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Chapter thirteen

Forest

I keep my body leaning away from the pair, continuing to reflect on tonight's events in hopes that I can try and piece together anything I might have missed. As much as I try to blame everything that happened on my faltering mind that often leads to blackouts, I can't deny the blood the Officials have shed, even if I so desperately wish it was all in my head.

The slightest speck of red touches the bottom portion of my shirt, barely noticeable to anyone not actively looking. It’s brown now after being touched by the oxygen in the air. You'd think I dropped a bit of chocolate on my front.

Fallan has been silent ever since he leaned his head back. He seems to be having his own unbearable headache, which only adds to my list of suspicions about the man and my list of reasons for continuing to break regulations to figure out what he wants from me. There has to be a reason he’s been willing to violate the law so often to torment me as much as he has. Hate has to derive from something.

Hunter lies asleep on his friend. He must’ve tired himself out with his non-stop scolding toward Fallan, who apparently could care less about his actions or their consequences. My head dipped down a couple of times, clouded with exhaustion from the energy I exerted doing my best to play dead. The weight of my reality is heavy, holding me down like rocks in my shoes as I sink to the bottom of the ocean floor.

The tram rolls to a stop, jolting me away from my wave of thoughts. The streetlight illuminates my neighborhood, casting large shadows across the pavement. Each of the house's curtains are already drawn, lit inside by the soft glow of bedroom lamps as people begin to unwind. Some living areas that I can see are alive with bright screens, though only some use their televisions, often relying on music due to its lack of blue light. Unlike the rest, my house is dimly lit, only my father's study is barely illuminated. Even from here, I can see how still the massive house is at this hour.

I pull myself to my feet, letting the dizziness fade away before continuing my slow pace toward the front of the tram. My head's pain is tolerable, fizzled down to nothing more than the usual minor pain behind my eyes. Mark retrieves his cap from the camera, planting it on his head to hide his silver hair.

“Thank you again for going out of your way to bring me back,” I say, smiling at the older gentleman whose presence has seemed abnormally comforting.

“Anytime, sweetheart. I promise you it’s my pleasure,” Mark says, his eyes flashing with something unfamiliar. For a moment, and just a moment, he opens his mouth, ready to say more.

He quickly shuts down, letting his head drop with a sudden look of sadness.

I stop myself from addressing the change in his emotions this close to the tram’s interior camera. With a few backward steps, I am off the tram, rubbing my chilly arms to fight back the cold. The walk to my house seems longer now. It's a straight path filled with a poorly lit sidewalk that seems that much more daunting, knowing a black car could pull up at any moment, ready to hit me with a line of questioning over my abnormal behavior the last few days. I stand still, deciding if going home is even the best move.

“You better start running, Little Dove. You never know what's lurking in the shadows,” Fallan says with lowered eyes, stepping off the tram after a brief acknowledgment to Mark. Hunter is slumped into the window, sleeping blissfully and unbothered, his snores heard from where we stand.

“Why are you getting off here at this hour? This isn't your sector,” I say, turning to face him as the tram begins to pull away, taking the light with it. Mark looked back only once in his rearview mirror before disappearing into nothing but a speck in my vision.

“I’m not making Mark stay out past curfew to drive me back to my section of the Unfortunate sector. Hunter is right at the beginning of town, but I am much farther back, and that road is not one you travel at night at his age,” Fallan says, kicking the concrete with his heel.

“So what? You walk home?” I question, watching his eyes roll at the statement.

“Some walking, some stealing. Sadly, you Untouchables don’t put up much of a fight. That's probably why you had no problems pinning down that arrogant asshole against the bus,” Fallan says. I think back to Josh and his cocky attitude.

“Josh may be arrogant, but that move I pulled put a target on my back,” I explain, hearing him audibly scoff at the statement.

“Excuse me if I don’t have much sympathy for people targeting you,” he says, motioning to the neighborhood, “Clearly, you’re well protected in your sector thanks to your asshole father’s high-ranking job-”

“Is that why you hate me? My father?” I question, cutting off his words.

He is silent, watching me with a look I can't pinpoint.

“I saw how you two looked at each other during the rally. My dad has never so much as given an Unfortunate a second look, but when he saw you, it was like his whole world shifted on the stage,” I say, watching Fallan’s jaw clench harder.

“Your father took away everything important to me for his own self-gain and paraded his perfect family around as if he didn’t shed countless lives to create the life you live. That house you so desperately want to avoid, those clean clothes, and that full stomach you have, that pretty face, and those perfect, uncalloused hands were built on the backs of the people you’ve called 'bottom feeders' for years. Your father may be the source of my hate, but you did the rest all on your own. You’re one of them. You will always be one of them,” Fallan says, making my heart sink with a shame so deep it threatens to break me.

“I don't know what my father has done to you, but I’m sorry he hurt you, Fallan,” I say, watching his eyes wince at the comment. I continue rubbing my arms, feeling the goosebumps glide along my fingers.

“Your words mean nothing to me. Hunter may believe that load of shit, and maybe even Mark, but not me. I won't let you convince me you’re anything but the Untouchable I know you to be,” he says, sounding like he’s trying to convince both of us of the validity of his statement.

“Was any of what happened tonight real? Or was it all in my head?” I question softly, watching his mouth curl into a deeper frown. I grasp my lower stomach, feeling the rough skin of my mark from above the shirt.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fallan whispers, turning on his heels, ready to leave this conversation as quickly as he entered it.

I see the bag he clutches. It lingers at his side, much like the one I carry. It's the same bag he shoved the light sensor prod into. I move forward, reaching my hand into the bag with a drag, closing my hand around the prod before taking several steps back and away from Fallan’s sudden flustered figure. I hold the prod tightly, pointing it out towards Fallan. My thoughtless acts guide me. The linger of a blackout touches my mind as I feed into my rage.

“You can hate me, Fallan. You can hate me so much you think of nothing but my last breath and how you may take it from me,” I start, shaking the prod in my hand. He moves forward, my head instinctively lowering like his people have done for us so many times. He grabs the prod from my hand. I easily give it up, letting my eyes reach his own. "If justice is what you want, stop dancing around it. Strike me as many times as you need to satisfy your own hatred. Call me names, continue tormenting me, but, please,” I take a step toward him, watching his eyes scan my movements. “Don't make me alone in all of this. Don't let me be the only one who remembers what they did,” I whisper, keeping my defiant position in front of his flustered figure.

His nostrils flare, and his jaw clenches even harder. His hand shoves the prod back into his bag. Grabbing my arms by the elbows, he pulls me. I let his touch guide me, feeling the familiar shutter that signals that I might lose consciousness. I quickly shove it away.

He leans into me, letting his eyes meet mine as he bends his head down. His breath brushes my face, warming my cheeks in the cool air.

“You will never allow someone like me to disarm you like that again. It's pathetic!” he hisses, yanking me tighter. “You’re better than that. I never want to see that from you again,” he spits, scanning my face with anger before pulling away completely. He creates several feet of space between us.

My heart beats out of my chest, my face flush and warm. My arms still feel the places his hands touched. Only now am I taking a breath. Even his scent lingers in my nose. He runs his hands over his face, letting out a sigh of frustration as he turns away.

“Two weeks ago, I would have begged to have you in a position like that,” he says, not once fully glancing back at me.

“And now?” I question, hearing the wave of emotion in my tone.

“Things sometimes look better on paper,” he mutters, continuing his walk forward, leaving me wanting nothing more than to scream into the void of darkness.

The house is as quiet as it appears on the outside, offering little to no indication of my parent's presence. If the front door's sensor panel didn't show their check-in times, I’d be sure they were both still at work.

Shakily, I dig my hands in my pockets, reflecting on the words I exchanged with Fallan. He was so close I could see every detail in his eyes and map every scar on his face. I wish his words could fill in the fragmented picture in my mind. Why shun the opportunity to get revenge for his people? Why not make me suffer for the things my father supposedly did to him? There must be an explanation for why all of this is happening.

Everyone seems to have answers except for me.

My dad stumbles out of his office, staring over the bright phone screen flashing red across his face. His eyes scan its message repeatedly, only growing angrier the farther he moves his eyes down the phone.

“Katiana, there was an incident!” he yells, nearly dropping his phone once he realizes I am standing in the hallway. I lower my eyes at him, feeling a thought pass over my mind, clawing its way from the deepest part of my memories.

If you regulate all the Officials, did you know what they would do to that Untouchable? What are you doing when you say you are “helping” the Unfortunates?

"Forest,” my father says, touching his chest with a laugh. “You startled me. I wasn’t expecting you back so early,” he begins. My mother's head pops out from their bedroom door, staring at both of us with wide eyes. “Why are you back so early?” my father questions, working to hide his phone behind him in his back pocket.

“Were you on your way somewhere?” I ask, completely deflecting the line of questioning he was ready to throw my way.

I know how rough I must look to both of them. Dirtied clothes and scraggly hair, all tied together with scuffed knuckles that Fallan had missed amid his threat. I keep thinking about how far away his sector is. Though I’ve never been to the Unfortunate sector, it is no short walk from where he stopped, and given the tensions created at the screening, I would assume Officials are on the prowl for deviants more now than ever. I haven't even started to pull apart what I know attacked the girl. The Officials seemed hopelessly unphased by her mention of a creature we have been told nearly ended the human race.

The Shifters.

“No,” my father finally says, crossing his arms, looking me over head to toe. My mother presses her head to the doorframe, closing her eyes as she listens to the interaction unfolding before her. Her hair runs down her back, covering her arms and front in beautiful waves. A white nightgown is hugging her, holding itself close to the body I now see shows every sign of stress one can have. Her eyes have circles underneath that are much darker than they were a week ago. As she breathes, I can see her ribs press to the gown's material. She looks exhausted, wobbling from side to side as she tries to stay awake.

“You told Mom there was an incident before you noticed me. What kind of incident?” I question, pushing him further. His pocket buzzes again, notifying him of the new messages he’s getting.

“Nothing I don’t normally deal with. Just an altercation near the school,” he pauses, leaning in closer, lowering himself down further to scan my face. “You didn't see anything tonight, did you?” my father questions, tapping his finger on his leg as he anticipates an answer.

“Andrew, that’s enough. You’re needed elsewhere, and she is exhausted,” my mother growls, hitting her hand against the doorframe. Her sleep-filled eyes finally open up again.

My father steps back, eyeing my mother before looking toward the front door.

“Maybe you're right…. Should I expect to see your brother home soon?” my father questions. I shake my head at him, wondering if he notices that I can see through his blatant lie like a window. If this is how easily he is willing to lie to me, what else has he kept quiet about in the name of his work? Is it even his choice?

“You can ask him when you see him. He's still at the school,” I start, seeing panic flash over my father's face. “But I’m not feeling the best, and I’d like to get some sleep, so if you'll excuse me,” I continue, moving past my dad only to feel his hand wrap around my arm as aggressively as Fallan.

“You'd tell me if something was happening that I needed to know about, right?” he questions. I stare at him, pulling my arm away with a scoff.

“Someone is always watching,” I start, pointing to the numerous cameras in our living area. “You don’t need me to tell you anything. You already know,” I whisper back, continuing my pace forward and closer to my bedroom door.

“That wasn’t a yes or no, Forest,” my father says, continuing his stare toward the front door. My mother watches us, waiting for me to give him the answer he wants.

“Yes, Dad. Do I even have a choice?” I question, grasping my handle and waiting for him to say something else.

He says nothing before moving forward and closing the front door with a slam.

By some miracle, I urged my exhausted mother to return to bed despite her wanting to bug me about my rudeness toward my father. She didn’t put up much of a fight once her head hit the pillow. I stayed with her, ensuring she was covered and warm until her grasp on my hand became light and weak. With a click, I shut off the lamp on my nightstand, allowing myself to be alone with my thoughts.

I tear my clothes away, shoving them as far down in my hamper as I can. I force the face of the clock down. Despite the promises that they never use the cameras to watch us in our bedrooms, I now have no faith in them. Acknowledging the scratches working up my stomach from the graveled ground and the few faint bruises left on my wrist from the Official’s foot, I quickly pull on an oversized white sweater, smelling the strong scents of linen in the warm material. My pants are next. A pair of soft leisurewear pants cling to my legs. My knees are red from where I met the ground so many times today, and my mark is fully covered.

I let my hair fall down my back, looking at the numerous gray bits trying to peek through the brown. Normally, I would have torn them away, not waiting for my mother to dye them for me. I leave them this time, even looking over a few brighter pieces.

A single pill sits on my nightstand. This is my mom’s way of telling me she no longer trusts me to be taking the doses as regularly as she’d like. I grasp the pill, wanting nothing more than to put it between my lips and make the blackouts and pain stop. I raise it to my mouth, thinking over the blissful euphoria of being entirely normal. No headaches or unexplained blackouts, just school and wondering what to wear on my Judgment Day. The pill presses to my lips, ready to explore my stomach and mind.

“Fuck,” I whisper, pulling my hand away from my mouth and marching into my bathroom. I throw the pill into the toilet, feeling my hands shake out of frustration. Forcing the lid shut, I flush away the small bit of sanity with a slam of my hand into my leg to ease my mind. I crouch down to my knees, shaking my head at my inability to decide what is best.

“I don’t want things to feel so empty again,” I whisper, hitting my thigh repeatedly to calm my mind.

A silent patter hitting the ground outside my window stops my assault on my leg. A breeze moves through the bathroom. The tranquil smell of rain fills my nose, relaxing my whole body as I drive out my frustrations, listening to the increasing amount of rain caressing the side of my house. A small roll of thunder follows flashes of lightning in the clouds outside. My mother must have opened the window to let in the fresh air today and forgotten to close it. I look down at the bathtub before glancing at my bedroom.

Tearing away the sheets from my bed, I drag them along the floor with a few pillows, moving closer to the large bathtub. I fill the tub with the blankets from my bed, positioning my pillows against their sides, giving myself a place to lie. Taking the heavier blanket, I pull it over my body and allow my head to press into the soft feather pillow, continuing to let the sounds of the rain soothe me.

I take a deep breath, feeling today's events melt away as I indulge in the one place where I can listen to the rain without the house alerting my parents of an open window. This window’s broken sensor has proved to be one of the biggest comforts when I needed it.

For once, my thoughts were quiet, leaving me with nothing but the bit of peace the storm had brought me.