When their toes touched, he whispered, “May I walk you home?”
“Yes,” she barely breathed in reply.
She should have said no to hold strong to her ire, but the way he looked upon her melted every protest she possessed. Her response pleased him, a reaction that should make her cross. Instead, it pleased her as well.
A tiny smile touched the corner of his mouth and he puffed on his joint. With suave movements, he pivoted on his heel and strode toward the door.
Never had she given permission for a young man to escort her home until this moment. She did not possess romantic notions, or so she continued to reason within herself. Although, she was not the same young woman who once made such firm declarations. Girlhood faded into the memories that existed before her father died. Even her tempestuous nature had dimmed considerably. Oaklee removed her apron and attempted to smooth her hair, blowing at the flyaway strands framing her face.
The door creaked open and Fillion held it for her as she slipped through and into the twilight of evening, lacing her cloak as she walked. Skylar still stood in the shadows with Leaf, hood covering his face, and she attempted to appear natural as she stepped onto the main pathway toward the forest.
“We’ll meet you at the apartment,” Fillion called over his shoulder.
Leaf squinted his eyes as he looked between them. “Take the path along the village.” Oaklee turned several shades of red when her brother delivered a subtle warning look as she did not have a proper chaperone.
“Is Laurel still at the Hansens?” she asked with a shaky smile.
“Ember fetched her already.” Leaf bowed to her. “I shall see you at home shortly.” He said the last word with a pointed look at Fillion.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” She curtsied and studied Skylar as she said, “My Lord.” Skylar dipped his head, and she was unsure if it was to honor her in return or to further hide his crestfallen features.
The biodome was strangely quiet this evening. Not even a bio-breeze touched the leaves or inspired the trees to dance. The forest, however, blushed with the heat of autumn’s ardor. Such passions swept away her imagination and the magic infused her thoughts. A canopy of reds and oranges blazed above their heads as they edged the woods and walked beside the apartments. The serenity of their surroundings wrapped around her and a contented sigh passed her lips.
A young lad, chased by two others, ran by and the cool air of their wake caressed her skin. She rubbed her arms, preoccupied with her thoughts and her surroundings, and unwittingly gained Fillion’s attention. His face was unreadable yet tense, and he studied her eyes as if in search of direction. He looked so lost, so young, a lad in search of safety and comfort. She had thought him older than Leaf, but in this moment, his youthfulness baffled her previous perceptions.
“This may seem a strange question,” Oaklee began. “But, what is your age?”
“Seventeen.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.” A small, humored smile played across his features. “Older than you thought?”
“No, My Lord. Much younger. I thought you at least five-and-twenty or so.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I am not disappointed,” she replied softly, turning her head toward the forest and securing her cloak tight around her shoulders. “It is a comfort to know we are closer in age. When do you turn eighteen?”
“March.”
“I turn sixteen on the morrow.” Oaklee focused on the leaf-littered floor, embarrassed by her nervous banter. It felt childish to volunteer such information.
“Truth or dare?”
“Pardon? What a strange question.” He waited for her reply, his eyes begging her to choose. “Very well. Truth.”
“If you could have anything from my world, what would it be?”
“China silk in the shade of wood violets.” Oaklee smiled into her shoulder. “I have read that silk is luxuriously soft and shimmers under candlelight as if the surface of water.” His face remained unreadable. “Do you possess a garment made from silk?”
“My sister and mom have silk dresses.”
“Perhaps it is a silly request as I am sure there are ever so many exotic sundries to choose from,” she said, fidgeting with the edge of her cloak.
“No, it suits you.”
Oaklee sighed. “To own a silk garment with matching ribbons in such a pretty color would be a lovely extravagance.” She hugged her arms over her chest and swayed back and forth. Fillion regarded her with a faint smile, and she instantly felt ridiculous for her confession. His dark mahogany strands gently stirred in the breeze and she creased her brows. “Your hair is different from when I saw you through the portal. How is that possible?”
“Hair dye, like how you color linen or wool.”
“Really?” Oaklee’s eyes widened in wonder and she looked at his hands, touching his fingertips. A jolt of pleasure pulsed through her with the contact. Nevertheless, in a clear voice, she continued, “And your nails are no longer black.”
“Just paint.”
“I feared you had contracted a horrible Outsider disease, which blackened your nails and streaked your hair blue.” Fillion burst into laughter. Oaklee rolled her eyes and waited for him to finish, raising an eyebrow in mock irritation. “I suppose the piercings and the ash around your eyes did not indicate savagery?” A fresh wave of laughter rolled through him. “Fillion!”
“Savagery?” he said while attempting a straight face. He puffed on his joint to hide his smile. “God, that made my night.”
“I was terrified of you.”
He touched her forearm and leaned in close to where she stood and whispered, “Still terrified?”
She replied in a breathy whisper, “No, My Lord.” A distraction was needed before she was reduced to a puddle at his feet. Lost for direction, she blurted, “Truth or dare,” cringing with what she had done.
“Dare,” Fillion answered quickly with an impish grin.
“Oh.” Oaklee looked around for inspiration. “The proper answer is truth.”
“Not with those two choices.”
“I am not familiar with this diversion.” She knew he was grinning in that irritating way of his. “I dare you to answer this,” she said with a slight lift of her chin. “If you could possess any profession, which would it be?”
“Musician.” He lifted the hood to his cloak and studied the apartments. “I’ve played classical guitar since I was five. Part of a youth orchestra once, too. I own a few guitars, from a traditional six string all the way up to a twenty string.”
Oaklee bit down on her lip nervously. “What, pray tell, is a guitar?”
“Similar to a lute and guittern.”
“Shall you play for me sometime?”
He lifted both shoulders and looked away once more. “Sometime.”
“And do you also sing?”
“Maybe.”
Oaklee studied his hand as he lifted the joint, and contemplated the magic he wielded and imagined the music he created. Perhaps this was why he often leaned against the wall near the musicians during Sunday feasts? And why he tapped his fingers against his thigh or on a table? His answer was rather astonishing and insightful.
Enjoying their camaraderie, she asked, “What does your name mean?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Oh, is it your turn? My apologies.”
“Just kidding.” He slid a sly look her direction. “I don’t think my name has a meaning.”
“I have thought of your name—”
“You think of me?” That teasing smile reappeared.
“Your name,” she said with a huff. “I believe it is Old French for son.”
His expression sobered and his eyes glinted with a multitude of thoughts once more. Silence followed and Fillion puffed on his joint, eyebrows drawn together. They continued their stroll along the apartments and Willow nibbled on her bottom lip nervously. Had she said something upsetting? His moods had a te
ndency to swing at the blink of an eye, similar to her, actually. It was refreshing to be in the company of someone who was acquainted with strong emotions.
“Willow.” Fillion paused and stared at the fiery path of leaves. When he spoke again, his voice strained and she barely heard him. “Why did you reject Coal?”
The question was most unexpected, and she fidgeted with the ties of her cloak. “He was restless,” she said, “and wished for adventure, and I knew I would never be enough for him.”
He whispered, “You love him?”
“Yes,” she said. “But not in the way I believe you are asking.”
Fillion nodded his head, his eyes still focused upon the path. “Mack shares that he’s fitting in pretty well. Thought you’d like to know.”
“He is happy?”
“Yes.” Fillion finally looked at her, concern darkening his countenance. “Seems he has a thing for my sister, too.”
“A thing?”
“Um ... affection.”
“Truly?” Oaklee slowed her steps as the muscles in her stomach clenched. For a moment, anger coated every thought. She touched her lips and turned her head away from Fillion, confused. In a soft voice she continued, “Thank you, My Lord. Your sister is blessed if she returns his affection. He is a good man.” Then, she lifted her chin and picked up the pace of her walk. After all, she was the one who refused him, nor did she possess romantic inclinations for the Son of Fire.
Fillion studied her profile. “I was worried.” He released a nervous breath. “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything.”
“You are kind to concern yourself with my welfare.”
“I’ll always be concerned for your welfare.” His face darkened once more. “You’re part of my inheritance, remember?”
“You are part of mine as well, Son of Eden.” She stopped and faced him. “We are bonded.”
He flinched. “We should keep walking.”
Their footfalls shuffled the leaves and, on occasion, Fillion would lightly kick up a flurry. A strange and uncomfortable silence brewed between them and Oaklee failed to ascertain why his mood shifted once again. She peered at him through lowered lashes and asked, “Have I offended you, My Lord?”
“God, no.” The anguished look on his face did not match his sentiments, so she stepped in front of him. “Willow, please.” His eyes reddened and he tensed his face again.
A family stared at them through their window and Oaklee lowered her head to maintain propriety and said, “I do not think little of you for your position or mine.”
“How are we to do this?” He threw his joint down on the ground and rubbed it into the brittle leaves. “I wish I was just a boy and you were just a girl and our lives added up to only that—just us. But we’re not, and there can be no us. Ever. It’ll never work. I’ll never be around. Our relationship is nothing but nevers. You’re essentially my employee, right? But, until then, you’re Hanley’s and he ... he...”
“Come, My Lord. We have an audience.”
Oaklee resumed a leisurely pace along the path and warmed with thoughts of his declaration. The village path looped through a small copse of trees and she slowed her pace, relishing the privacy the alcove afforded.
At that moment, something caught Fillion’s eye and he walked away a few steps. Crouching down, he lifted a leaf and stared at a tree frog, angling his head to get a closer look. How had he seen the small, camouflaged creature amongst the fall foliage? With a single finger he stroked the back of the frog, then carefully replaced the leaf atop the small amphibian once more.
The dichotomy of his personality never failed to intrigue her. One moment he used vulgar language and behaved with flippancy. And the next, he showed respect and wonder to some of the smallest details of life. He oscillated between not caring and caring too much. Fillion slowly stood, and stared out into the woods.
“Have you ever wondered how this world feels so real when it’s all fake?”
“How can I, when I have never known any other world?” Oaklee folded her hands in her lap and straightened her posture. “Am I fake to you?”
His shoulders sagged with a heavy breath. “That’s not what I meant. God, I wish I hadn’t tossed out that joint.” Fillion scuffed at the leaves until the earth emerged. “Why does everything have to be an illusion? We are born into a world and into a culture we have no control over. From our first breath we have zero control, right?”
“Yes, in those ways, I suppose.”
“What we can’t control defines us, shapes us, makes us, breaks us, torments us.” Fillion looked up at the geodesic sky. “I’m rich. I’m worth so much money it’s asinine. People want me because of my price tag. And if they can’t have a piece of me, then they want to be me, idolizing my every move. I did nothing to earn that money. Nothing. Yet, I’m defined by it. And I’m going to die one day, just like the unlucky bastards who’ve eaten scraps from a commercial compost bin their whole life. Who assigned that value system? Who decided that I’m more important than the person who lives their life hungry and cold?”
“I cannot say, My Lord.” Oaklee nibbled on her bottom lip as she watched him struggle. People live entire lives hungry and cold? The very thought grieved her conscience and she swallowed back the guilt of living such a plentiful life. The Outside world seemed frightening to her, yet again.
“I’m trapped,” he continued. With distracted movements, he snapped a twig off a tree and rolled it between his fingers. “I know I own my life, but I feel like I have no control. None.”
Fillion finally looked at her again. Intensity shone from his eyes as he searched hers. “All I want is you,” he whispered. A delirious rush stilled the air in her lungs. “I want to be with you, kiss you until you can’t think straight, then kiss you some more, and argue with you until life has the last word. But it never matters what I want. Ever. This,” he said, gesturing at something between them, “is an illusion. It’s a dream, not reality. Like New Eden.”
Sensations fluttered through her body and she grew faint at the mere thought of kissing. “We are not an illusion, My Lord,” she somehow managed to say. Oaklee fidgeted with the strings of her cloak once more and said, “I welcome your pursuit.”
He closed his eyes tight and dragged his fingers through his hair. Slowly, his eyes opened and he peered up through the branches. “I just don’t know how to do this.” His voice cracked as he spoke. “Any relationship I pursue with you will end in pain, for both of us. I couldn’t live with myself if Hanley harmed you because of me.”
She knew of what he spoke, having overheard Fillion and Leaf discuss their predicament during a few late-night evenings. Clenching and unclenching her fists, she blurted, “You are not responsible for your father’s actions!”
“This affects more than us,” Fillion said softly. “The community needs your family. I’m making this choice for you and New Eden.”
“Ridiculous,” Oaklee spat. “Hanley places my family in his Legacy and then punishes us for existing? I struggle to comprehend how he could be so heartless as to reduce my family to the equivalent of slaves. For who treats another with such cold indifference, as if they are property to do with what they will?”
“You exist because of Hanley, never forget that. The second gen is the product of human manipulation,” Fillion said, more derisively than she expected. “You’re a character to entertain scientific theories. Everything about your life is built on lies. I tried to tell you and Leaf this before.”
“Well, I refuse to cower before Hanley.” Oaklee flared with indignation and clenched her fists once more. “Your father shall not manipulate my home anymore.”
A bitter smile curled Fillion’s lips. “He’s not my father. He’s my employer.”
Oaklee had never heard of a child denouncing their parentage. Her eyes rounded as she considered the implications and his confessions. Heartbroken, she laced her fingers with his; and he stared at their knotted hands. “The day you arrived in New Eden,” she
began softly, “you asked me to grieve for both of us. Do you remember?” He nodded. “If I could, I would steal your pain. You are worth every sorrow and hardship I would endure.”
A single, angry tear crawled down Fillion’s cheek and he quickly wiped it away. “Everything about you,” he whispered, “is beautiful.”
“Fillion Nichols, your name is carved into the boughs of my heart. I am yours, and nothing shall ever alter this truth.”
His entire countenance reflected serenity as her words sank in, like that of a weary traveler who had, at long-last, crossed the threshold of his home after a lifetime in search of where he belonged. She did not wish to cry—tired of all the tears, actually—but she was moved by the honor of being his refuge. However, the sense of belonging disappeared a moment later, eclipsed by confusion.
“God, Willow,” he choked out. “You’re the only reality I wish I knew.” Fillion tensed and his face hardened with angry tears once more. “But I don’t know how to gain control to make it happen. Hell, I’m not sure how to keep New Eden from project shutdown. I promised Leaf. In a moment when I was emotionally wrecked, I gave Leaf my oath that Hanley wouldn’t lay a finger on his family.” Fillion shook his head. “I can’t control Hanley. Shit, I don’t know how to control my own life.”
“You do not break an oath by trying—”
“You’re going to hate me one day.” Fillion drew in a shaky breath.
Oaklee’s mouth slackened. “How could you say such a thing? You accuse me of cheapening you with false pledges when I have only proved myself faithful to you.”
“I don’t know what to do!” He shouted and tossed the twig. “I can’t give you what you want! I can’t give myself what I want! And I’m going out of my freaking mind!”
“Please, do not be angry with me. I could not bear it.” Their atmosphere around them tightened, a taut string ready to snap with the slightest provocation. Gently, she lowered the hood hiding his face and he tensed even more. “I desire predictability,” she continued. “But I belong to a future I cannot control, either. I am subject to the winds of change, which gusts entirely from the cardinal direction of New Eden Enterprises.
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 44
