Only Ever Yours (26 page)

“Ssssorry,” I whisper.

She curls her body around the small golden box to input the access code without my seeing it. The gates spring open and she hurries along the candle-lit passageway, urging me
to keep up with her. The brass peephole in the huge oak door slides open.

“You’re late,” chastity-ruth says in reproach, a frown line burrowed between her flint-gray eyes. She shudders when I come into the light, but it doesn’t bother me. A luscious dullness seeps into my brain. She raises an eyebrow at chastity-anne.

“Somnolin. I thought it would make her more manageable.”

“True.” chastity-ruth waves me in. “Perhaps we should start grinding it into their food. You may go now, anne.”

I follow her into the chastity office. It has exploded with light since I was last here; it’s shining from every wall. There is a man sitting in chastity-ruth’s chair, one with snow-white hair, deep lines scored into his forehead. His navy suit and navy-and-yellow polka-dot tie do little to disguise his bulk, rolls of fat spilling from his shirt like a ruff collar. His features are scrunched into the middle of his moon-shaped face, sparse white eyebrows over deep-set eyes, thin lips pulled back disdainfully.

“So this is the girl who has been causing so much trouble,” he growls. “Really, ruth, has the benchmark for beauty at the School fallen so low?”

“She’s been unwell, Judge Goldsmith. Ordinarily she would be of a higher standard.”

That’s the nicest thing chastity-ruth has ever said about me.

He clutches the sides of the chair and heaves himself up, the armrests quivering in protest. Within two strides
he is in front of me. His mud-brown eyes are cold. “You reek,” he says, and backs away, sinking into the wooden seat. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Yes, Judge Goldsmith.” chastity-ruth grabs two chairs from the side of the room and drags them around the desk. She sits on the edge of a seat, an eager student. Why is she staring at me like that?

“#630.” Her voice sounds as if it is drowning within a wall of water. “Sit down.”

She points at me, then to the seat beside her. I collapse limply, the chair so low that my face is level with the edge of the desk.

“Obviously we don’t want the eves to be too intelligent, ruth, but the ability to follow simple directions would be helpful.”

“I’m sorry, Judge Goldsmith.”

“Just one more thing we will address in our investigation,” he replies, cracking his hairy knuckles one by one. “But that’s a matter for another day. Today we are here to consider the claims that eve #630 attempted to manipulate an Inheritant, Mr. Darwin Goldsmith, into choosing her as his companion, despite knowing that such behavior is prohibited. She also declared love before marriage, despite knowing that this too is prohibited.” He taps his ePad and gives a VoiceCommand to start recording. “Do you have anything that you want to say for yourself, eve #630?”

I have no words.

He pushes the sleeves of his suit back, creasing them up to his elbows. His arms are covered in hundreds of white
hairs. “We shall introduce the main witness.” He shouts at the door. “Darwin, you can come in now.”

Deep beneath the clouds of the drugs, something moves in my heart. I let it go.

“Thank you,” Darwin says politely as chastity-ruth dashes to hold the door open. He walks toward the desk, taking his place at his father’s right-hand side. They’re wearing identical suits. Darwin has slicked back his dark curls with gel and his tanned face is closely shaven.

“freida!” he cries out when he sees me. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Control yourself,” his father says, and grabs his broken wrist. Darwin’s mouth forms a soundless gasp, his face blanching in pain. Judge Goldsmith lets go and Darwin falls back into place, staring at a spot on the wall behind me.

“Darwin,” Judge Goldsmith begins, reaching into a pocket on the inside of his suit jacket and retrieving a pair of spectacles. He takes an eggshell-colored handkerchief from his breast pocket and sets about cleaning the lenses meticulously. “Please tell us exactly what happened between you and eve #630. Speak slowly and clearly.”

“freida . . .” Darwin begins before the Judge coughs pointedly.

I don’t want to hear this.

“I mean, #630 and I got to know each other through the eve/Inheritant Interactions. I chose her a number of times for Heavenly Seventy . . .”

This is a play, like they used to have in the time before us
, I decide, and I make myself float out of the top of my head
and hover on the ceiling, looking down at the bodies in the room below.
This is a performance. This has nothing to do with me
.

“Please explain to the court what Heavenly Seventy is,” the fat man interjects, putting his glasses on. The younger boy looks around at the office and the few people in it.

“Um, sure.” He continues. “It’s a task where the Inheritants choose an eve that they want to spend time with in private.”

“And whom did you choose?” the man asks.

“You know who I chose. I’ve told you this already.” The Judge swivels slowly in his chair, his eyes glacial. “I mean,” the young man adds quickly, “I chose #630.”

“And why did you choose #630?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was she the only person you could have chosen? Were all the other eves taken when you made your selection?”

“No,” he answers. “I always got to choose first.”

“And why was that?”

“Because I’m the #1 Inheritant.”

“Any why is that?”

“Because I’m a Judge’s son.”

“So, as a Judge’s son, you were entitled to certain privileges.”

“Yes,” the son says in a low voice.

“How fortunate you are. You may continue.”

“I chose her a few times and I guess she got the wrong idea, because the last time we were together she was hysterical and started begging me to make her my companion.”

A look trembles between the two men. Did one of them forget his lines? The older man trains his brutal stare on the young girl. She’s slumped in a chair, her legs and arms falling at strange angles, like a broken doll.

“#630, an eve may only love a man that has chosen her to be his companion. This is because men have the necessary experience and intelligence to choose better for you than you could choose for yourself.” He looks at the hollowed-out shell of a girl, openly sneering. “And how you thought that the son of a Judge would choose
you
 . . .” The boy beside him winces. “The standards are slipping, ruth,” the man says, pressing his fingertips against the wooden desk. “She should be thrown on the pyre.”

The girl’s head lolls on her shoulders, as silent as if they had cut out her tongue.

“What?” the boy cries out. “You can’t do that.”

“Be quiet.” The older man turns to look at him, anger crackling off him like hot oil spitting from a pan.

“No.” The boy is rash. “You can’t do that. You’re making too big a deal out of this.” He stares at the younger girl. “freida, I’m—” he begins before his dad cuts across him.

“Too big a deal?” he says, hefting his bulk back into the chair. The wood moans in protest. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong. We have rules. You do realize we have rules, don’t you,
boy
?” The younger boy nods, his face coloring with embarrassment.

“I don’t know if you do. Because if you did, I don’t think you would say that we were making ‘too big a deal’ out of this at all.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“You’re right to be sorry. Because you, of all people, need to believe that it’s imperative to stick to the rules. Rules that you, the future Judge of the Euro-Zone, will one day enforce. How can you do so if you are prepared to encourage illicit behavior?”

“I didn’t—”

“Maybe some of those rules seem outdated to you. Maybe they seem overly stringent or exacting. But they are there to protect us. To ensure our survival. If we begin flaunting those rules, what will we have?”

None of the other characters meets his eyes; all are staring at the floor. I don’t think I like this play very much.

“Anarchy,” the Judge announces. “Chaos. Destruction. Is that what you want?”

“No,” the boy mutters.

“Of course not. Take a look around you. This world is not what it used to be. We are the final bastion of a faltering people.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“But only faltering. Not dying, as our forefathers feared. We have survived because we created a system that works. If we break one rule and then another and another, our system might warp. It might disintegrate. And what would happen then? How can we risk that? How can we jeopardize our survival?”

“I understand, Father.” The boy hesitates, doubt written on his face. “But why the pyre?” He holds his breath.

“Why? Because she broke the rules? Because she must be taught a lesson?” The Judge shrugs. “Because we can, I suppose.”

“It’s not because of me, is it?” the boy says in a very small voice.

“Darwin, you are the only son of the Euro-Zone’s Judge.” He pats his hair. “These little sluts need to know their place.” He takes off his suit jacket, his flesh straining against his white cotton shirt. “But don’t worry, this one won’t be thrown on the pyre. She isn’t even going Underground, although we should be making a proper example of her, show the rest of them what happens if they get ideas above their station.”

The bald woman cowers. “I’m afraid that is outside of my control now.”

“Yes, I know,” the Judge harrumphs. “She’s a lucky one, isn’t she? Aren’t you lucky, freida?”

freida. That’s me. They’re talking about me.

I melt back through my bones and I stretch out inside myself, filling my body once more. But it doesn’t feel right. It feels as if I’m wrapping myself in an old coat, familiar and warm, but suddenly ill-fitting. It constricts at the neck, pulls at the arms. I must need more meds. The room is losing its hazy quality; colors are bleeding back in.

“Lucky?” I croak, as if it’s a word I’ve never heard before.

“But . . .” he dismisses me with a wave of his hand—“you have been disqualified from the Ceremony at least. You are to become a chastity. In a nonteaching role of
course. We can’t have you infecting the younger eves with your
abnormalities
.”

A chastity. I will never leave this School. I will never see beyond these walls. I wait for sorrow to sweep through me but I feel nothing. I am wasted with nothingness.

“I want to say again, on behalf of all the chastities and myself, how truly sorry I am for this regrettable incident, Judge Goldsmith.” chastity-ruth leans forward in her seat, her chin almost resting on the table. “I will ensure nothing like this happens again.”

“It had better not,” Judge Goldsmith says. “I’m only glad that it happened with Darwin. He knew the correct protocol to follow at least.” He swivels in his chair to look at his son. “I must say, this almost makes up for your previous indiscretion. I’m proud of you, Darwin.”

Darwin merely nods, but when his dad turns away to tuck his ePad away in a real leather briefcase, he bites his lower lip to hold in his smile, almost glistening with bliss, and I know how much this means to him. I understand.

“Darwin,” his dad adds. “This is confidential.”

“Sure.” Darwin nods, undoing the top button of his shirt and loosening his tie, relaxing now that the trial is over. Judge Goldsmith gets to his feet again, his belly bulging through gaping buttons. He picks up his briefcase, folds his jacket over his arm and dabs his damp face with a handkerchief. Darwin meets my eyes briefly as he walks out. I understand, I try to tell him silently. I understand. And it seems to me that everything we had, everything we
ever meant to each other or could have meant, shimmers between us.

We both look away. We are strangers now.

“Darwin.” I hear the Judge’s voice behind me. “That includes your mother. I don’t want cecily knowing about this. It’s not her place.”

“But who will I talk . . .” Darwin halts midsentence.

“Who will you talk to?” Judge Goldsmith’s voice rings out. “Don’t be such a pussy, Darwin.” His voice continues: “And as for you . . . you’re lucky we’re being so lenient. This is your own fault, isn’t it?”

He’s addressing me. I twist my upper body around, holding onto the back of the chair. The Judge is standing in the doorway, so large I can barely see Darwin behind him.

“Isn’t it?” he repeats when I just stare blankly at him.

“Yes,” I whisper. The word tastes gray.

“Yes, what? I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes. This is my own fault.”

“I can’t believe you thought you would corrupt my son. I have him well trained. Don’t I, boy?”

He grabs Darwin and puts him in a headlock under his armpit, rubbing his hair roughly. Darwin’s head is pressed up against the huge sweat stain on his dad’s shirt, the leather briefcase coming precariously close to hitting him in the face.

“What is this shit?” Judge Goldsmith says, shoving him aside and wiping his hands on the lapels of Darwin’s suit. “Hair gel? You can be such a
girl
at times, Darwin.”

Darwin straightens up, his face flushed, his hair sticking up in untidy spikes, a greasy smear on his jacket. His hand jerks up to fix his hair but he stops, smiling weakly.

And they leave, chastity-ruth escorting them to the train that will take them back to the Euro-Zone, out of my life forever.
I will never see you again
.

I’m staring at the poster of the Father in front of me as someone enters the room and lays cool hands on my shoulders.

“I tried, freida. I couldn’t do anything,” chastity-magdalena says, her voice wrought with emotion. “Are you okay? Say something,” she tries again, squeezing my shoulders tighter.

But there is nothing left to say.