I sigh. “I think so. And that’s the problem. It’s going to suck and it’s going to hurt.”
****
The next day for our four-hour sim, Bennett tells me I need to do two, one with Henry in the morning and one with Lyncoln after dinner, lasting probably until about midnight. Our schedules are different now having finished up our self-defense class. We go to sims when we are scheduled. We go to Dougall when we can and when we aren’t in sims. Sometimes we go alone, sometimes there is a group. Sometimes Dougall is at DIA and sometimes at Mile High. And when we aren’t doing either of those things, we are to be at the range doing drills that they set up for us, although by this point most of us have mastered shooting a gun.
The sim with Henry goes well and I try not to step into any line of fire that I don’t need to. The thing with these long sims is that it adds an element of survival. You get away and must find a fake hole or cave or something, use whatever the sim gives you, to lay low as you go into hiding. Then you wait. And they will find you. They always do in a sim. The bad news is, since you are hiding, you can’t even talk to one another. Or shouldn’t. Normally four hours of being with Henry would sound amazing, but since we can’t talk, it’s rather boring. We sit on the mouth of a fake cave, one at each corner with guns drawn and pluck off the enemy as they come from below us. In the end, I’m not terminated but do sustain an injury to the arm. I will be docked for that.
After lunch, we both have a short break and Henry comes to hang out with me in my room. It feels good to finally be able to talk to him. Four hours of keeping my mouth shut and wearing those super unattractive glasses weren’t fun. I don’t know how I didn’t fall asleep. Probably the faces Henry kept making at me to entertain me.
“I was just sure it was going to be a zombie sim this time,” Henry jokes, one arm around the back of the couch behind us as he sits facing me.
I shake my head. “You and zombies.”
“Just saying. It’s a good way to go, way better than Trident. I could survive forever on my own, or like to pretend I could. Probably because I was never allowed to be on my own growing up.” He smiles charmingly and adds, “Plus, I’m a really good shot.”
“That you are.” I’ve seen him in the practice range and sims. I know he’s right. He and Lyncoln always have competitions that often end in a tie because neither one of them miss the bullseye. Showoffs.
I think about what he said and realize that although he wasn’t ever left alone, he would have no problem surviving on his own. I don’t doubt it for a second. It makes me wonder what Henry would be like if he wasn’t raised so privileged. I have no doubt he would still be ranked at the top in the Culling, but what would he do if his life wasn’t submerged in politics? Would he seem less perfect? Somehow I doubt it. From day one, I have never liked Henry for his status. I have always been attracted to his personality instead.
“What would you do, if there were no politics and no Culling? I mean, what if we had met somewhere else? What would you want to do if you could do anything you wanted?” I ask.
“Besides for writing insanely awesome zombie literature?” he asks with a bounce of his eyebrows and I know he is only half joking.
“Yes. Besides zombie literature.” I roll my eyes with a smile.
He pauses for a moment. “If we are talking pre-Trident, I probably would have wanted to be a teacher or a coach of some sort. Post-trident, I think I would prefer to be a military training instructor. Why? What would you do?”
I shrug with both shoulders and a gesture for extra emphasis. “I don’t really know. I listen to Marcia talk about the advances Seattle is making and I’m fascinated and think I would work in water. I listen to Attie talk about how lacking other townships are in their medical advances and I think that I would want to help with the poor helpless babies. I guess, when it comes down to it, I just want to somehow help people and fix things. I don’t know what job that is.”
“Well, I think you are headed in the right direction.” He smiles a huge grin, dimples bouncing, and squeezes my hand with the hand not around the couch.
“So are you. You could essentially run the military.”
“Yeah…but I would want to do more than that. I’m talking about the day to day training, teaching them how to shoot, how to kill, the physical demands, the mental toughness, and the camaraderie of it all. Lyncoln and I went into training as strangers and came out brothers. That is what I want to be a part of.” His face gets so animated when he’s talking about it that I can tell it’s something he really cares about.
I wonder if that’s what he would do if he doesn’t get the presidency. I try not to think about Henry as the president or Henry not as the president. For the most part, I just like to think of Henry as my boyfriend. I’m beginning to see that it’s very selfish of me to take only that part of him into consideration. He is so much more.
****
After another completely boring interview session with Dougall and dinner with the rest of the gang, Lyncoln and I head back over to DIA for my second four-hour sim. The good news is I won’t have another sim for at least another two days while everyone finishes up theirs.
“You are going to have to kick me to make sure I don’t fall asleep,” I joke on the ride back to DIA.
He half-smiles, “Past your bedtime, sweetheart?”
I nod two slow nods and yawn. He almost laughs.
“You are a superhuman. Not all of us can roll on three or four hours of sleep,” I offer.
“Not all of us can shoot a turkey either,” he winks.
“If I recall correctly, we both shot the sim turkey.” I laugh and try to lightly punch him, which he of course easily deflects.
“Nope. I only remember my bullet. Which, of course, hit it.”
“Of course,” I shake my head mocking him. Typical Lyncoln, oozing confidence with every word.
We ride in silence for a while, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Lyncoln may be dark and intense and intimidating to most people, but if you really get to know him, he isn’t scary at all. Except scary attractive maybe. Scary muscular. Scarily good at the art of the smooch.
I feel my chin turned toward him as he asks, “What were you thinking of just then?”
I blush and he smiles a huge grin as he looks me in the eyes affectionately. “Okay, then.”
“I was thinking about how many push-ups you must have done in order to get your neck like that?” I point to it. “Seriously, what is it with you Denver boys? You are all huge! But your neck specifically…” I shake my head unable to come up with an accurate descriptor.
“We have to start weight lifting and physical training sooner than the rest of the bunch. That’s all. It isn’t really a big deal.” He shrugs.
“Tell that to your biceps,” I say, poking them and making him grin. I think if he could blush, he might have. “How are your mom and Wyatt?” I ask after a few seconds, liking the playful Lyncoln beside me.
“They’re good. I saw mom the other day on her way to a meeting. She says Wyatt asks about you often. You left quite the impression.” He shakes his head. “He keeps blabbering on about some game you are going to teach him.”
“Really? I did?” I ask kind of surprised. Since he’s just a child, I was sure he had moved on to something more interesting. He seems like the type of kid that barely focuses on anything for longer than a few minutes.
“You always do. He told the kids at school the next madam president was going to teach them all a new way to play kickball.” He smirks.
“I would do that even if I wasn’t Madam President,” I say quietly, looking down at my hands.
Am I really going to be the next Madam President? Am I really going to start going after it? What is holding me back? This decision looming over my head?
“I know you would,” he says softly and takes my hand in reassurance.
I sigh in contentment and look back out the window.
“Regs,” he interrupts the silence shortl
y after.
“Lync,” I smile softly, wondering what he is about to say because he seems uncomfortable. Not his usual confident self.
“Your speech at Oliver’s funeral was beautiful. I wish someone would have said something like that for my dad. You’ll make a great madam president,” he says in a rare moment of shyness and squeezes my hand he’s still holding.
I swallow a lump that is apparently lodged in my throat and manage to get out, “Thanks.”
“And yes, I think it’ll be you. I can see you are doubting yourself after this last week.” He rubs his thumb along my hand.
“Thank you.” I sigh. I look back out the window, lost in my thoughts, reminding myself that the deadline is inching closer day by day. One of these mornings I will wake up and it will be here.
What on earth am I going to do?
****
During our sim, much like the one with Henry, we are in a wooded area and rather than head for a cave of sorts, Lyncoln finds some brush and a hidden area low to the ground in a spot in the corner of the sim that allows us to see who will be coming at us. The good news is, I can relax and just sit there while we wait and not have to worry about being on the lookout so much. The bad news is that there isn’t much room and our bodies are shoulder to shoulder. Maybe that’s the good news actually, I’m not sure.
It’s a good thing the shrubbery we hide in isn’t real, or the twigs would be stabbing into us as we take our positions sitting down. I sit cross legged with my gun in my lap. He sits with a knee pulled in and his left arm lazily draped across the knee to help stabilize his gun which he holds in the other hand. If someone could see us without the sim on, we would look hilarious just sitting on the ground in the corner.
“Isn’t being lower to the ground not as safe?” I whisper, wondering what his strategy is here. Lyncoln always has a strategy.
“Yes,” Lyncoln responds, looking at me intensely. Although it is almost 2000 hours and all but dark outside, the sun is just beginning to set in our sim.
“So why are we doing it then?” I ask.
“Because everyone else will choose high ground and the cave. I want to know what the sim will do if we don’t do what is expected of us,” he whispers as if the bad guys were real and could hear us. He always takes the sims super seriously, trained assassin that he is.
I shrug. “Okay.” I trust his judgment. If this is what he wants to do, I’ll do it.
“Let’s just hope we don’t get attacked by an army of turkeys down here,” he jokes and I stifle a laugh.
After a while, I feel myself start to fall asleep. After jerking once or twice as my body tries to nod off, I try holding my gun but it feels way too heavy. I hold onto my gun in my left hand and wrap my arm around Lyncoln’s huge bicep instead.
“One hour down, babe,” he whispers affectionately.
The darker our sim gets, the harder it is for me to stay awake. Lyncoln puts his hand on mine and helps keep me awake by squeezing or rubbing circles on my hand. The time drags on and I am getting sleepier by the second. I grab Lyncoln’s arm and turn it palm up. I trace along the veins in his palm first, then up his forearm where he has a scar, and then up his bicep. I’m not even paying attention to the fact that what I am doing is affecting him; I’m just exploring the veins on his glorious body with curiosity, wondering if his body has been through as many bang-ups as his soul. What happened to him? His scar on his forearm reminds me of the scar on his abdomen I saw when he was shirtless.
He catches his breath once and I can almost feel his heart pounding beside me. I turn to look at him and he has his fiery gaze on me. I hear my own breath hitch and I’m just sure he will lean in to kiss me. The air seems to sizzle around us.
“Not here, Regs. Not here. You’re killin’ me,” he whispers. He rests his head on mine for a second and then continues listening and looking out the small holes in the fake shrubbery.
I quickly do the same, realizing where we are and what we are supposed to be doing though I do feel a bit rejected. Eventually, I hear some movement but don’t see anyone. After what feels like an eternity, the sim fades and we are back at DIA. They didn’t find us. Wasn’t that the point?
“Well, done,” Professor Bennett says cheerfully with a clap as we come out of the sim. “Interesting choice of the shrubs.”
“Pretty boring if you ask me.” Lyncoln shrugs.
“Mr. Reed, will you go check in with Taggert for the evening report while I speak with Ms. Scott for a moment before you leave?” he asks.
Lyncoln nods saying, “Yes, sir,” and swiftly walks away. I’m left wondering who really has the higher rank between the two of them. Although Lyncoln said “sir”, I feel like it was more out of respect than necessity.
“Ms. Scott, have a seat will you?” He gestures to the couch in the viewing room of the sims.
“Sure,” I say with a shrug as he hands me a cold bottle of water.
“These particular sims weren’t about terminating the enemy this time, my dear,” he starts.
I twist the bottle around in my hands feeling the sweaty plastic. “They weren’t?” I feel confused and tired. I have never wanted to sleep in my bed more than I do right now. Sims are exhausting. And this one was a total waste of time.
“No. They were about putting aside your attraction and sexual tension to see if you would listen and be prepared or if you would be so enthralled with one another that you would let the enemy sneak up on you in the heat of the moment,” he says, looking at me carefully.
“Okay?” I’m wondering what he’s getting at. I passed both times then…right?
“I just thought you should find it interesting you came closer to losing focus with Lyncoln today than with Henry. You can blame tonight on that you’re tired and it’s dark, but time and time again, you are physically drawn to Lyncoln. And in times of crises, you are drawn to one another like some sort of magnetic pull.” He smiles warmly then sits down.
I start to panic, concerned this conversation is heading in the direction of my impending deadline, when he adds, “Look. All I’m saying is that you can’t ignore that connection, which is what I tried to point out after your simulation with the turkey. You are such a smart and logical girl that I know you would push the physical part of it away thinking it doesn’t matter. Take it from a happily married man, the physical part matters too. I’m not saying you aren’t attracted to Henry. I’m not saying you shouldn’t pick him. What I am saying is you and Lyncoln have a rare but powerful attraction to one another. Even when both of your brains are telling you to stay away from one another this entire time, your bodies have a hard time listening. As a spectator just along for the ride, I just wanted to make sure you realized all that. As I see you struggling with this decision, you remind me of my own daughter and I just wanted to try to help.”
I look down at my hands in embarrassment and blush. For some reason what he is telling me is making me feel like I have cheated on Henry, and in a way, I guess I have. I’m also weirded out that he has alluded to the fact they have been watching me with each of them. Awkward.
“Thank you. I just don’t know exactly how to handle what you’ve said,” I respond honestly.
“Just take it into consideration,” he says as he pats my shoulder twice in comfort.
Bennett then walks me down to the vehicle waiting to take us back to Mile High. It is a quiet and awkward few minutes so I keep fiddling with the water bottle in my hands. When we get downstairs, I see Lyncoln is already ready to go.
Before Sarge opens the door to the SUV and while Lyncoln walks around the vehicle to the other side, Bennett says quietly, “You don’t really have a wrong choice here, Reagan, I hope you see that. I’m just hoping to point out that you can be happy, too. Don’t over think it and make it harder than it has to be.”
As we get in and settled, Lyncoln picks up on my dampened mood. “Everything alright?” he asks and reaches for my hand, validating what Bennett just pointed out. I’m not sure
if it makes me feel better or worse.
“Yeah,” I respond quietly.
“Did he tell you the real reason for our sim?”
“You knew?” I ask astonished. Why didn’t he tell me? I made a pass at him in there and he didn’t warn me. It makes me want to grab my hand back.
“No. I mean, yeah, I figured it out.” He squeezes my hand. “Why would they have a sim where we do nothing? They wouldn’t. They wanted to see if we would behave.” He shrugs.
“Why couldn’t I figure that out?” I’m disappointed in myself. And I’m glad these were closed sims. Normally we can watch each other, but not for this set of sims. I am relieved neither Henry nor Lyncoln know how I handled the others’ sim, especially since Lyncoln knows the reason. And now he probably knows I feel guilty, but he doesn’t know why or how I handled each one.
“You probably could’ve figured it out if you would’ve had the chance. Taggert had two things to say to me and then I was waiting for you.” He shrugs.
“You are very perceptive, have I ever told you that?” I say honestly.
He just smirks and then looks at me playfully. “Had I known that was the real purpose of the sim, I would have kissed you senseless at the beginning and saved us both four hours. At least then we maybe could’ve shot something.”
I can’t help but smile knowing that he would have done just that. Although I keep holding his hand, I’m quiet the rest of the way back to Mile High. When we get there, Lyncoln walks me up to my room like he usually does, knowing that I’m still mulling over whatever Professor Bennett said to me. As I take off my boots in my room, he asks me for the third time if I am okay as he stands at his usual spot, leaning against the wall by my bathroom and kitchen.
“Yes.” I look him in the eyes, which I have been avoiding until now.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. I can see his genuine concern there.
The Culling: Book 1 (The Culling Series) Page 43
