Aberrate

by Wendi Wilson

  My mother is a little more vocal. “Lizzie, how could you?” she asks, her voice an even mix of disbelief and outrage. “How could you fraternize with these…these Alts?”

  She spits the word like it burns her mouth to even say it. A fire ignites in my belly, my spine stiffening with indignation.

  “They are people, Mother. Just like you and me.”

  She opens her mouth to, no doubt, spew out some disgust and hate, but I cut her off before she can speak.

  “Actually, no. I take that back. They are nothing like you. They are decent human beings. Kind. Caring. Respectful of others.”

  “Lizzie,” my dad says, drawing out my name like a dire warning.

  “No, Dad,” I shout, my voice harsh and unforgiving, “I won’t stop. You need to understand that your beliefs, your way of doing things is wrong. I don’t care if fucking Rosemary Bishop hears me and tells the whole congregation.”

  “Lizzie.”

  This time, it’s my mom who says my name, but her tone is horrified, not threatening like my father’s was. I don’t know if it’s what I said, how I said it, or simply the fact that I dropped an f-bomb, but her tender sensibilities are wrecked.

  “No, Mom. I will not sit down and shut up like a good girl. Not anymore. I’m leaving with my boyfriends,” I say, making sure the plurality of the word is loud and clear, “whom I love, and you won’t ever have to see my traitorous face again.”

  I take a step forward and Silas and Slade stay right by my side. As we head for the rental car, I force myself not to look back. I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to see their disappointed faces. Their anger. Their sense of betrayal.

  Most of all, I don’t want to see the lack of love written in every frown line that marks its path across the otherwise smooth skin of my mother’s face. I don’t want to see the loathing shining in my father’s dark eyes.

  I don’t want to care. I want to be done with them. I want them to be dead to me, just like I am to them.

  But I’m not there yet and their obvious revulsion toward me and my choices still hurts. So, as I curl into the backseat with Silas and my bag full of blood, I bury my face in his chest, willing the tears not to come.

  I hear the driver’s door close and Slade cranks the engine, quickly hitting the power button on the radio when an upbeat dance tune starts to blare through the speakers, bringing blessed silence. The car starts to roll away and the tears push through my closed lids despite my best effort to keep them at bay.

  Though I lost them months ago, I can’t help but mourn my parents all over again. Perhaps, on some basic, subconscious level, I’d hoped they’d come around. I’d hoped that absence, did indeed, make the heart grow fonder and they’d realize a parent’s love was more important than their commitment to the Purist church.

  I’d hoped for acceptance and unconditional devotion.

  I got none of that. And despite me knowing better, knowing that they are selfish, self-serving, and self-absorbed people, it still hurt. It hurt on a soul-deep level that I’m not sure can ever fully heal.

  A piece of me is gone. All I can do is pick up the rest of the pieces and try to fit them together despite its absence.

  12

  The boys have been quiet. Too quiet.

  As we grab our overnight bags from the trunk and head inside the hotel, my heart thumps out a staccato beat in time with my harsh breathing. I don’t know why they’re not talking and, frankly, I’m terrified.

  What if meeting my awful parents was too much? What if Silas and Slade see in them what I could be? What I was a few short months ago? My mom and dad represent everything I’ve tried so hard to expunge from my life. What I believed in. What I strove to accomplish.

  I know I was wrong to believe in Brother Earl, in the church, in the Purist propaganda. But, I did what did. It’s a fact.

  And maybe meeting my parents, seeing the repugnance on their faces when they realized the Madsens are Alts…maybe it struck home with the boys. Made then second-guess their choice to be with me, despite my past.

  You know what they say—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  “Lizzie, you okay?”

  Slade’s voice pulls me from the abyss of despair I’m losing myself in, and I realize I’m still standing in the doorway, neither in nor out of our room. I meet his eyes, fearful of what I’ll see there, but his stare gives no clues. I have no idea what he’s thinking.

  I glance at Silas, but all I see is his back as he disappears into the restroom. He doesn’t even look back to see my reaction to his brother’s question. Maybe he doesn’t care if I’m okay, or not.

  “Yes,” I mumble, nodding my head to corroborate the lie.

  I step further into the room, and Slade swings the door closed behind me. The distinct click of the deadbolt makes me flinch, but I cover it by hopping forward and dropping my backpack on the king-sized bed.

  I look around, taking note of the large cooler in the corner. We’d swung by a convenience store on our way here and purchased the Styrofoam container, as well and two bags of ice, for the supply of Savanna’s blood. It’s frozen, and we need to try to keep it that way until we figure out what to do with it and how to get it back up north, either to D.C. or Connecticut.

  Silas comes out of the restroom, and my eyes devour him. He’s changed his shirt, probably because the old one is soaked with my tears and snot. Gross.

  “We need to talk,” he announces without preamble.

  This is it. Nothing good ever came after those four little words. They are going to break up with me. They’ve seen what I could become, and it appalls them.

  I don’t blame them. I’d doubt me, too.

  Dazed with dread, I sleepwalk to the side of the bed and climb onto it, scooting into the middle and leaning back against the headboard. I stare at my lap, unable to meet their gazes, to see the truth that lies there.

  I feel the mattress shift and my eyes steal upward for a split second before returning to my lap. They’ve each taken a seat on either edge of the bed, facing me. Identical poses forming a united front. I close my eyes and inhale deeply before looking back up at them.

  “Tell me,” I say, stiffening my spine.

  “Why do you look like you’re standing in front of a firing squad?” Silas asks.

  “Please, just say it,” I plead, meeting his questioning gaze with one of my own.

  “What do you think we’re going to say?” he asks, his brow furrowing.

  “Lizzie,” Slade says before I can answer—as if I would—placing a warm palm on my knee, “we have a question and we want you to tell us the truth.”

  Unable to form words, I nod, sucking in a breath to bite back the tears stinging my eyes. This is it. They’ll ask me if I really believe I’m good for them. Or if I can guarantee I won’t end up like my parents. Or if I really—

  “Are you in love with us?” Slade blurts out, interrupting the runaway train of my thoughts.

  I stare at him a moment, comprehension of the English language leaving me. All I know is the sound of my heart trying to drum its way out of my chest. The beat of my breath huffing in and out of my mouth, which is hanging open like a flytrap.

  Silas smacks his brother across the shoulder, breaking me out of my catatonic stupor.

  “Wh-what?” I stutter.

  “You’ve said it twice,” Silas murmurs. “The first time, we decided to brush it off as post-orgasmic bliss. Maybe you were joking. Maybe you didn’t know what you were saying, like you were drunk or high or something.”

  “And tonight,” Slade cuts in, “you told your parents you love us, but you were angry. You were rebelling, saying things to hurt them…was that a part of it? Did you tell them you love us to hurt them?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, my eyes flicking from one brother to other and back again. They watch me, their expressions guarded, not giving a hint of what they’d like to hear as my answer. I let my eyes drift shut for one brief inhale before poppi
ng them back open, then nodding my head.

  “Yes. I do,” I say, swallowing thickly.

  “You do?” Slade asks, his eyes wide.

  Before I can answer, Silas cuts in. “You didn’t tell us again. After that night, in bed, when you said it the first time, you didn’t say it again so we weren’t sure…what to think.”

  “Well, you didn’t mention it, so I didn’t know what to think, either,” I respond carefully. “I guess I thought it was too soon, or something.”

  “You love us,” Slade says, and I swear, I can see wonder dancing in his eyes.

  A grin threatens to curve my lips. “I do.”

  The bed rocks and Silas is on his feet, his warm fingers wrapping around my wrist before tugging me toward him. I scooch to the edge and swing my feet over as his hand slides down to interlace his fingers with mine. Pulling me up, he takes my other hand and pulls me forward until our chests are touching.

  I can feel his breath on my face as he says, “I love you, Lizzie.”

  Before my next breath, his mouth is on mine, his tongue pressing for entrance. The world stops spinning, fading away until it’s just the two of us, pushing and pulling against each other with frantic movements.

  The Earth’s rotation resumes as Silas’s movements gentle. Little by little, my senses return to me. Silas’s woodsy scent with undertones of citrus from his shampoo. The heat blowing through the vents with a low drone from the window unit. Harsh breaths against the back of my neck.

  I break off my kiss with Silas and look over my shoulder. Slade is standing a few inches behind me, his chest heaving as he breathes in and out, silver fire blazing in his eyes.

  Silas grips my hips and twists, flipping me around before giving me a little shove toward his brother. I stumble, not expecting the move, but Slade’s arms catch me around the waist as I fall against his chest.

  He tightens his grip until our hips are pressed together. I can feel the evidence of his arousal against my abdomen and, without a thought, I push in closer with an up and down movement. He groans and puts a few centimeters of distance between us.

  “I’m never going to get this out if you keep that up,” he says, grinning.

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  I’ve completely forgotten what we were talking about. All I know is friction and heat, wet mouths and an all-consuming need in my gut. I try to press back in, but Slade’s fingers dig into my hips, keeping the distance between us.

  “Lizzie,” he says, and somehow, the pleading note in his voice snaps me out of my lust-fueled haze.

  My eyes snap to his and, though the silver fire is still burning in the orbs, there’s something else there, too. Something warm and inviting.

  “Lizzie,” he repeats, his voice softer and kind of raspy, “you are amazing. Kind, funny, smart and beautiful, you’re everything to me.” He glances over my shoulder for a split second before meeting my gaze once more. “To us. You’re everything to us. I love you.”

  His hips snap forward and the space between us evaporates. His hand shove under my ass and he lifts me up, my breasts dragging against his chest. My legs lock around his hips as his erection grinds against my most sensitive spot.

  I moan, but his mouth swallows it up as he kisses me. Hard. Like his life depends upon it. Like he’ll implode if he doesn’t taste me, feel me against him.

  Like he loves me.

  Hands tug at the hem of my shirt and I lift my arms into the air so it can be whipped over my head. My mind barely registers that Slade’s hands still have a firm grip on my ass before a bare chest presses against my back and strong arms circle around from behind me.

  Silas runs his hands up to grip my breasts. The thin material of my bra is too much of a barrier, and a growl of frustration vibrates in my chest. Slade’s mouth is still plundering mine, so I can’t voice my demands, but Silas gets it.

  His hot mouth presses against the base of my spine, sparking the fire inside me even higher. He licks and kisses his way up as his hands continue to knead my breasts, pinching my nipples through the satin. When his mouth reaches the clasp of my bra, his teeth graze my skin. Shivers explode down my spine as he bites the material and with a quick twist, the clasp snaps free and the pressure of the elastic releases.

  Silas’s hands snake up under the now-loose satin, and the skin to skin contact rips another groan from my core. It feels like heaven. It feels like home.

  Then his hands are gone, moving to my shoulders to hastily guide the straps down my arms. I get the hint and release my grip on Slade’s hair. I shake off the offending garment, and Slade breaks off our kiss. A disappointed mewl turns into a full-blown moan of pleasure as his mouth suctions to one breast, his tongue swirling around the pebbled nipple.

  Instinctively, I lean back to give him better access, and my head comes to rest against a hard shoulder. Silas is there, his breath heating my skin just before his mouth descends to my neck. Hands brush my curls away, making room for the exploration of his lips, his tongue, his teeth.

  Thinking of those teeth makes me burn even hotter, and I untangle one hand from Slade’s blonde locks to grip Silas’s and increase the pressure of his mouth against my neck.

  “Do it,” I groan.

  They keep kissing and sucking like they didn’t hear me, though I know they did. Silas, on my neck and Slade, on my breast, mouths all fire and need and lust and teeth. A tingle starts in my core and spreads to my torso. I’m so close, even fully clothed from the waist down, with just the boys’ mouths and Slade’s erection grinding against me through his pants.

  “Please,” I beg. “Do it, now. Both of you.”

  Without another second’s hesitation, I feel a simultaneous pinch of pain at my neck and chest, followed by a sucking sensation. A chord of pleasure shoots from those spots straight to my center, which explodes. My groan of release is long and loud as aftershocks shake through me, my body going limp with satisfaction.

  My legs slip from Slade’s waist, my feet barely hitting the floor before someone is undoing my jeans and peeling them down my legs. Before I register what’s happening, I’m in the bed. Silas lays in front of me, his mouth on mine, and I can feel Slade’s hot skin pressing up behind me.

  Every touch between us is filled with warmth and devotion. I make love with both of them, each boy bringing me to new heights before seeking his own release.

  I lose track of how many times we voice our love for each other, saying the words we’ve been holding back out of fear. A dozen? A hundred? A thousand?

  I have no clue, but just in case, I say it again as sleep comes to claim my exhausted body.

  “I love you, Silas. I love you, Slade.”

  Then darkness pulls me under.

  13

  I’m exhausted.

  We’ve been up since before the sun rose, prepping for our flight. After deciding it was too risky to check the lockboxes at the airport—we couldn’t risk the airport losing our luggage—we had to come up with a way to get them on board with our carry-on luggage.

  We found a local grocery store that sells dry ice. We purchased an insulated bag that would carry the lockboxes and a five-pound block. At the security checkpoint, Slade persuaded the TSA agent to send us through the pre-check line, where security is lighter.

  When we passed our bags and the cooler through the screening machine, Silas caught that agent’s attention and discreetly persuaded her to think the bag was empty. We made it to our gate on time, the plan going off without a hitch.

  As I breathe in the cool, recycled air of the airplane cabin, I think about how easy it was, and my stomach feels a little queasy. I mean, I’m glad we pulled it off and are on our way to D.C. to meet Savanna and the others, with the blood, but what about people with not-so-noble intentions?

  A terrorist organization could easily lure a young Alt in with their propaganda and use him or her to smuggle guns, or even a bomb, onto an airplane. Or across country borders. Or into a government building.

&
nbsp; I know it’s these kinds of thoughts that have made the Purist community so zealous in their pursuit to confine and destroy Alts. Fear and loathing rolled into pretty words that fill its members with God-fire and make them willing to do anything for the cause.

  But even in their fanatical views, there’s a grain of truth. Not all Alts are bad, but they’re not all good, either. The young girl working in the convenience store I stopped at on my first trip to Connecticut is proof of that. Her trying to rob me doesn’t compare to national terrorism, but it proves that these kids are open to using their powers for personal gain.

  President Worth’s Alt army is another example. Those kids are devoted to him, thinking that he saved them. We know he’s actually responsible for the downfalls he “saved” them from, but they don’t. They’ll do anything for him, including persuade young girls to sleep with him, then forget all about it afterward. It’s repulsive. Thank God, Savanna used her special brand of persuasion to put a stop to that.

  “Lizzie? You okay?”

  The deep timbre of Silas’s voice pulls me from my dark thoughts. I meet his silver eyes and offer him a small smile.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  His hand on my knee tightens its grip as he whispers, “Where were you, just now?”

  “I was just thinking about how easy it was for use to get our,” I lower my voice a notch, “special package on board.”

  “And,” Slade chimes in from my left, “you were thinking about how that could be a bad thing, like if someone used an Alt for terrorist acts.”

  I nod, and he clears his throat.

  “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”

  “You were?”

  I was half-afraid Slade would be offended, like I’d somehow reverted back to my old way of thinking. He nods and Silas squeezes my knee again, gaining my attention.

  “I was, too. It was so simple. And, despite our, uh, enhancements, Alts are human, too. We can be drawn in, brainwashed to believe we’re doing the right thing in the name of some higher power, just like Norms.”