“Get some sleep,” he says. “It will all feel better in the morning.”
He turns to go inside. After one last glance at the lights, I follow.
* * *
The next day is never ending, each interaction more unbearable that the last. Everyone at the Education center smiles politely and listens kindly, and none of them can see the black hole that has opened up inside me, threating to swallow everyone in my path. When the last bell rings, it’s all I can do not to trample over the throng of students that file patiently out the door. When I finally reach the exit, I gulp down the thick air as if I haven’t sucked in a full breath all day.
“Mirren,” a voice calls from behind me and I look longingly across the square, the brightly colored paving stones winking in the afternoon sun. I could run across them right now, run until my breath comes in painful puffs and my muscles tingle with exhilaration. Run far, far away from every other pair of eyes.
“Mirren, you forgot your notebook.”
I cringe and turn to Harlan, who holds up my tattered notebook, golden hair and eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun.I am the dark and you are the light. I will ruin you.“Thank you,” I say, plucking the notebook out of his hand. I swing my bag off my shoulder to stuff it in.
“It’s a very nice day. It finally feels like spring,” he says, watching as I struggle to zip my overstuffed bag. Our guardian, Farrah, has been trying to get me to carry a new one for an entire year, but I stubbornly told her that Ilikedthe way the fabric has worn, and the zipper has warped. It’s an irritating time for her to be proven correct.
“The air seems freshest in the spring,” Harlan continues, apparently undeterred by my huffing and puffing.
The air is never fresh in Similis, obscured as it is by a thick cloud of coal from our power plants and factories, but I don’t say this to Harlan. Instead, I keep my lips firmly closed and yank at my zipper, pleading with it to finally give in so I won’t be forced to have an actual conversation with my life partner. He’s a good person. He won’t want to make me feel uncomfortable, so I know he will push through.
Finally, the zipper gives way and I almost cry out in relief.
I haul my bag over my shoulder and turn toward my sector. Despite the crisp breeze, the sun is warm against my cheek, its ray a gentle tease of the summer to come.
“Did you hear about the explosion at the Boundary?”
“You don’t have to do this,” I interject irritably, beginning to walk and hoping that if I’m fast enough, it’ll save us both the humiliation of trying to have a conversation.
Harlan follows me, those amber eyes round and innocent. “Do what?”
I grind my teeth. “Talk to me, be nice to me, beanythingto me.”
I stop and face him. He is not very tall for a boy, but I still have to tilt my chin in order to speak to him. His frame is stocky and though our jumpsuits are made to fit loosely, I can see the curve of muscle beneath it. “I am under no illusions that you being Bound to me makes us friends. Don’t feel obligated.” I turn on my heel and speed-up my pace.
“Friends seems like a good place to start, don’t you think?” He falls into step beside me.
“No,” I mutter at the ground. I shouldn’t be so willfully unpleasant to him, but it seems to be what I default to, against the Keys or not. I’m trying to help him, in my own twisted way, since he doesn’t seem to be aware enough to help himself. We won’t move into a quarterage until the end of spring; he has three months of blissful living, away from the mess of rumors around me.
Harlan doesn’t acknowledge my objectionable countenance. For him to respond would be an unkindness in itself and he doesn’t seem the type to chafe against the rules as I do. Instead, he walks beside me in silence, keeping pace with a small, contented smile on his face.
“Isn’t your sector the other way?”
“Yes,” he replies simply, but he doesn’t turn.
“Look,” I struggle to keep my voice low. I remind myself to breathe, to keep my voice soft and my face passive. Harlan doesn’t deserve to be made to feel inferior because of my own insecurities. I don’t know why I’m not better at this, after all these years. “I am trying to help you.”
Harlan adjusts the strap of his bag, his face still unbothered. I wonder if that’s what my face would look like if my parents hadn’t broken the rules. If they’d stayed with Easton and I and raised us to thoughtfully exude the Keys. If there were no whispers or anger poisoning my heart, making it better suited for the wilds of the Dark World than for the brightness of the Community. Have I always been cynical and restless, or have I been made into what I am? I’ve felt the way I have so long, I can’t remember feeling any different.
“I don’t need help, thank you,” Harlan replies, polite and pointed.
I huff a frustrated sigh and keep walking. Fine. If he wants to commit social suicide in the last few months of freedom, who am I to stop him?
We walk past the buildings of the metropolis and into my sector. The few trees that are planted along the walkways blow in the breeze, the rustle of their leaves the only sound that breaks our silence.
Finally, we arrive at my quarterage. I turn to Harlan, feeling inexplicably like my hands are too big for my body. “Well, this is it.”
“I know.” His voice is warm. Like honey.
Of course it is,I think darkly.All honey and gold.
