by Shelly Crane
I closed my eyes to stop my thoughts, focusing on what we were doing, and looked at him. “We’ll just pick the one closest to the street. Wouldn’t that be the safest bet in case we needed to run quickly?”
“It depends on all sorts of things. Here.” He reached back and put his hand into his bag before taking a silver coin from one of the smaller pockets. “I always let fate decide my really big decisions. It makes me feel like someone else had a hand in things since I’ve been taking care of myself for so long. Let fate decide by the flip of the coin. Heads we sleep there, tails we sleep in that monstrosity.”
When I didn’t say anything he flipped the coin and held his hand over it, not looking to see which side had won yet. “Pick. Head or tails?”
“I can’t do that,” I breathed. “I’ve never let silver rule my life and make my decisions before, I’m not going to start now.”
He held up the coin. “This is just a coin, an object. People have turned it into something it isn’t. We make it valuable, worthy. It’s junk until we deem it worth something. Everything is. So you’re not letting silver rule you, you’re letting fate decide, giving it a choice and an option when before it had none, no way to play into this scenario unless it intervened.”
I studied his face. “You really believe in all this stuff, don’t you? Fate?”
“I absolutely believe. It was tails, by the way.” He shrugged with an easy smile. “You win.”
“Just like that, we’re going to sleep in the building I wanted.”
“Just like that,” he replied quietly.
The way he stared at me…
I swallowed, my tongue thick as we walked around to the back of the building. He pulled some gadget from his bag, one of those things he had grabbed from Ivan’s store, and placed it in front of the screen on the door.
“There is at least one good thing about being acquaintances with a bunch of crooks.” He peered over his shoulder at me, throwing me a grin. “I know how to do this.”
Whatever he was doing worked and the door’s protected system unlocked. The door was only a holographic barrier resembling a big black door in the side of the factory, that disappeared when he unlocked it. Holographic doors were usually reserved for posh areas. The rest of us had to use our hands and elbows and, God forbid, fingers to get inside a building.
I followed him silently up several sets of stairs, both of us listening to make sure that we were alone in the building as we went along. We settled in for the night on the top floor. Maxton seemed to be thinking about something just as I was as he looked around and made sure the place was secure. He found a couple rooms and chairs, but with the building being made from concrete and stone, it was pretty cold in there. We couldn’t make a fire or anything. We just had to turn on our built-in warmers on our jackets and hunker down for the night.
Both of us used our toothbrushes that Maxton had purchased and our powdered baking soda toothpaste before I went into the other room to freshen up. I hated it, but it was necessary after we’d been walking for so long. So I took my shirt off and my pants, leaving on my undergarments, and “washed” my body with the harsh lye powdered soap. It burned and made your skin red and a little irritated for a few hours, but you were clean and smelled good. They put something in the soap to cover the lye, which honestly, is a miracle all in itself that they would do that and not just make us go around smelling like it. It smelled like…what I imagined a field of fresh air and flowers would smell like. We didn’t have those here—fields of flowers, but I could imagine.
So that’s what we did. For a little while. But Maxton was restless and paced while he nibbled on his dinner of jerky and cheese. I leaned against a wall and listened to the silence.
“So it was fate for me to be a slave?” I blurted out when we’d been silent for too long.
“No,” he answered so low it sounded almost like a growl. “But it was fate for me to find you.” I sucked in a breath. He walked closer to me. “All the things that led you here, that’s where it starts to get gray. Fate is our decisions, our moves. If we stand still, then there’s nowhere for fate to follow us. There are always good and evil forces at work, Soph,” his whispered. “We just have to decide which one we’re going to give a hand up.”
I looked away, unable to let him see my eyes as he said those things, as he said my name like that…Soph…
“Do you believe in God?” I whispered.
He was close enough that his breath blew the hair at my temple. “How can I believe in fate without God?”
“My mother believed in the God from the Old World.”
“I’m sure He’s the same one.”
“Why is this happening to me? Why was I a slave? Why did your father die, my mother?” I felt my lip begin to tremble. “Your brother. He’s amazing the way he is, but he can’t just be on this planet because of politicians and scientists who tell us what we should do and how to live…how to die.”
He pulled my chin to look up at him; the touch of his skin on mine made my knees threaten to no longer hold me up. “It doesn’t work like that. We aren’t Elitist who can just snap our fingers and make the world the way we want it.” He said the words softly, gently, like he thought I might think he was scolding me maybe. But I didn’t. “The world outside the Elitist’s world is free. Free will and freedom knowing that we’re here on this planet because someone higher than us wanted us here enough to make it so. We, as a people, go through hard times. And it makes us stronger and able to take the next thing that comes for us better than the first, and to take the worst thing without breaking. Those times don’t last forever. Soon, the mountain will come and we’ll climb out of the valley, wipe off the blood, bandage our bruises, and hold the ones that surround us so tightly they’ll know that we won’t ever let go.”
I felt a tear escape and pool right in the pocket under my eye, between the bridge of my nose and my eyelid. It didn’t fall. Tears don’t do that. My mother’s words to me about the way people used to think came back to me—on Earth, tears used to fall straight down from your eyes and fall from your face. How strange and yet poetic.
People used to think that in space they’d float from your face. People used to think a lot of things.
Maxton’s warm hand cupped my face, his even warmer knuckle coming up to graze my tear away. “Don’t cry, sweet.”
I gasped and looked up at him in question. He said it. Sweet. That’s what the Elitist females were called. That’s what Congress and the Militia called their mistresses when we saw them on the monitors. It was like an endearment that was beyond an endearment.
He’d been being so nice to me, his voice wrapping around me every time he said something to me. His eyes followed me, and when I looked at him, he seemed to be already looking at me a lot of the time. I didn’t know what to make of it. I was so new to this. I shook my head. I didn’t even know what this was. Maybe he was just trying to make me feel better. What did I think he was doing? I shook my head even harder, watching him watch me with a confused look on his face that got deeper. I was so stupid. Of course that’s what he was doing. Did I really think he was interested in me for more than that? He said he felt guilty for turning me in and wanted to make amends. And there I was, trying to conjure some sort of feelings…
I was a slave.
I felt my face instantly harden as this all fell over me. No one was ever going to want me in that way, were they? Except for a night. I cocked my head. As much as I hoped that wasn’t true, he was a man of licensed age and may very well want coitus from me, and nothing else. Just that. He may even feel like it was owed to him because he’d saved me and made sure I was okay during this trip so far.
His sigh told me he’d figured it out, or at least thought he did. “Don’t take it the wrong way. I knew you wouldn’t like it. I didn’t mean—”
“I’m a slave.”
“Were,” he said, hard. His vehemence surprised me so fully that I leaned back a little. He didn’t let me get
away with it. He erased that space between us, putting his palm in the doorframe behind my head as he leaned over me. “You’re not afraid of me—you never have been, not from day one. You’re the strongest, bravest, stubbornest, smartest,” he slowed and licked his lips as his eyes slipped down to my lips, “most beautiful, red-headed…”
I looked away, unable to look at him if he was going to keep on spouting things like that. My breath couldn’t seem to catch up with the pace of my lungs. His palm slid across my cheek, bringing me back to his gaze. He shook his head.
“Don’t hide from me.” It sounded like a scold, and I couldn’t help but let a little shiver loose.
“Maxton,” I begged, for what I didn’t know.
He tilted his head to the side a little and watched my freak-out. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he begged back in a whisper.
So many demands. Don’t cry, don’t take it the wrong way, don’t hide, don’t be afraid. I hated to admit that I’d always pretty much despised men in general. And then Maxton came along and was so typical of them…until he wasn’t. And he showed me that men could be good and they could be gentle and genuine and maybe, just maybe, he just wanted me for me.
I was totally flip-flopping on my stance, I knew.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, looking down at me. “You’re as rigid as that steel wall over there. After everything we’ve been through already? After what I did to get you out, after what I’ve told you, how can you be scared of—”
“I’m not scared; I’m cautious.”
He blinked. “Why?” He seemed offended, but pressed even closer to me, putting his other hand in the doorjamb as well. I could smell the soap on him. Or maybe it was just him. I’d never been tempted to waste so much oxygen by inhaling over and over just to smell someone. “I’m not perfect, I know that.” It took a lot not to blurt out something truly embarrassing to rebut him in that remark. “But I’m really trying here, Sophelia.” Oh, God, thank you for his voice, the way he said my name like that. It was even better when he just said… “Soph…” he said softly, “come on. If I’ve done something to make you feel uncomfortable or like you don’t want to be around me, then just spill it, because that’s the last thing I want to—”
I licked my lips, unable to take his apologizing. When his eyes shot to watch my tongue sweep across my bottom lip, I was done. I reached up on my tiptoes, my fists each gripping their share of his shirt for support, and tugged him down as I met his mouth somewhere in the middle. I think the only reason he moved at all was sheer surprise, because I’d seen him move, seen him fight, seen him be swift and cunning. The boy was all of the above and more. If he didn’t want to do something, he didn’t do it, which should have given me some comfort, I guess.
When his mouth touched mine, a small puff of breath and angst escaped me. I sucked it all back in just as quickly and tugged him closer with the shirt in my fist. His hands were still in the doorjamb above my head, but his breathing picked up along with mine as he leaned further over me. It was all happening in slow motion it seemed—my first kiss.
And then his mouth opened a little as he tilted his head, forcing me to follow his lead. And then his tongue moved forward, flicking against my teeth and lips once.
It was all over after that. My knees seriously refused to hold me up any longer. One of his arms came around my lower back and his other hand came to my neck, tilting my head back as he used his mouth to open me up for him sweetly, achingly slow. He turned us so my back was to the door. My breathing was completely out of control as I clung to him like I’d float away from the planet if I wasn’t.
He dove in further, just once, before he broke away and looked down at me, his face so close, his ragged breaths puffing on my cheek. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he commanded once more. “You started this, Soph. I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but I would never hurt you or do anything you didn’t want.”
“I know that.”
He squinted cutely in confusion. “Then why are you…” He was breathing raggedly, too. “I feel like you’re scared, tense. Your breathing is—”
“Yours, too, pal,” I spouted back.
He scoffed, shocked, I think. He finally let a crooked smile slip through. “Look, I told you, I never got my license. I had better ways to spend and save my money, and besides—there weren’t that many girls in my daily life in my line of business anyway. I would have had to go seek them out, and it would have had to be girls of the professional sort. No thanks. So, I’ve…never really done this before.”
I shook my head. Gosh, he was so dense. Cute, but dense.
“Neither have I, Maxton.”
I saw it wash over him. “Oh, right. Sorry.” He wouldn’t look me in the eye and I wondered what was going on with him all of a sudden. One minute we were kissing and I could barely breathe, and the next, things were awkward and we were talking about randomness. “Well, wouldn’t you have rather saved your first time for someone special?” His lips twisted and he stared at the wall behind my head, hard. “I’m sure you’ll meet someone one day who is worthy of you, who,” he sighed, looking up, “is on your level.”
On my level? I tried to figure out the code he was giving me that I was just not decoding. He was acting so strange. Was he talking about our social stations? And then it all came together and I couldn’t believe what I’d done, how I could forget my place in our world so easily.
I was a slave—how easily I’d forgotten
But he clearly hadn’t and was nicely trying to remind me that I shouldn’t have done that. I was a slave; there was nothing lower than me, no station less than I was. And yes, I knew he said that I was no longer a slave, but that didn’t mean that I really wouldn’t always be one in his eyes. It was how he’d met me after all, and I would always feel like one in my heart.
I croaked out. “I forgot my place. I didn’t mean to steal your kiss. I’m so…sorry.”
“That’s not what I meant, Soph,” he tried, but I was already pulling away.
I pushed his hands away and ducked under his arm as he tried to keep me there. I knew he was just trying to make it better now that he could see that I was upset. It shouldn’t have upset me. The truth shouldn’t upset you, it was just the way things were, but this truth hurt me because I wanted more from him, I wanted more than he could give me apparently.
“I’m truly sorry,” I tried again, hating that my voice was so rough. I walked away from him down the hall, hearing his steps and feeling his heat behind me as he followed. “I wish I could take it back.”
“Sophelia,” he tried again, louder, “stop. That isn’t what I meant at all. You’re twisting this all around.”
I opened the door to one of the rooms and shut it quickly before he could follow me in. I spoke through the door, knowing he’d respect my privacy and not open the door. “Well, I’m sorry about that, too, then.”
I heard him bang his fist on the outside wall and knew he wanted to curse. “Soph, do you really think I didn’t want you?”
“Maxton,” I pleaded. “I’m tired. Please?”
I didn’t hear anything else so I assumed he left.
I’d cried myself to sleep on many occasions throughout my life, but it never hurt in my guts quite like that. This was a physical ache I’d never encountered before. Maxton stood for something I never thought I’d have, an unreachable door I never thought I’d open. He was a part of a life that I never thought I could obtain for myself.
I made myself push that away and took my bag off and sat on the bed with it in my lap, missing my mom so badly in that moment. I turned the doll over and looked for the ON button. I remembered my mom telling me that I was the only one who could turn the doll on or off. I remembered her telling me to turn the doll off the day we put it in the ceiling to wait for me to return. Though I had no idea then it would be ten years.
I leaned close to her ear and said, “Hello.” She woke up, all
bubbly and happy just like last time, and remembered my name. “Sophelia. Mommy.” I never named the doll. I never got the chance before. I guess I needed to do that now. A doll without a name was just a sad thing. My finger brushed something extra coarse under her dress. I lifted the skirt to see what it was and found a thumbprint scanner on her right butt cheek. Someone wanted this doll to have some serious security. Either all the dolls in this line had them or just this one. Either way, whoever designed this doll had some major flaws working against him. Or her.
“Hey…you,” I muttered, trying to think of what to name her.
“My name is Betsy. Betsy Ross.”
I laughed quietly. “Betsy Ross, huh. That’s…specific.”
“Betsy Ross was a female American hero. She made the first red, white, and blue American flag with her hands, with a needle and thread. It had thirteen stripes and thirteen stars in the beginning, unlike our white world flag now that contains one blue circle and one gold star for our unity. Your mother named me Betsy Ross after this woman. I can only imagine it’s because she wanted you to learn something from it.”
I just stared at the doll, who stared back.
My mother had spoken to this doll, told her things. It was almost like I could have a conversation with my mother again.
“My mother gave you to me. Did she tell you why?” I gripped the doll tighter in preparation for the answer.
“Your mother said you would need me, that I would be there when she could not.” A breath caught painfully in my throat. “She told me to be ready to take you wherever you needed to go. That I would be your guide.”
“What does that mean?”
“I do not understand the question.”
I scoffed. “Great. So I got a dummy doll, huh?”
“I do not understand the ques—”
