen for a short while, or let one person reach safety? How would you pick that person?’

  The question was the same, but asked in a different way.

  I would pick one person. The one most likely to succeed.

  ‘Do you value strength over friendship?’

  What kind of question was that?

  No.