“Rather a peculiar statement coming from a man who mocks everyone, is it not?” She tilted her head with a bold stare.
He took a step closer, feeling her fingers burn through the layers of clothing, and leaned toward her face. “Everyone?” he asked through gritted teeth. “They didn’t suffer because of me. They weren’t asked to give up everything and deny who they are because of me. You don’t know shit.”
Willow gasped and paled as tears quietly began to trail down her face, but he couldn’t care less. Like usual, she could think of him as a machine devoid of human emotion. He wouldn’t give anyone room to cause him pain a second longer.
“Go ahead and school me on the art of being a gentleman to appease your finer sensibilities,” he derided. “It doesn’t change the truth. Nothing changes the truth! I’m trash, remember? And we’re pawns. Both of us. So, yeah, I lied. But I did it to protect your family and mine. How you and I feel isn’t even factored into this goddamn equation.” Fillion pushed past her once again.
This time she grabbed his hand and pulled him back toward her, immediately dropping her hold as if touching him was repulsive. They stood and faced each other for a few moments as emotions flew back and forth in a wild blur. This was the first time he ever stood emotionally naked before anyone. The vulnerability gnawed at his mind until he literally felt sick to his stomach. But he couldn’t keep holding it all inside.
Everyone wanted something from him. Always. She was no different. His eyes stung and he tensed his face to hold back the emotion. He wouldn’t let her hurt him and he sure as hell wouldn’t cry in front of her.
“What do you want from me?!”
She fearlessly met his eyes, but he knew she was terrified. Yet, her voice was soft, affected even, as she said, “I have never wanted anything from you other than the truth. I long to know the real you.”
“Doubt it. But let’s pretend you actually care and test this theory.” He ran a hand through his hair in quick motions and then dropped his arms to his side. “Here’s the truth.”
Fillion poured out everything he confessed to Leaf that morning, except their plan to hack The Code. Willow placed a hand on her chest as more tears pooled in her eyes. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t bring Joel back to make it right. He couldn’t save her to make it right. Hell, he couldn’t save his sister or himself. That realization triggered an internal landslide, and he knew the momentum would be destructive. His soul was done. “Trust me, you don’t want to know the real me. I’m not trash—I’m an entire landfill. The stench of my life will make your perfect, Green Moron, community-minded, fake existence gag and vomit.”
“Fillion—”
He cut her off as he retched details from his personal life, things that Leaf didn’t even know. He began with Lynden and her hospitalization, followed by the computer underground, and continued on about how his parents were never around but blamed him for every failure in their life. She blushed when he described how the world vilified him as Hanley’s son while simultaneously declaring he was the sexiest and wealthiest young man alive. The confession kept rolling and she listened, not moving a muscle, wiping away a tear every so often.
“These,” he said with a cracked voiced as angry tears began to fall. “These are the elements that comprise my life. I’m nothing. Even when I inherit all of this, I’ll still be nothing. I’ve been groomed by the world to be an empty vessel that exists for the entertainment of others—including my own mom and dad. Nobody cares. Nobody gives a damn about who I really am. And. Neither. Do. You.”
“That is a lie, My Lord,” she whispered. “I do care exceedingly.”
Fillion relaxed and took on a seductive posture. He bit his bottom lip flirtatiously as his eyes raked over her, grinning with wolfish appreciation. In a single step, his body leaned into hers and she softly gasped when his hands rested on her hips. Willow blinked nervously and turned her head away and he stared at the quickened pulse in her neck as his emotions continued to rage.
“Girls like you want boys like me.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “I’m thrilling. Dangerous. Sexy. Different than your boring, mannered existence. You think you can heal my bleeding heart, but you can’t.” The shallow breaths against his cheek told him everything he needed to know. This is what she wanted from him. So he pulled her tight against him, nuzzling his mouth against the skin of her neck. “You care only because I turn you on.” His hands dropped to his side and Fillion glared at her, arrogance pulling on the corners of his mouth.
Willow pushed him forcibly away, took several steps back, and glowered with narrowed eyes as heat suffused her neck and face. The anger sparked out of her, fists clenching and relaxing, chest heaving, causing a smug smile to form on his face.
“How could you mock me in such a way?” she asked, as if horrified. “I shall not entertain your blind fury. Do not presume to know me or my character. You commit the same offense that grieves you by treating me as though I am nothing!”
“God, you don’t get it.” He threw his hands into the air as he began to pace back and forth, pulling at his hair in agitated movements. After a few seconds, he turned toward her and shouted, “Here’s the truth in simpler terms: We can never be together! You should have never given me your damn heart!” He pointed at his chest. “Do you understand what that has done to me? Love is a fairytale. It’s a painkiller, a drug that dulls with time, making the wounded desperate for larger doses that will. Never. Ease. The. Pain.”
“I am astonished by your accusations. Are you not the one who asked for a token of my affection on your last night of freedom?”
“Spare me your sheltered-life pity,” he spat with disgust. “My dad gave you a better life than I’ll ever have, and I don’t want your lectures or your sympathy!”
Willow’s face grimaced with anger and then she slapped him. The hit was so forceful that his head snapped to the side. She continued to glare at him as he touched the stinging skin on his cheek, too stunned to move or even blink.
“You are now spared my pity.” Willow crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you quite done? Or do you wish for me to pay for more emotional reparations to justify your anger and fear?” He clenched his jaw and lowered his eyes. “Fillion Nichols, you are an arrogant, self-centered, vulgar man.”
“It’s part of my charm,” he said with a cocky smile. “Now do you hate me?” Fillion closed the distance and whispered harshly, “Say it. Slap me again and say it!”
She took in a shuddering breath as tears fell down her face once again. He became faintly aware of a drum echoing in the distance as his heartbeat throbbed in his head. His chest rose and fell in agitation. Willow wiped away the tears on her cheeks in fluttering motions.
They eventually locked eyes as their angry breaths mingled and she whispered in reply, “I have laid down my reputation for you twice now and nearly lost the respect of my brother, a man who was willing to leave to exchange places with you. I paid you the highest honor during a week when my heart shattered, and you return the favor by cheapening me in order to defend your pain.”
She threw out her hands in a gesture of confused exasperation. “I thought you were a soldier going to war, a man who faced death and desired comfort for his fears. I grieved that I may never see you again, afraid for your life.” Her hand lifted and pointed at him. “You say such lies were to protect my family, but they only protected you.
“No, My Lord, I do not hate you,” she said, seeking his eyes. “I hurt deeply for you. But I am most displeased.”
He stilled as the shock of what she said jolted him out of his acerbity. She didn’t hate him? He cheapened her? She hurt for him? Confusion quickly replaced the rage as disconnected thoughts flurried in his mind, creating a blizzard of jumbled emotions. Finally, he mentally surrendered, “I’m sorry,” with a heavy sigh.
“Do not further insult me with an apology. I do not wish for empty sentiments.” She took in another ragged breath, and the warmth caressed h
is skin. “My heart is broken and I grieve, for I have known love. Your heart is broken and you grieve, for you have not. I shall not add to your sorrows. But you, My Lord, shall not regard me with such flagrant dishonor and disrespect.” Willow dipped into an elegant curtsy, not a single trace of mockery in her gesture, and he grew even more confused. “Good evening time, My Lord.”
For a single heartbeat, they locked eyes. And then, slowly, she turned and marched toward the linden tree and grabbed the lantern. With a straight back and slight lift to her head, she stormed past him on the stone bridge and faded into the forest.
What the hell just happened?
The remnant pieces of himself ached and writhed with a pain he had never known before, and he doubled over with nausea. He wanted to die. But Fate always refused to kill him. It was content, instead, with perpetually tormenting him until insanity took over and fabricated hope. But hope was for the weak-minded. No more games.
Minutes passed and his labored breathing slowed to a manageable rhythm. Fillion looked around in a dazed fog. He half-expected to see rubble and pieces of the biodome crumbled on the ground in a heap of wispy, black smoke from his explosion. Instead, geodesic lines shimmered in reflection across the inky water and he stared absently. “Oh my god,” Fillion grit through clenched teeth. He wanted someone to shoot him and put him out of his misery.
Feeling antsy, he pushed off the bridge and walked toward the linden tree. Heart-shaped leaves fluttered above him and rustled along the grass. His fingers shook, but he plucked a still silvery-green leaf from the tree and caressed the soft, waxy surface.
A sudden vibration against his lower hip startled him. He checked the surrounding darkness, looking for movement. The sound of the distant drum continued to float in the air and so he decided to take a risk out in the open. In swift movements, he pulled the Cranium from his leather pouch and put it on his ear. Never had Fillion wanted to hear his friend’s voice more than now.
“Mack?”
“No, it’s Lynden.”
Fillion closed his eyes as a sob caught in his throat. The sound of his sister’s voice elicited a strange combination of relief and guilt, and words failed to form.
“Fillion?”
He opened his eyes and stared at the leaf in his hand, and then slid to the ground as his body leaned against the trunk.
“Hey, Lyn.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry, Fillion. You were right and ... and ... I’m stupid, so stupid.”
“Shhh,” he soothed. “I’m not mad at you.” They were silent for a few seconds. “I’ve missed you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
He had to change the subject before he lost his mind again. “Please tell me you’ve kept my pathetic friend out of trouble.” Lynden scoffed and Fillion swallowed nervously, not knowing if he offended her or if it was for show.
“He is trouble so how can I keep him out of trouble? Mack can’t help his disposition. We shouldn’t judge.”
“Ouch!” Mack said in the background and then his friend joined their line. “You two can go to hell.”
“I’m already there,” Fillion volunteered.
“Yeah, me too,” Lynden said.
“Well shit. It’s a good thing I’m trouble then since it appears I’m the only one available to bail out your sorry asses. Again.”
Lynden cooed in a syrupy voice, “Ah, poor Mack. Do you feel underappreciated? Come here, little fella. Let me scratch behind your ear. Who’s a good boy?”
This was the playful tease Fillion remembered from before Pinkie came onto the scene nearly a year ago. Given the circumstances, Lynden was far too cheerful and he guarded himself. Was it the narcotics? Was she in denial? The concussion? Regardless, he was glad for this small gift, however long she felt free from the pain.
Relief had never felt so good and he rubbed at the forming tears. She would be OK. God, he needed to stop crying. It was pissing him off. Sleep and a cigarette would help tremendously. And he would do just about anything for a bottle of whiskey this moment.
Mack laughed. “Fillion, do you have any idea how I’ve suffered?” Fillion imagined his friend flipping Lynden off good-naturedly.
“You like it. Stop your gritching,” Fillion replied.
A loud muffled sound echoed in Fillion’s head and he wrinkled his forehead in irritation. What were they doing? Mack’s humored voice blared but with distance, and he figured Lynden had grabbed the Cranium off his friend’s head.
“Give it to me you kusogaki!”
Lynden’s laughter filled Fillion’s head and then everything went silent as Lynden moaned. “Oh god, it hurts.”
“What’s going on?” Fillion demanded.
“I’ll be fine. Just my ribs. Laughter makes ... everything ... hurt.”
“Sorry, Rainbow,” Mack said, serious, Cranium back in place. “Didn’t mean to be so funny.”
Lynden started to laugh again, followed by another moan. “Don’t say anything cute, Fillion, or I’ll kill you.”
“Noted.”
“I need to go.” Lynden’s tone remained strained. “Hearing your voice makes me feel better, though.”
“Hearing your voice makes me feel better, too.”
“Really?”
Fillion rolled his eyes and shook his head as he smiled. She was definitely hyped up on narcotics.
“Really.”
“I think I just threw up a little in my mouth,” Mack said in playful disgust and Fillion laughed. He couldn’t help it. Lynden let out a groan of frustration and he smiled at the familiar sound of his sister’s ire.
“Oh my god! Seriously. When Fillion gets back you can make out with him, OK?”
“Peachy,” Mack replied, followed by melodramatic kissing sounds. “I want to grab his skinny ass too.” Laughter spilled out of Fillion despite all attempts to keep it in.
With irritation, his sister sighed. “Bye.”
“Take care of yourself, OK? Keep a low profile for a while. It’ll all blow over soon. And don’t, under any circumstances, search your name on the Net. Promise me?”
“God, you’re such a dictator!”
“Don’t forget it,” Fillion said with a sad smile.
“Like you’d ever let me.”
“Methinks the lady protests too much,” Mack said, followed by taunting laughter. “Gasp! Shudder! Make it stop! I’m so frightened by your pertinaciously narrowed eyes, Lynden Norah-Leigh Nichols.”
“Pertinaciously? That must have hurt your brain.”
“Oh, please. I’m smart and stuff.”
“Whatever, Mackenzie Patton Campbell Ferguson the Third. Your male pride is gross, you son of a—”
The line disconnected with Mack’s laughter and Fillion leaned his head against the carvings with a smirk. He twirled the leaf in his hand as the hairs on his arms stood on end. Did he really just have a conversation with Lynden while sitting beneath a linden tree? The idea was absurd and yet it filled him with a strange, indescribable peace. Fate seriously had a wicked sense of humor.
Fillion looked up at the tree as if it held an ancient magic, infusing its tales of love and truth into the night air. Did the tree take pity on him too, ensuring his sister called just at that moment? Normally he would roll his eyes with such corny thoughts, but this evening had changed him.
I have never wanted anything from you other than the truth. I long to know the real you.
Was love really a fairytale?
His fingertips grazed the scars cut into the tree, marks that immortalized the proclamations between lovers. He dropped his hand and lowered his head as his shoulders sagged. Tattooed declarations marked his body as well, each one a scarred testament of his desire for something real, something meaningful.
Willow’s words seared him. She had no desire to use him and only wanted to know him, the real him—and not in a sexual way. There were no games. Her aroused response was one he knew how to get. And even though he used her, she sti
ll treated him as if he possessed worth and value and refused to allow him to treat her as if she didn’t. His world tipped upside down.
Love and truth.
With unsteady legs, he stood and stepped in rhythm to the drum’s beat. A Celebration of Life raved on and Fillion shoved death’s familiar voice out of his head. He wanted to live. He wanted to know the pain from loving too much rather than from its deficit. New Eden’s motto consumed his mind, and his soul pleaded for the identity forged by the world to die so that the real him could emerge. He didn’t know what that would look like or even where to begin, but the desire burned hot inside of him.
Minutes passed in a surreal fog as he trudged through the forest, his mind captivated by this moment of metanoia. He eventually found himself in front of the Hansen apartment, and he looked over his shoulder. The air was still, possessing zero signs of nearby human activity, so he lifted the iron knob and pushed. The door opened easily and he paused to see if anyone was there. Satisfied they were still at the feast, he tiptoed down the hallway. He opened doors until, at the far end, he smelled a faint trace of lavender, her scent.
A few days ago, he remembered how she treasured a leaf that had fallen from her pocket, giving way to an idea. Apologies weren’t his forte. But he hoped she accepted his gesture and understood his message.
The linden leaf twirled in his fingers one last time before he rested it on her pillow. In thoughtful motions, he slowly traced the outline of the leaf. Then he walked through the shadows and out into the ambient light of the dome’s night sky as the drum beat ended.
***
The Anime Generation has almost grown up, giving scientists the first real glimpse into the future––and it is dire.
Born during a mysterious population surge in 2030s, this demographic is now under strain from a corporate system unprepared to support the employment needs of so many. Early on, it was believed the only way to sustain a future for the Anime Generation was to inflate their global marketability––imparting epoch-making skills and knowledge in high tech innovation. With unanimous support from Congress and from the Oval Office, educators and resources were contracted from Japan to ensure a cross-cultural pollination and cyber-instructive immersion.
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 13
