The Beautiful Ones

by Kody Boye

  “It’s just,” I start, then stumble, “so… so—”

  “Unexpected?” Daniel asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “Unexpected.”

  I could have never imagined that the war would come knocking on my door. Though it had in part entered my life with my father’s unfortunate departure—and had occurred again in pieces each time he returned home and then left—I could have never anticipated it reaching a place such as the Glittering City. Its walls are so high, its guardians undeterred. They should have never been here. Yet there she was, standing outside my wedding—holding, within one hand, a bomb that would change not only my own life, but several others.

  I stare into Daniel’s eyes to try and piece together this information—to try and determine whether or not there is some solace I can find in his features—but find nothing to calm my shattered nerves and frazzled heart.

  “I think,” I start to say, “that this will change everything.”

  “This attempt on our lives?” Daniel asks.

  I nod—trying, without success, to keep from showing fear, but knowingly failing in the process.

  Daniel reaches forward and brushes a stray hair from my face. “It’ll be all right,” he says. “Once we move into my parents’ house, things will go back to normal.”

  “That’s the thing,” I offer. “I don’t think anything is going to go back to normal.”

  “No?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I… I think… that after everything that happened the other day… that we might never truly be alone again.”

  “How do you mean?”

  I want to explain to him that this was not simply a random event—that we were targeted and as such were meant to be victims—but am unsure how to do it. He is jaded: a child born within the walls of safety. He has not known war his entire life. But me? I have seen it in the eyes of my father—and know, from the way he has spoken of what happens on the front lines, that life is far crueler than he could have ever possibly imagined.

  When it comes time for him to frown, he sits upright and looks me straight in the eyes, as if expecting me to answer for him. “Kel,” he says. “Talk to me.”

  I push myself into a sitting position alongside him and run my hands along his arms. “I think,” I say, “that after today, we may be monitored in more ways than one.”

  “You mean… we’ll be guarded?” he asks.

  “I think it means more than that,” I reply, then bow my head. “Honestly… I think that we might be stuck here for a while.”

  “You mean… in the Spire?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And not at my parents’ house?”

  I nod.

  “That’s ridiculous,” he replies. “They can’t keep us here.”

  “They can do anything they want, Daniel.”

  “No. I won’t let them.” He stands. “I won’t let them keep us here even if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “We don’t have any choice.”

  “We always have a choice.”

  Do we, though? Are we not intrinsically linked to our surroundings, and therefor trapped because of it? People like me—we’re not used to being able to simply move around or decide to make things better for ourselves. We are made of bread without butter, meat salted after laying out to dry, and water dirty from rainfall. My mother—she couldn’t simply just walk away from the Sandstone Hills. She would die. And in that regard, I realize that I am not unlike her at all. Here, I cannot walk away, for if I did, I would be punished—beaten and bruised mentally and emotionally until I bowed to the city’s will. There is no way to fight this. This is simply a truth of the matter.

  Sighing, I shake my head.

  Daniel comes to kneel down beside me and takes my hand. “You know,” he says. “Things aren’t that bad here. You have fresh food, clean water, good clothes, men and women who will wait on you hand and foot. At least here we’re safe.”

  “It isn’t about feeling safe, Daniel. It’s about feeling comfortable.”

  “Are you not comfortable here?”

  I’m not. Truth of the matter is: I feel imprisoned, stranded on a desert island upon which there is no food and only salt water. I have never seen the ocean, but I imagine it is terrible, for within that sea of sorrows there is no respite. Just like it seems there are none here.

  Wait, my consciousness says.

  I stop, and attempt to force back the unease flickering along my ribcage.

  Why, my thoughts beckon, is this so bad? Are you truly so absorbed that you would turn your nose up at everything you have ever dreamed for?

  The thing is: I never dreamed of this—this security, this coddling, this control. But at the same time, I also dreamed of being out of poverty. And this… this is unlike anything I could’ve ever possibly imagined.

  Daniel continues to stare at me, and while doing this, he says, “You’re thinking. What about?”

  “The fact that I’m turning my nose up at everything I have ever dreamed about as a child.”

  “I’m sorry your wedding wasn’t better.”

  “It’s not your fault, Daniel.”

  “Maybe not, but everyone deserves the wedding of their dreams.”

  “So do you,” I say.

  He smiles, and reaches forward to bump our foreheads together.

  We remain there for several long moments before I finally pull away.

  “Where are you going?” he asks as I rise and make my way across the room.

  “Out,” I say. He begins to move off the bed. “Don’t worry. I’ll just be in the hall.”

  “They never said we could leave the room,” he replies.

  “I was never one to follow the rules,” I say.

  “Do you need me to go with you?”

  I shake my head. “No. Stay here. Get some rest. I… I need to do something.”

  “You’re not leaving,” he asks, “are you?”

  I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I’m not. I just… I have to check on my friend. Ceyonne. The girl in the room next to us.”

  “Have you not seen her since the attack?”

  “No. I haven’t.”

  A frown curses Daniel’s lips, but he doesn’t argue with me. Instead, he says, “All right” without bothering to question me further, then settles back down on the bed. “You know I’m right here if you need anything from me.”

  “I know.”

  The truth is, I do not need Daniel—at least, not for this.

  No.

  Regardless of the strength I know she possesses in both mind and soul, Ceyonne needs to know that I care for her. I’ve waited far too long to let her know this.

  With that in mind, I turn the doorknob and step into the hall.

  * * *

  A knock at Ceyonne’s door is all it takes to inspire an immeasurable amount of dread within my heart.

  “Ceyonne?” I ask, leaning forward. “Are you there?”

  She doesn’t respond.

  I knock again, but this time press my ear against the door to see if I can hear anything. “Ceyonne? It’s me, Kelendra. Open up.”

  You know, my consciousness offers as I continue to knock on the door. She could be sleeping.

  True. After such a horrific day, who wouldn’t want to escape into the world of dream to escape the realities of the present?

  I sigh, knock once more, and wait.

  When no response comes, I turn and am just about to retrace my steps when I hear a lock click out of place.

  The door opens.

  Ceyonne looks out, appearing worse for the wear. “Kelendra?” she asks, sleep clouding her eyes and slurring her words. “Is that you?”

  I nod. “Yes. It’s me.”

  She throws her arms around me and hugs me tight. Sobbing, hysterically, as if death has just swooped in and taken upon its pale wings a life cut short, she buries her face in my neck and lets out a low, short moan. I am unable to do anything to console her, especially since
I do not know what has triggered the fit. Instead, I simply hold her and wait for the spell to stop—for the storm to finally wither and for the sun to come back out and shine.

  The dark cloud passes slowly, and is akin to a snail crossing a lonely road while trying its hardest to survive.

  When finally Ceyonne stops sobbing, she pulls back, looks into my eyes, snorts, and with a laugh, says, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I ask, reaching up to take hold of her face.

  “For acting this way.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry about anything, Ceyonne.”

  “I thought,” she starts. “That you… you…” She sniffles, then looks up and down the hall. “We shouldn’t be out here.”

  “No,” I reply. “We shouldn’t.”

  “Come in.”

  She ushers me into her room and then closes and locks the door behind her. She waits there for a moment, as though waiting to see whether or not the commotion has caused security to arrive, before turning to face me and saying, “I thought you were dead—that you and Daniel…”

  I step forward and press a finger to her lips. “Shh. You don’t have to say it.”

  She merely nods and bows her head—sniffling, once more, before returning her gaze to me and offering a smile I know is genuine.

  “Ceyonne,” I say, tilting her head back up so I can look her in the eyes.

  “Yes?” she asks.

  “What happened after the explosion?”

  “We just watched,” the girl said, “and waited for the smoke to clear. I… I don’t know how much you could have seen, because you were already likely so far ahead and probably running by then, but there was so much ash, so much smoke, so much blood. I wanted to run and see if you were all right, but the Father, he… he held me back, said there was nothing I could do. Then the Dome began to close.”

  “Close?”

  She nods. “Apparently,” she says, “there is a metal shield that can be activated to surround the structure in the event that something bad happens. That’s what happened, Kel. The shield went up around the Dome. That’s why it took me so long to get back. We were in lockdown.”

  Lockdown?

  Did they really think that something more was going to occur? That another bomb was going to go of?

  “What did they say after we ran?” I ask.

  “A lot of things I shouldn’t repeat,” she says, then laughs. “The SADs were in a tizzy, the Revered Mothers screaming. I don’t think you were supposed to have run off like you did.”

  Maybe, maybe not. Without the ability to know, and with no need to seek out the answers at present, I reach down to take hold of her hand, squeezing her digits and stroking her palm with my thumb. Though she has since stopped sobbing, tears still continue to course down her face. It’s almost as if she’s still trapped in the moment—endlessly repeating it in her head.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, “for not coming sooner.”

  “It’s okay. I was asleep. I probably wouldn’t have woken up anyway.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “God,” she says. “I don’t know. Hours, maybe? It was so hot in there, Kel. They sealed everything. The glass. The vents. The doorways. They said that bombs weren’t the only threat—that some of the Fanaticals use gasses that can kill you if you breathe them in. There were so many of us in there that I wondered if we would run out of air at one point.”

  “That had to have been horrible.”

  “It was. But I’m okay.” She leans forward and takes hold of my hands. “Something tells me that you’re not though.”

  “I couldn’t bother you with it.”

  “We’re friends, Kel. You can tell me anything.”

  “Maybe now’s not the time.”

  She shakes her head. “No. Now is the time. Come on. Tell me.”

  I sigh, but nod. “It’s,” I start, then pause, unsure how to proceed.

  “About the bombing?”

  “No. It’s anything but that.”

  She waits, obvious in her attempt to give me enough space to process what I am about to tell her.

  With a sigh, I clear my throat and say, “It’ll be our first night together.”

  “You and Daniel’s,” Ceyonne says. She turns her head toward the wall and continues, “He’s in there, isn’t he?”

  I nod.

  She sets a hand on my arm and squeezes. “You think he’ll… want to?”

  “A part of me wants to,” I say. “Just to get it over with—to know that we can move forward and still be friends, regardless of the situation we’re in. It’s just…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want it to be awkward.”

  “It’s going to be awkward,” Ceyonne says. “It’s your first time, isn’t it?”

  I nod.

  The girl reaches up to brush my hair from my face. “Everything’s going to be all right, Kel. You know that, I know that. Daniel knows that.”

  “I know.”

  “I think it’s natural to be nervous,” she continues. “I mean… I…” She pauses. “I was too… when it happened to me.”

  I lift my eyes to face her. “Ceyonne,” I say. “What’re you—”

  “He came back, Kel. He came back and… and…” She crosses her arms over her chest and turns her head away. “Took me.”

  I stare, stunned. “He didn’t,” I say.

  “He did,” she replies, staring at the wall, as though ashamed and unable to look me in the eyes. “He took me, Kel. Even though he was married. And you know what’s even worse?”

  “What?”

  “A part of me liked it.”

  I shiver—not because of the cool air filtering into the apartment, but because of the way she just spoke.

  “I’m ashamed,” she says, “because I slept with a married man no more than two nights ago. I tried to tell him to stop—tried to tell him that he had the Countess to think about—but he said that it was just the way things were.”

  “You should’ve said something, Ceyonne.”

  “What could I have said?” she asks, and finally turns to look at me, the look in her eyes wild and cautious. “I mean, yeah, I could have spoken to one of the Gentlewomen, but what would they have said? Oh, it’s fine, Miss Marsden. This is what men do. This is how they act.”

  “She wouldn’t have said that.”

  “How do you…” She trails off.

  Moments pass, and during them, fear claws at my heart as acceptance for what I have just done enters my mind.

  Within moments, understanding blooms within Ceyonne’s eyes.

  At first, I doubt that she will say anything, for so shocked is she that her lips are pursed, her eyes filled with smoke. When she finally does speak, it’s to say, “You didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Kelendra—”

  “I didn’t use your name,” I state, cutting her off before she can finish. “I said he visited me.”

  “And you thought that she would stay quiet? That she wouldn’t say anything to him?” Ceyonne laughs, shaking her head. “That’s ridiculous, Kel. And you know it.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I thought that, maybe if I said something—”

  “That he’d leave me alone.” Ceyonne bows her head. “Well, he didn’t. And now I’ve been made into a whore because of you.”

  “You’re not, Ceyonne.”

  “Then what am I? Huh? Tell me, Kelendra, what a girl who sleeps with a married man’s wife is.”

  “I—”

  “Just… leave,” she says, stepping toward the door. “I don’t think it’s good for us to be in the same room together right now.”

  “Ceyonne—”

  “Please, Kel. Leave.”

  I close my eyes, then—wanting, willing myself to move. The problem is: I don’t want to. I want to stay here, want to comfort her, want to make sure she�
�s fine. But she won’t let me.

  With that knowledge firmly in mind, I turn and make my way toward the door.

  Outside, I turn to face her. “Ceyonne,” I say.

  She merely stares at me from inside her apartment. “What?” she asks.

  “I hope we can still be friends.”

  Her slamming the door on my face is the only answer she gives.

  * * *

  The night passes swiftly, though the torrent of emotions remains far into the morning. Pleasure, pain, doubt, worry—all are on my mind the moment I open my eyes, but are even far more present when I realize that Daniel is gone.

  “Daniel?” I ask, pushing myself upright and grimacing at the discomfort that radiates throughout my body. “Where are you?”

  I expect him to respond—to call from the washroom that he will be out in a moment. When he doesn’t, however, a strike of fear assaults me.

  Where could he be? I wonder. It seems strange that he would simply leave me after the night we’ve just had together.

  Unless—

  Worry fills me as I scan the room, and desperation fills my heart when I find that he is nowhere to be seen. I rise, on unsteady feet, and check the washroom again just to make sure that he is not inside. When I find he isn’t, panic sets in.

  My heart throbs. My mind races.

  “Daniel?” I ask, raising my voice in an effort to summon him if he is just outside in the hall. “Are you there?”

  When he doesn’t respond, I make my way toward the communications device with only one thought in mind: to summon the SADs to hunt him down.

  That is when I see a note.

  Gone downstairs to make a call, it says in neat yet scratchy handwriting. Be back soon. It is signed with Daniel’s name.

  I sigh, then, and allow the raging emotions that are festering within my heart to escape along with my breath—hoping, to the Great God above, that no harm will befall either of us, be it physically or emotionally.

  Alone in a room that is not only my own, I try my hardest to find solace in the fact that I am safe, yet cannot help but wonder what will happen now that we are married.

  Will we remain? I wonder.

  Will we leave? I question.

  I know that there is only one way to find out.