What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  If the Grand Council were to stop by, I’d envision a whole new host of rules would be born, unless they know and look the other way to encourage as many Cleavings to happen as possible.

  I head towards the kitchen to find a drink, but when I see Blake practically drooling at Bailey’s cleavage while she whispers more not-so-sweet nothings into his ear, I promptly turn around.

  “Darn,” I hear behind me. “I was looking forward to seeing you in…less.” I turn to see Tristan who appears to be imagining me in less than less. “Want a drink?” he says, offering me a glass.

  “What is it?” I ask about the drink, studying his face. His eyes betray the fact that he has partaken of some mind-altering substance which I want no part of. My pain meds have already kicked in enough to make me a little loopy.

  “Relax.” He hands me the cup. “It’s just Theranberry juice.” I smell it, and it certainly doesn’t smell like alcohol, but I sip it warily regardless. Its flavor is strong but pleasant like its scent, closest to Hawaiian passionfruit with a hint of berry and citrus. Despite my thirst, there’s no way I’m going to down it quickly until I know how Tristan and the others got their “high.” Lucas and a pack of inebriated friends come over to bro-hug Tristan and nod their approval at our conversation before making a kitchen run.

  “Thanks for the drink.” I raise my glass and look around. “This is quite the rager. Are all your parties like this?”

  “Everyone’s got to eat, right? We might as well have fun doing it. Let me show you around.” He motions me forward as if his house layout isn’t identical to my own.

  “Looks familiar.”

  “Not the artwork.” He takes my hand and leads me back towards the bedrooms. Crap, I do not want to be alone with my dead ex-boyfriend, particularly when his restraints are loosened. He ushers some kids out and closes the door behind us. “The painting’s incredible, isn’t it?” Not really. Looks like a kindergartner tackled this mural, although I’m sure someone would label it modern art.

  “It is different.” I immediately turn around and head towards the door. “I should get back out there and get to know more people.” And make sure Bailey hasn’t convinced Blake to Cleave her yet.

  “What’s your hurry? You have yet to get to know me, and I promise you that I’m the person here most interested in getting to know you. Particularly now that you’ve dumped your loser boyfriend.” He pins me with my back to the door. I squirm and grimace at his proximity, but he leans in to try to entrance me. Doesn’t work. Whatever he’s on has sucked the luster right out of his eyes. And his breath is fruity but too strong, reminding me of his drinking days.

  “Blake’s not a loser, and this is not the way to get to know me.” I feel woozier than I should.

  His eyes are lasered on me. “You must be popping something stronger than TB to think that Blake has any redeeming value. He’s a loner with zero social skills.”

  “Ugh. Please back up.” I push him far enough to wedge my way around him. “You don’t know the first thing about him, or me. And the only thing I’ve ‘popped’ is pain meds for my abdominal pain. What’s TB?”

  “Fine, defend the boy with the itsy-bitsy cleaver. You’ll come around to my way of thinking when you see what he’s not packing.” He chuckles as he traps me again and pushes my hair away from my eyes. “And TB is chill. Don’t worry about it.”

  I ignore the insult to Blake’s manhood since I doubt Tristan has firsthand knowledge. There’s no love lost there. “Did you drug me?” I ask. “What’s in here?” I slosh my drink around my cup before setting it down atop his dresser and vowing to never accept another drink from him that isn’t in a closed container. From his expression, he confirms my worst fears.

  “I didn’t drug you—just gave you some of what we’re all having. You just need to loosen up a little and have some fun.” He leans towards me, trying to work the smoldering eyes. “You are so beautiful. Can I kiss you?” I guess he must take my silence as agreement since he closes the distance. The move, altogether too familiar, fails as I turn my head in time for him to suck cheek. Just then, the door opens to a very angry looking Briella and Blake. Bailey’s behind them and looks thrilled to see my tenuous situation.

  “In our house? Right under my nose? Really?” Briella says to both of us.

  Tristan shifts nervously. “Uh. Well. Uh. She has been all over me.” It comes across as a question instead of a statement. I roll my eyes, push him away again, and shuffle towards the door. My legs move robotically, the drugs hampering with my motor function. As I respond, my words slur together.

  “He’s wasted. He gave me some juice that does not mix well with pain medicine. Nothing happened, nor would it have despite the roofie. But you guys can believe whatever you want. I’m going home. Thanks for the party, Bri. Sorry about this whole deal.”

  “You drugged her?” Blake pushes Tristan against the wall. Tristan reacts by swinging his right arm towards Blake’s jaw which Blake avoids Matrix-style, before landing a hook of his own in Tristan’s gut. This has little effect on Tristan who charges Blake full throttle, albeit impaired by whatever he imbibed. Blake sidesteps just enough to get the advantage and flip Tristan onto his back, knocking the wind out of him. Blake stands over Tristan and says, “You try it again, and I’ll have no issue facing Exile to make you pay. Understand?”

  Tristan doesn’t bother getting up. Still flat on his back and with belabored breath he says, “What’s your problem? Both of you? It was just a little TB juice—not powder—and she barely had any. Besides, everyone gets teebed here, and I had no freaking idea she’d downed pain meds before showing. The juice should have been harmless. I was just trying to get to know her a little better. It’s not like I was going to Cleave her! I just wanted to kiss her and see if we had chemistry.” Yeah, we had chemistry. Past tense. He simultaneously signs and says, “Forgive me, Bri. I was an idiot. I’m so sorry.”

  Blake gets in Tristan’s face. “I couldn’t give a crap what everyone else does. We don’t do TB or anything like it, understand? And it’s not harmless when you don’t ask first.” Blake then turns to Bri. “TB, teebed—what is it?”

  “It’s not real kosher to talk outside our group, understand?” she tells him.

  “Spill.” Blake puts a hand on her shoulder. “I won’t mention it to anyone.”

  “The Theranberry bushes in the canyon. The boys figured out the berries and roots give a good buzz. When they’re on it they’re ‘teebed.’ So we always have the juice and root powder on hand for parties. It livens things up, but I’ve never seen someone react the way Kira has—it must be because of her meds,” she says, likely referring to the fact I’ve become as flexible and useful as a wet noodle. “Typically, the juice just relaxes people. The powder’s a whole lot stronger.”

  Unable to walk, I slump into a pile on the floor. Blake looks even more furious now that the ruse has been explained. He starts towards Tristan with his leg up as if he’s going to stomp on him, but upon giving me a gander, he thinks the better of it.

  “I’m going to take her home. She’ll never get there by herself.” Blake proceeds to scoop me into his arms.

  “Sorry,” Bri says. I attempt to wave to her as we leave.

  Blake carries me home and promptly dumps me onto my bed. In my uninhibited state, I think he’s looking pretty darn attractive and appealing.

  “Don’t leave.”

  “What?” He uses an angry tone, though he leans over me to make sure I’m not having a medical issue.

  “I want you…to stay…” I slur my words.

  “No.” He gets up to leave. Not content to let him go, I try to get out of bed to stop him, and instead I lurch head first towards the floor, forcing him to catch me. We both end up on the floor, and I’m in his arms as intended. I reach my hands up under his shirt to feel his chest, and attempt to deliver a passionate kiss, but he turns his head, and all I get is a mouthful of ear.

  “Stop it, Kira,” he says. “This i
sn’t cool. You don’t get to go from hating me to mauling me, nor would you had Tristan not given you that juice.”

  “You saved me.” My words are still slurred. “You’re my hero. Let me give you a proper thank you.” I try to kiss him again, but he pulls away and then hefts me back up onto the bed. I land with a thump.

  “Sleep it off. If you still remember when you’re sober, we can discuss things. But my bet’s on you still hating me in the evening.”

  “I won’t, I swear. You’re the guy for me, Ethan. I’ve known it from the moment I met you. We could Cleave.” I want him more than ever, though that may be the drugs. I’m not sure. Is it Blake or Ethan that’s here? And did I just call Blake, Ethan? It sure looked like Ethan.

  “Good day, Kira.” He slams the door behind him as he leaves. Wow, Tristan wouldn’t have blown me off like that. He’d have Cleaved me. But no, ugh, Tristan was repulsive tonight. Come back, Blake or Ethan or whoever you are. Please come back.

  “Holy freaking crap. A suicide bomber just detonated a bomb in my brain,” I say to myself as I rummage through the fridge for some juice. My throat is so dry it could disintegrate at any moment. The orange juice I find doesn’t make a dent in my thirst or headache.

  “She speaks.” Blake looks me in the eye for the first time in nights, although he looks a little angry.

  “Yeah, but you shouldn’t. At least, not so loudly. What happened last morn? I remember being at that freak show party and then Tristan giving me a drink and a tour.” I pause to try to remember, but the concentration just sets off another blast in my head. “Nope, nothing but pain,” I say to myself.

  “Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” he responds, gritting his teeth. “The good news is you won’t have to play house with me anymore.”

  “Say what? Why?” I’m confused as to whether that truly constitutes good news. Despite his betrayal, he’s the only thing here that gives me hope of returning to Earth. And before he betrayed me, I had some semi-positive feelings developing for him.

  “Well, that’s where I deliver the bad news—or maybe you won’t see it that way. In your intoxicated state last night, you Cleaved to Tristan, so you’re now a full citizen of Thera and can live happily ever after with him and your to-be-assigned kids. You can teach ‘em how to be self-righteous, and Tristan can whip them into shape with that ‘killer’ circuit of his.”

  I got drunk? Cleaved to Tristan? Am stuck here forever? The horror slams me like a pro-boxing knockout punch, and I slump to the floor and curl into a ball, rocking myself back and forth, attempting to sob, but I am too dehydrated to get any tears to flow. How many times did Tristan try to convince me to give in to him back on Earth, where my reply was always “no”? And now, I chose to do it drunk and don’t even remember?

  How did I let it happen? And why didn’t Bri or Blake stop me? Or maybe they knew and looked the other way. Since Blake assumes I hate him over his betrayal, he probably figured Tristan and I would hook up sooner or later, so he might as well let me do it sooner. That way, he gets rid of me, so that he won’t have to watch out for me while carrying out his plans.

  “Anyway, congratulations, I guess. I’m going to get started on my classes. I made waffles if you’re hungry. And, here is something for your headache.” He hands me a couple pills and a glass of water.

  “Thanks for the pills. It’s a great substitute for the pre-Cleaving intervention you should’ve done last morn. I guess you were too busy trying to sail down the Cleaving path with Bailey to notice,” I mumble, but he just chuckles and leaves the room. The situation is so not funny, but he must think I deserve it.

  I stay on the floor for twenty minutes, allowing my headache to dull and then grab a waffle and join Blake in the living room to start my classes. But first, I swivel his chair towards me and yank his headphones off.

  “How did it happen, Blake? I wouldn’t do something like that, and I don’t even drink. Why can’t I remember anything? What’s going to happen now? How will I explain to my parents that I can never come home? Did Tristan…did he, take advantage?” I ask, staring into his eyes and wondering how I could have possibly fallen subject to Tristan’s charms when Blake was at that house.

  “How would I know, Kira? You haven’t exactly been buddy-buddy with me since you uh, dumped me.” Huh? It’s not like we were really dating, but yeah, I guess those listening don’t know that. “I had to find out from Bri what you and Tristan were up to.” His look is some weird combination of angry, sad, and smug.

  “Oh no.” I cover my head with my arms. “Bri must hate me. And who could blame her? I certainly hate me right now.” How will I ever face her again? Or Tristan? He’ll be able to tell immediately how disappointed I am and that won’t exactly start things off on the right foot.

  “Well, as much as I would love to chitchat all night about this, I’m going to get back to my work, and I suggest you do the same thing if you don’t want to re-consummate your Cleaving on Exiled ground.” He pulls his headphones back over his ears and turns his chair away from me.

  Time crawls the next few hours as I attempt to pay attention to my schoolwork, while trying to think of any loophole out of my current predicament. Blake doesn’t glance my way once and retreats to his room at lunch to avoid further conversation. By the time we’re cleared to leave for break, I dread opening the door. Thankfully, neither Tristan nor Bri await me. Blake exits on his board with a terse “see ya there,” and I make my way down the path towards the common area as slowly as possible, not wanting to face anyone. Of course, that’s impossible. Students—some I know from Earth, some I’ve met here, others I still haven’t gotten to know—are everywhere. I dodge engaging in more than some basic pleasantries. As I approach the outdoor hangout spot, Tristan walks down the path to meet me.

  “Hey.” He stares at his feet as if he’s embarrassed. “I’m really sorry about last morn. It was a jerk move. I was wasted and just wanted to get to know you a little better but let it go too far. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me somenight. I’m really not that bad of a guy, but I know I’ve come across like it. I just got so caught up in the ‘figuring out the right Cleave before it was done for me thing’ that I screwed up.” He honestly seems as distraught as I am over it.

  “I…I just don’t even know what to say Tristan. Can we talk about it later? I am just trying to get a handle on it, you know, and need some time,” I respond. In fact, I’ll need a lot of time—like a decade or two.

  “Sure, fine, I totally get it. Thanks for hearing me out. I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it.” He continues to look downward at his shuffling feet. I’ve never seen Tristan so humble and penitent about anything. I guess facing a lifetime with someone who doesn’t want to be with you would do that to a guy.

  “I know we eventually need to talk it through, but as I said, I just need some time,” I tell him. He looks so hurt, and I feel terrible that I’m causing him pain but can’t help it. I can’t accept what I’ve done and what it means. Cleaved to the former dead guy. How do I explain to our future kids why I look at him like he’s a ghost, zombie, or some other creature from a horror flick?

  “Yeah, well okay, bye then.” He walks towards the canyon and not back to the common area. Bri has been viewing our exchange from above, and I can tell she’s not going to let me walk by without a conversation. I approach cautiously, worried that she might just deck me for Cleaving her boyfriend in her own house. She motions me over to her table, and I take a seat.

  “Well, have you recovered from your big morning?” She uses a sarcastic tone.

  “No, I don’t think I’ll ever recover.” I’m unable to meet her glare.

  “I trusted you,” she says. “And yet you followed my boyfriend into his bedroom.” This I vaguely remember. He wanted to show me his wall art, but all I recall is my desire to leave, not stay, and certainly not hook up.

  “I’m so sorry. He was giving me a tour. I just never expected…Oh gosh, I’m just horr
ified Bri.” I shake my head in shame. “You must hate me. Absolutely hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you. I already told you that I understood why he’d go after you. But what he did still sucks, and I’m not ready to forgive him for it.” Is she honestly letting me off the hook? It takes two to Cleave. Surely, I must have allowed it to happen and should be held equally responsible. When she and Tristan kissed at the Goodington’s party, I was furious. And that was over a kiss! She always was the better friend in our pairing.

  “I hate me,” I state. “The whole thing sucks. Just really freaking sucks.”

  “How’d Blake take it? He was pretty pissed last morn,” she tells me. “I thought he was going to kill Tristan in that fight. He didn’t. But he sure humiliated him.” Fight? What fight? Blake didn’t tell me they’d fought. He acted like he didn’t care that I Cleaved Tristan this evening, but he must have if he attacked Tristan. Too bad he didn’t do that before the Cleaving.

  “He seemed pretty indifferent to it all.” I’m disappointed that it’s the truth and still pissed that he didn’t intervene.

  She lets out a high-pitched laugh. “You are insane if you think for one second that Blake’s indifferent to you. If you search for ‘smitten’ on your tablet, you’re going to find his picture.”

  “I doubt that’s still the case under the circumstances,” I respond, looking around for Blake, tears coming to my eyes at the thought of losing him forever, despite what he has done. “He was all over Bailey last night.”

  “Hardly! Bailey was the one mauling him. Blake bursts into Tristan’s room to save you after Tristan gives you some Theranberry juice, fights for your honor, and then carries you home like a freaking princess, and you think he’s into Bailey and not you? Geez girl, what’s it going to take for you to Cleave to that boy?” Hold on. Did I hear her correctly? I can’t Cleave to Blake if I already Cleaved to Tristan. My mouth’s gaped open, and I might as well have been struck by lightning given the shock I’m feeling.