The Wanted (9 page)

ROSA

Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow morning with Joseph’s arms around me. He’ll nuzzle into my neck and kiss me. I’ll swat him away half-heartedly because I want him just as much as I pretend not to… no… much more.

Orry will be asleep in his cot. His curls falling around his face like a lazy crown. He’ll snore, stir, and smile in his dreams.

I’ll be whole. Broken, but whole. Pieced together from heartbreak, from torture and love.

This mattress wanted to swallow me, its comfort of no comfort at all. I wouldn’t know it was morning. When I swept back the curtains, I was staring at another manufactured view. The only way I knew was by the sound of Red, pushing her way through the doorway and screaming at me for—

“How could you treat Miss Judith that way?” she yelled, her eyes as red as her roots. She stomped her foot like a bull and charged at me. Taking one look at the pajamas on the floor, her nostrils flared. She grabbed my arm and wrenched me out of bed. I tried to pull away from her grip, but she was too strong. She pulled my cardigan from my body, ripping it, and threw it on the floor, dragging me to the bathroom.

“She was in tears when she came to me. She has a bruised… a bruised…” Red’s lipstick clotted in the corners of her growling mouth.

“Butt?” I said through a wide grin before I could stop myself.

Red made a high-pitched noise, gasping in shock, and I knew I’d said the wrong thing.

She grabbed at me with chubby fingers trying to pull my shirt off, but I hugged it tight to my body. Each grab was like a punch. She was as strong as the ox she was acting like. Her curves were so tightly bandaged in her tight suit that she resembled a chunky, carved table leg. She kept hold of me with one hand while she turned the knob on the shower. There was no steam pluming off the tiles. I shivered and braced myself.

She kept pecking at my clothes like a nervous, lead-beaked bird, but I wasn’t giving her my shirt. When she realized this, she threw me under the water, my back crashing into the tiles, my body making a hollow thud like a lonely drum. My muscles tensed at the shock of ice-cold water, and I spat as it ran down my face and over my lips.

“Clean yourself and change for breakfast!” she snapped. I heard the bathroom, then the bedroom door close and lock.

When I was sure she was gone, I turned the hot water tap on and removed my clothes, letting the hot water attempt to thaw my frozen body, inside and out. I tried really hard not to think of my last shower, with Joseph, in Este’s house, but the memory was there, inside of me, and my body remembered before my brain caught up. My cheeks flushed red and I ran my finger over my lips, trying to bring back that last kiss. His arms wrapping me so tight because we knew it could be the last time. I turned off the taps. Drips of water ran down my nose and over my mouth as I let out a small cry.
It couldn’t be the last time.

He ruined my heart. But in a good way.

I was a patchwork of wounds and scars. He was the glue that held me together. And now, he was gone.

I pressed my palm to the tiles and waited to wake up from this nightmare.

When I got out of the bathroom, another hideous outfit lay on the bed. I put it on this time, grimacing at the purple blouse with diamanté buttons and the black skirt that flared at the knees. The sleeves were puffed and when I saw myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but laugh. A pair of blue contacts sat on the bedside table. I ignored them and sat down to wait for the guard. My hands were clasped neatly in my lap, mostly to stop me from throwing stuff.

The knock on the door still startled me. The politeness seemed so out of place.

“Come in,” I yelled through the solid timber door.

The guard stepped in, giving me a nervous smile as he looked down at me through the light brown hair hanging over his eyes like vines over a cave entrance.

“Your presence is requested at breakfast,” he said eagerly.

I rolled my eyes. “Faaantastic!”

The guard frowned. “You’re lucky.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m about the unluckiest person you’ll ever meet. Don’t get too close. I’m pretty sure it’s contagious,” I said, scratching my arms like I had a rash.

His eyebrows rose in confusion but he didn’t say anything except, “Follow me,” smiling with his arm extended.

I followed him down the long, curved hall. Large rectangles of light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching across the carpet and creeping halfway up the walls. The timber glowed like amber honey under the sun. I paused to watch the tiny dust motes flying through the air in the clean-cut rays. They swirled and danced, landing on my arms. The air was thick and warm in here, artificial.

This was the first time I’d seen Grant’s grounds in daylight. It was different to Este’s in a lot of ways. Still vast, open, and stupidly luxurious, but everything outside was sharp, softened only by the light covering of snow, which a servant was busily dusting off with a hand-broom. Spiky, inhospitable sculptures made from concrete and rusty metal were scattered around the lawn. They were beautiful and raw, but frightening in their harshness. I imagined if you touched one that you would cut yourself, and then I shuddered at the thought that Grant would probably enjoy watching me bleed.

“Ahem,” the guard coughed. I jumped. From here, I could see the outside world and my eyes, my heart, didn’t want to leave it.

“It’s alright, Harry,” a cool voice spoke behind me. “I’ll take her in.”

Harry, the guard, grabbed my elbow and steered me towards Grant’s son, Denis, letting him take me, or my reins I guess. Harry winked at me and said, “Enjoy your meal, miss.” I smiled awkwardly. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

Harry walked briskly back the way we had come, disappearing around the curve.

Denis’ hand slid around my waist, barely touching me, just kind of hovering there with a millimeter of air between his hand and my body.

“Shall we?” he asked, looking down at me from his very tall height, his eyebrows raised in question. I noticed a scar wrapped around the end of his eyebrow like a crescent moon.

The earphones dangled from his shoulders again. I stared at them too long, and he noticed.

“Do you enjoy music?” he asked. For him, this seemed to be a very serious matter.

I wondered whether I should lie, but then I thought,
What’s the point?

“It’s new to me, but yeah, I do,” I replied.

He tipped his chin. We hung around the door to the dining room. I didn’t want to go in.

He put a hand on my arm so gently he could have been a mosquito resting there. “Don’t worry. You have some time before…” His eyes moved to the tip of the painting next to us. A small camera buzzed on the frame like a housefly. Denis turned so his back faced the lens, his whole long body shadowing my own. “Don’t show fear,” he whispered.

His hand left my arm, raking over my skin like a breeze. His touch was so light but strong at the same time, like everything he did, he meant to do.

“Wait,” I hushed, my lips barely moving. “Why should I listen to you?”

His mouth turned up in one corner, a crooked smile almost there. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

I huffed and pursed my lips. My instincts pushed me to trust him. They were all I had left, and I needed to believe in something.

“Okay, tell me one thing,” I said, looking up into his strong face.

It creased momentarily with irritation, his hand clenched around the handle. “Quickly,” he hissed.

“What did you mean by replacement?” I said, leaning on my tiptoes to get closer.

His eyes closed briefly like he was remembering something unpleasant. When they opened, they were ringed with sadness.

“Let’s just say, I’m not the first Denis Grant,” he muttered impatiently. His words were quick and tinged with warning.

I blinked up at him. “That’s not an answer. I’m going to need more than a cryptic sentence and a look,” I whispered boldly.

He craned his head up to the ceiling and exhaled in exasperation. Licking his lips, an answer forced its way between his rigid, set mouth. “Dad has had several offspring ‘made’ as back ups. When one of us misbehaves or displeases him, we are ‘replaced’. I have many brothers and sisters I will never meet. The photos on the wall are a warning,” he said grimly, and sympathy sketched its way through my mind briefly.

Before I could respond, Denis turned the handle. When it coasted open, his demeanor stiffened. He bowed slightly and allowed me to pass through first.

Grant was in his wheelchair, rolling himself past a low bench laden with breakfast food. I tried not to drool at the smell of bacon and eggs.

When he heard the door close, he spun around slowly, a plate balanced across his knees. He didn’t look at me, only at his son.

“Leave us,” he ordered, holding up his hand.

No don’t
, I thought. But before I could blink, Denis was gone.

Grant wheeled himself to the table and placed his plate on the glass tabletop with a clang. “Would you like some breakfast, Rosa?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Sure.” His face twitched at my response, but he nodded and wheeled himself back to the bench to serve me a plate.

“Sit down please,” he said with his back to me.

I sat down like an obedient dog. He had this power over me, and I hated it. I clenched my teeth, fighting the words that wanted to spew from my mouth. I hated his control, his weird politeness.

I knew it had to end soon.

“I suppose you’re wondering what you’re doing here?” he asked, drawing out his words painfully as he took his place at the table and placed my plate in front of me.

I stared down at the steaming plate of scrambled eggs, the crispy bacon shining with fat, and sucked in my bottom lip. All of a sudden, I felt nauseous.

“I know you want information,” I said, my voice as dry as cracked wheat, “but I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know what they’re planning.” I lied unconvincingly.

He smiled at me, and I wondered if he knew how to smile for real or if his smile was only used to unnerve and threaten.

“Oh, we’ll figure it out eventually. I’ll figure you out eventually too,” he said, winding his fork in the air at me. “The ‘how’ I figure you out is up to you.” I placed a hand over my stomach protectively. He eyed me like a present he’d like to tear open. “How about I let you ask me a question and in return, you allow me to ask you a question that you must answer truthfully?”

I picked up my fork, pushing the eggs around the plate. This was a game. I could play a game. Jabbing the fork in his direction, I watched as his jaw clenched. “How could you be so selfish? Do you really think you’re worth all those lives you took to get the healer?” I asked, my voice wavering with nervousness.

His fingers spread out and then clenched into a tight fist. “Yes. I’m worth ten times the number of lives I took,” he stated. It was a stupid question. Of course he thought that. “My turn.” He took a sip of his coffee and breathed in and out several times, making me wait.

“Do you really think your
cause
is worth all the lives I’m going to take in response to yours and your comrades’ actions?” His tone was mocking, as if my
cause
were a childish faze.