The Choosing (26 page)

When he did pull back, he smiled and Carrington forced her own smile out of fear for her safety. That’s what she would be doing from now on: existing in fear.

Isaac looked to the man who had helped her out of the hole. “See that she gets home.” He turned back to Carrington and ran the backs of his knuckles along her bruised cheek. “Get some rest. We have much planning to do.”

He walked to the door, Carrington still cringing from his touch. With a final glance over his shoulder he said, “I assume we won’t have an issue again?”

She shook her head and he nodded in approval.

“Praise be.”

She felt like a worm as she slithered in through her front door. It was late morning, which meant the only person Carrington was likely to encounter was her mother. She learned from her escort that it had been nearly two days since she’d been home. It was hard to ignore the twinge of pain that came from realizing her family had not come looking for her. Although it was quite probable that Isaac had fed them some lie to make them believe Carrington was well.

In some other world, a girl in her predicament might try to seek justice for what had been done to her
 
—call the guards, alert the state officials
 
—but Carrington knew all of that would be completely pointless. Even if Isaac admitted to his crimes, she was a woman
 
—a Lint
 
—without a leg to stand on against an Authority member. She would only cause herself more trouble.

The door shut with a soft click behind her and she heard her mother’s feet move from the kitchen. “Carrington?” The older woman came around the corner drying her hands with a plain dish towel and pulled up short at the sight of her daughter. Carrington could see genuine worry in her
mother’s face, deep lines of sleepless nights, shades of anger, and circles of panic, all hidden just under the skin.

She swallowed and took a step toward her daughter. Carrington turned her face away and started toward the stairs. She didn’t have the strength to deal with her mother right now. A sudden rush of pain filled her chest and she fought to keep her tears hidden. Mothers were supposed to be protectors, but hers would gladly offer her up to be slaughtered if that’s what society demanded.

“Carrington,” her mother said. Her voice was strained with emotion, and when Carrington turned her head she saw tears glistening in the woman’s eyes.

Carrington said nothing in response; she just stood, one foot on the first stair, the other on the ground floor.

“Tell me what happened,” her mother said.

“Nothing happened.”

“Why did he keep you there?”

“Does it matter, Mother? Whatever the Authority asks, we do. Right?”

A tear slipped down her mother’s cheek and she aggressively wiped it away. “We follow the laws.”

“And that’s what I am doing. Following the law of my future husband, remembering my place. Doing exactly what you taught me.”

“I just want what’s best for you.”

“What you care about is what’s best for you.” She said the words, dry like desert sand. She was too tired to feel anything other than numb.

“That isn’t true. I am still your mother.”

“Yes, a mother who turns her face away when she sees I am in physical danger, who ignores the pain I am going through, who hides behind the laws to ensure that her daughter is not an utter disappointment.”

“Is that what you really think of me?”

“What I think is irrelevant. Remember? What any of us thinks is irrelevant. You told me that. All that matters is that we do what we are asked and follow orders.”

“What choice do we have?”

“None, Mother. That is the point. We have no choice.”

Carrington ascended two more stairs heading toward her bedroom.

“I hoped you’d find contentment in the law. I only want you to be happy,” her mother cried. Tears unlike Carrington had ever seen rolled down her mother’s cheeks, her face now red and blotchy.

Carrington knew she should feel something at the sight of the woman so devastated, but she was impervious. “We weren’t created for happiness,” she said. The words came, landed between them, and new emotions filled her mother’s face. Pity, aching not for herself but for her daughter. Fear, realizing that the reality of the broken child before her might be a cruel fate of her own making. Anger, knowing she had let a monster turn her daughter into this wooden creature standing on the stairs. Worry, rising in her awareness that she couldn’t fix the problem.

“Carrington,” her mother pleaded, but Carrington was done talking and ignored her. The stairs moaned under her weight; then the door to her bedroom clicked shut and the bed creaked as she climbed into it. Her body ached as she pulled her knees to her chest and yanked the covers up to her chin.

She half expected her mother to follow her, but after a few moments of silence she was satisfied that Vena would leave her be. The silence swallowed her and her mind tried to sort through her emotions, but that only brought pain so she shut it off. She shut off the desire for more, shut off the fear of what was to come, shut off the pain of the past. She shut everything off and lay curled in a ball under the covers and prayed for warmth. Despite her prayers, a deep chill stuck with her as she lay there, knowing sleep wouldn’t come and not really caring if it did; not really caring about much of anything.

Maybe Larkin and Arianna would say she was giving up, that turning it all off was a coward’s way of dealing with the problem, but Carrington saw it differently. She was finally coming to terms with reality, understanding that misery would be with her always and realizing there was no escaping it.

Isaac owned her; she was nothing without him; she was ultimately worthless.

Accepting the truth was easier than trying to change it. This was her truth. This was her purpose. The end.

Days turned into weeks and Carrington floated through them like mist. She kept her mind blank, smashing any rising ideas of change and self-pity the second they appeared and ignoring the worried looks that had become common on her mother’s face. This might not be happiness, but at least it was survival.

Warren kept asking her if she was sick because she wasn’t acting like herself. She kept forcing a smile and saying she was just busy and tired, but even at four, Warren was smart enough to know she was lying. Her mother would step in and tell Warren to leave his sister alone and he would. It was like ripping flesh off Carrington’s bones each time she watched his sad little face turn to leave the room.

She wanted to run to him, scoop him into her arms, cry into his tiny shoulder, confess that she was miserable and frightened, that she never wanted to leave home, that she just wanted to play with him in the sun and chase snowflakes with him when it stormed. But she stopped herself each time, knowing if she lifted the lid on her feelings for her little brother she wouldn’t be able to keep the rest at bay. The only way to get through each day was to keep them barricaded, to keep herself anesthetized to everything her life had become.

Her father watched her closely as well, sometimes staring at her for long moments as if he were working up the
courage to say something to her, but he never managed to find the words. She avoided looking at him entirely. His kind, soft gaze would be her undoing, and she couldn’t crumble. Not anymore.

Carrington filled her days with listening to her mother make suggestions about the wedding and agreeing with anything mentioned. Isaac visited often and seemed more interested in the details than she was. She was most often a spectator as her mother and Isaac made final arrangements.

Carrington rubbed a velvety petal between her fingers and wondered how it was that flowers were so soft. The shop around her was filled with lovely aromas as each floral scent blended in perfect combination with the next. The shopkeeper and her mother were discussing delivery of the flowers they had chosen. Her mother’s tone was harsh, which meant they were disagreeing on something.

She turned away from them, hoping that whatever they were arguing about would be resolved quickly. Everywhere she looked was an explosion of color
 
—reds, blues, oranges, pinks
 
—like ribbons of the rainbow. Color danced along every square inch of the shop. Carrington pored over each different kind of flower and paused at one that made her heart drop.

In a single vase, a group of small yellow flowers cut through the landscape of color. Carrington moved toward the bouquet, the pulse under her skin drumming quickly. She reached out and pulled a single stem from the bunch and held it in her hand. It was identical to the flower she
had received from the little girl in the shelter, the one Aaron had declared was beautiful at the same time he had declared she was beautiful.

Her fingers started to tremble, and the flower shook. She couldn’t stop staring at it; the cage in her chest that she labored so hard to keep shut was working its way open. Suddenly the air around her seemed overfilled with musty heat, the smells overwhelming, the space too cramped to be comfortable. Carrington dropped the flower and it fell straight to the floor as she turned and headed for the door.

“Carrington, where are you going?” her mother asked.

“I just need some air,” Carrington said, pushing open the shop door, a tiny bell signaling her departure. She rushed out into the busy streets of the city center and inhaled a deep, fresh breath. Her head was spinning
 
—the images of the little girl, the flower, Aaron
 
—around and around, making it hard to walk straight.

Someone yelled at her to get out of the way and she noticed she had stepped into flowing traffic. She apologized and moved back, looking around for somewhere to escape. A shaded alleyway sat a couple of feet to her left and she headed toward it. Once there, the noise of stomping feet, moving bodies, and chattering voices dropped to a dull roar.

Carrington leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths. She stuffed her emotions back into their tiny prison and wiped the images of that night clean from her mind. She couldn’t go back there, couldn’t let herself
once more buy into the falsehoods of freedom she’d been tempted to believe.

She was angry that she had to constantly walk through this process. Before Larkin, before Aaron, before Arianna, she had lived with the same truths she faced now; she’d simply had nothing else to compare them to. They hadn’t made her feel miserable, like she was losing out on something better. She hadn’t believed there was anything more to have, but even now, when she knew there was nothing more, her heart still yearned for it.

This was his fault
 
—that man they called traitor, the one who had slipped into her heart and confused her. He had poisoned her, made her believe lies, given her unattainable hope. Maybe Aaron was branded a criminal for a reason.

“Carrington,” a voice said.

She raised her head and saw Larkin standing farther down the alley in her Lint uniform. A CityWatch guard stood nearby and eyed Larkin suspiciously as the girl started toward Carrington. He moved off the wall he’d been propped against, ready to act if necessary.

Before Carrington could move, Larkin was in front of her, folding her to her chest. She hugged her tightly to herself and Carrington felt her friend’s warmth spread into her. She was still processing the shock of it all when Larkin pulled away.

“How are you?” Larkin asked.

Carrington knew interacting with a Lint was prohibited, and her eyes flickered to the guard, who kept his gaze
glued to the girls. She looked back at Larkin, but Larkin had noticed her glance toward the guard and pain crossed her face. She dropped her arms to her sides and took a step back. “Sorry; I shouldn’t have done that.”

Carrington wanted to ignore the heavy look from the guard. She wanted to pull Larkin back into her embrace and tell her how good it was to see her. She wanted to take her home, confide every moment to her, but she knew she couldn’t be that girl anymore. “It’s fine,” she said.

“You look good.”

“So do you.”

Larkin shrugged. “Just taking it one day at a time.”

Carrington nodded. The urge to throw off her self-resolve was strong. She hated to play this game with Larkin, the only girl she had ever truly called friend. This fake, awkward interaction made Carrington’s stomach churn. She needed to escape or risk opening her cage again.

“I should probably get back,” Carrington said.

Larkin’s eyes flashed disappointment and she dropped them away. “Yeah, of course.”

“It was nice to see you.”

“Yeah.”

Carrington turned, but before she could take a single step, Larkin placed a hand on her shoulder. Carrington stopped. Larkin took her hand and pressed something into her palm. “Don’t forget,” Larkin said and walked back to her escort’s side. The two disappeared, leaving Carrington alone with her thundering heart.

She glanced down at her hand and opened her palm. A small, dried yellow flower sat delicately against her skin. Its petals were crumpled from time, its stem shriveled and frail.

“Don’t forget,”
Larkin had said.

Carrington shook away the brewing thoughts and closed her hand around the dead blossom, feeling it crush between her fingers.

She had to forget. That was the only option left.