by Sarah Fine
Ana sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I can’t really afford to feel anything for Malachi. I’ve known him for nearly four decades, and we’ve bled together, laughed together, and fought together that entire time. He’s like my brother. But I can’t care about him like one. If I did, I might not survive it. Can you understand that? He’s going to leave or he’s going to get killed. Either way, he’s gone.”
Ana’s voice was shaking, and in it I heard the tears she would not shed. I decided to risk getting gutted with the spoon. “You’re not talking about Malachi anymore.”
The bowl clattered into the sink.
“Fine. You want to hear about it? About me and Takeshi? Let this be your lesson, because don’t think I can’t see what’s happening between you and Malachi.” She saw me open my mouth to protest. “Shut up and listen.
“First you need to understand: I came from a rough place. El Salvador is not like America. After my papa died, my mama worked the fields morning to night, and so did I. I wasn’t even eighteen and my back and hands ached so bad I didn’t want to move sometimes. I looked at my mama, all worn out and hunched over, and I knew that was my future. But I also knew how big the world was—my parents let me go to the missionary school when I was a little girl. They probably regretted it after—I was so desperate for a way out of Rancho Viejo.
“The men from the People’s Revolutionary Army had a base in the hills outside the village. My mama had warned me about them, but they were kind to me when I passed by to fetch water. They talked to me about a better life, and it was the escape I’d been looking for. I started sneaking out at night to visit them.”
She gave me a sad smile. “They taught me how to fight a little. I never thought I’d need it, but it made me feel like I had some control over my life. Over myself. I didn’t give them much in return. Just some tortillas and beans. My mama would have been so upset if she’d known. And you know what? She would have been right. Because a few months later, the death squad came. They accused us of helping the guerrillas. Nobody knew what they were talking about. Nobody except me. But I kept quiet, too stupid and selfish to speak up.”
Ana covered her face with her hands. Her voice was so flat and quiet, like each word was dragging her further back in time. “I tried to get away when they started going door-to-door, but they caught me and dragged me back to my mama. I fought them, but they said they would hurt her, so I gave up. She screamed at them to let me go, that I was a good girl, that I would never help the guerrillas. They laughed at her. And then they held us down and hurt us from the inside out. I thought it would kill me, and when they used their machetes to make my mama’s blood splash on my face, I wished it had.”
I shivered and wrapped my arms around my middle as she continued to speak. “They left me there, lying in her blood. Broken after all. My mama died believing in me. Protecting me. And I was too much of a coward to do the same for her. I might as well have killed her myself. So I used a rope and a tree to finish the job that the death squad had started. When I got here and figured out where I was, I wasn’t even surprised. I was just…all I wanted to do was fight and kick and claw at anything that crossed my path. But Takeshi…”
The springs on the couch creaked as she sat down. “He put me back together after I came here. I didn’t want his kindness at first. It was too much. I didn’t deserve it. But no matter how many times I lashed out, he was right there, ready for more. So strong. Like he could take the worst of me and not even flinch. It took years, but he was able to reach me. And once he did, there was no room in my heart for anything but him. I loved him so much my chest hurt every time I looked at him. I wanted him so badly it was a taste in my mouth. He made the mistake of loving me, too. Looked at me like I was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen, like I wasn’t just worth something; I was worth everything.”
She got up and walked slowly toward me, looking deadly once again. “He loved me so much that he hid the fact that he’d stopped eating and drinking, that it was time for him to go. For months.
“I knew he was losing some weight, but he brushed it off and made a big show of being hungry and eating in front of us. I guess he decided he would rather stay in this hell instead of going out into all that beautiful heaven without me. And you know what happened? He got so weak he was taken by Mazikin while out on patrol.”
“Oh my God, Ana, I’m so sorry.” I looked away. I didn’t want to see the expression on her face as she told me about her lost love.
“Yeah. When he died, most of me died. So if you think I’m going to let the rest of me die when Malachi goes, you’re crazy. He understands, you know. He loved Takeshi, too. I think both of us decided it was too dangerous to care for people here.”
I laid my hand against the grime that coated the window, letting the sweat from my palm and fingers streak clarity along the glass. I thought about Ana and Takeshi, in love in the middle of a war zone, unable to protect each other, knowing eventually they would be separated, probably violently.
Had Takeshi made a mistake, choosing to stay with his love? Should he have chosen heaven over her? Had Ana made a mistake by falling in love in the first place? Was it so different from life on Earth? And could Malachi, after everything he must have been through in both places, afford to care for anyone beyond his duty to them as a Guard?
It seemed like he did feel more for me than that. Every time he looked at me, whenever I put that whimsical smile on his face, the few times he’d touched me, almost from the moment we met. Whatever was between us covered me like armor, made me feel safe and scared at the same time. I wasn’t sure how deep it went for him. I could have been reading it all wrong. But if I was really honest, it was going to be pretty difficult for me to say good-bye when the time came.
I comforted myself with the memory of what Ana said about Malachi’s time in the city drawing to an end. Maybe he would join Nadia and me out in the Countryside. I wondered what he’d be like when he didn’t have to carry the promise of death with him wherever he went. I wanted to find out.
I turned away from the window, rubbing the grit from my palms, and saw Ana watching me. “You’ve got to be careful, Lela. This place is made to tear you down. That’s what it is. It tears you down so that when you go before the Judge, you’ll accept the verdict—no matter what it is. It makes falling in love very dangerous.”
“Falling in…” I forced out a laugh, which sounded really loud and high-pitched. Maybe I had a little crush. But love? I couldn’t even fathom what that might feel like. Especially here. Especially with Nadia still out there somewhere.
Especially because it felt really, really out of control.
“Ana, I think you’re getting carried away. I haven’t even been here for two weeks, and I’m going to get out of here as soon as I find Nadia. That’s what I need to do, nothing else.”
I crossed the living room and headed for the bathroom. I desperately needed a shower, almost as much as I needed to escape Ana’s knowing stare, her sad smile, her tragic story, and all the lessons I didn’t want to learn.
“Yeah, I know why you’re here. Just make sure you don’t confuse what you want and what you need,” Ana said just before I put a closed door between us.
TWENTY
DON’T CONFUSE WHAT YOU want and what you need. The words echoed in my mind a few hours later. What did that mean?
The sound of a door closing jerked me from fitful sleep and dreams of Malachi battling a thousand Mazikin who all wore Nadia’s face. I leaped up and then forced myself to take slow steps toward the bedroom door, ashamed of how badly I wanted to see him again. I pulled the door open to find him standing right in front of it, arm raised to knock.
He took a step back, opened his fist, and ran his fingers through his hair, looking sheepish. “Ana went out to patrol the west side of the zone. She’ll be back in a few hours.”
He walked into the living room and sat on the couch, propping his long legs on the coffee table. It looked like he’d just taken a
shower; his glistening hair was sticking up in messy spikes on the top of his head. I held onto the doorframe to keep from walking forward to touch it.
He gestured toward the kitchen. “I assume you don’t need anything to eat or drink?”
“No, I guess not.” I gave in to temptation and sank down next to him.
He laid his arm along the top of the couch and gave me a once-over. “How are you feeling?”
I shrugged. “I’m excited to look for Nadia, but I’m scared she won’t be here. What if she didn’t stay in that apartment?”
“We’ll comb every corner of this zone if we have to,” he reassured me. “If she’s here, we’ll find her. If she’s not, we’ll search the surrounding area. But I chose this apartment for us because the alley where she was hiding is just a few blocks from here.”
I thought back to that night, the first time I’d seen him. “I knew you were dangerous, you know. Nadia thought they were going to kill you. They had you surrounded, and you were wounded. But I could tell.”
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “How could you tell? I thought they were going to kill me that night, too.”
“I could tell by the way you moved,” I admitted.
“That’s funny, I thought the same thing about you.”
I chuckled. “Did I look all scary when I was unconscious and bloody in your arms? Were you intimidated?”
He flashed a killer smile, and it made me want to kiss him. I caught myself leaning in and drew back just as quickly.
“I could tell because you didn’t give up, because you never stopped fighting,” he said. “As soon as you regained consciousness, you were on full alert, crouched on the floor in that sheet.” He laughed quietly. “It’s why I gave you those enormous clothes. It’s why I wouldn’t give you a belt. And it’s why I didn’t have the key with me in the room. I had a feeling you were capable of almost anything.”
My eyes flew wide. “You picked out those tent clothes for me?”
He cracked open an eye and threw me a sidelong glance. “Of course. I wanted to give you every disadvantage I could. Plus it was kind of funny watching you hold your pants up like that.”
I slapped him on the arm. “Well. That was just…mean. And I can’t believe you bothered.”
“You can’t? Lela, if I’d had the key, you probably could have gotten it off me.” He shifted uncomfortably, sinking farther into the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you want to watch television or something?”
Or something. I gave myself a hard mental slap. “Sure, what will be on?”
He looked up at me, brown eyes speculative. “I’d like to find out.” He got up in a single, smooth movement and pressed a button on the front of the television, then returned to the couch. The opening sequence of Buffy the Vampire Slayer flashed in front of us, cloudy with static. It barely mattered—it brought an instant, huge smile to my face. I almost clapped with delight. Just like a two-year-old.
Malachi stared at it blankly. “What on earth is this?”
“It’s Buffy! It’s an old show, but I think I’ve seen every episode online.”
We watched in silence for a few moments. Predictably, it was one of my least favorite episodes—it involved hyenas. I hate hyenas. They’re the supercreeps of the animal world.
“I think I see why you like this show so much,” Malachi said softly. “She’s very strong.”
“I always liked the idea of a tough girl who could jam a stake through the bad guy’s heart.”
“And those vampires turn to dust right after. That would be nice. I wish Mazikin did that.” He sounded kind of wistful.
“I wish foster dads did that, too.”
Malachi kept his eyes on the television, but his hands curled over the edge of the couch cushions in a white-knuckled grip. “Foster dad,” he said slowly. “Not that it makes it better, but please tell me that means it was not your actual father.”
I let out a breath. “Yes, that’s what it means. Foster parents take care of kids whose parents can’t or won’t take care of them. My mother couldn’t. She was very mentally ill. I don’t know who my father was. She never told anyone.”
“So this ‘foster dad’ took you into his home?”
I felt very sorry for those couch cushions. “He was near the end of a long line of foster homes. I don’t remember much before I was almost ten years old, but I know I had a few. After that, I guess I had a pretty bad run. Nothing worked out. One of them hit me, which isn’t allowed. The social worker found out when someone at school got suspicious about the bruises. As for the rest, one of them got evicted, one moved out of state, one got divorced, one had another kid with so many problems she couldn’t take care of me, too, and one just decided not to be a foster parent anymore. I kept getting moved, and then I ended up at Rick and Debbie’s.”
I stared at the television to keep from thinking about it too much. It was such a pathetic story, but I was able to tell this part of it pretty matter-of-factly.
Malachi turned to me, and his hard expression softened. I could tell he was trying to see if I was all right. I braced, expecting him to ask me what had happened. That’s what everyone else had done, including Nadia and Diane. My stomach churned as I watched him considering his words. He inclined his head toward mine.
“You don’t have to say anything else,” he said. “I’m sorry he hurt you, that he took things from you.”
I stared at him for a second, waiting for him to lean away, to look uncomfortable and change the subject. But he was utterly still, looking back at me, waiting to see if I had anything more to say. And to my surprise, I found that I did.
I pulled my knees to my chest. “You know the worst part? I spent almost a year of my life in a juvenile detention center because I refused any sort of medical exam and wouldn’t tell anyone what he did. I guess I didn’t want to admit it had really happened.”
He sat up straight like he’d been shot through with electricity. “They put you in a detention center? For what?” I was pretty sure he was picturing something much worse than the RITS.
“It wasn’t that bad, Malachi. I mean, it was gross, and I had to watch my back. But I’m tough, and after a few months people figured that out and left me alone.”
His hands shook as he pressed them flat across his thighs, like he was doing his best to keep them there. “I don’t understand. Why were you the one imprisoned if he was the one who…who…”
“It happened the night I tried to kill myself. It felt like there was no other way out. He found me before it was too late and brought me back. But I was still in the same situation, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I just sort of…snapped. I beat the shit out of him. I broke his nose and jaw. I gave him a concussion. I wanted to kill him. I could have killed him. But I stopped myself. And Debbie, my foster mom, called the police. They probably would have given me a lot less time if I’d told them what he’d been doing, but I couldn’t bear it to talk about it. I…I actually can’t believe I’m talking about it now, to you.”
I pressed my forehead to my knees and covered my head with my arms. Should I have kept my mouth shut? Would he look at me differently now that all he’d suspected had been confirmed?
Damaged: that was what Ana called me. But I didn’t want to be damaged. I wanted Malachi to see me as whole. Not broken. Not used.
Very gently, he peeled my arms away and nudged my chin up with his fingers. He took my hand and cradled it in his. “Please don’t hide your face from me, Lela.” He wore this shy, adorable expression that made my heart skip a beat.
I tucked my hair behind my ear and looked at our hands. Mine looked small and safe, held between both of his. I wanted to curl up in those hands, warm and protected, and rest there for minutes, or hours, or days. I wanted to hide, with him, and I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I wanted to act on it. I scooted closer, burrowing up under his arm until it was around my shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. �
�I need this. Do you mind?”
He sighed and leaned back, guiding my head to rest on his chest. “No, I don’t mind.”
We sat in silence, letting a few staticky episodes of Buffy pull us away from our worries. He absently stroked my hair, winding it around his fingers, smoothing it against my back. I relaxed into him, and he laid his cheek on top of my head. It felt good. Better than good. Normal. Safe. Clean and right and whole…and not at all what I expected when I decided to come to hell.
“Lela, can I ask you something?”
“Mmmm?” I was half asleep, drunk with the feeling of being held in his arms.
“What did my voice say to you in the tower? What did you hear?”
“You said you needed to see me again. It’s okay, I know it was just my imagination.”
“Maybe. I always hear my brother’s voice when I go through. Right when I need it, when I want to give up, I hear it. But this time the voice I heard was yours.”
“Really? What did I say?” I murmured.
“You said you needed to see me again, too.”
“Did it help?”
“More than you’ll ever know.”
I tightened my arm around his waist, wanting nothing more from the moment than what it was. I realized how unusual that was, considering the city and all its misery, considering you could have anything you wanted, but it would never be satisfying.
That simple moment, touching him, feeling him breathe, his hand stroking my hair—it was all I could have hoped for, all I could have wanted. I was filled up with it, this warm, buzzing feeling in my chest, and it was completely satisfying.
I wondered if it might be what I needed after all.
TWENTY-ONE
I AWOKE IN SILENCE. I’d been dreaming of comforting Malachi as he wept over the body of a Mazikin who looked a lot like me. In the dream, I’d realized that the dead Mazikin was my mother.
