The dreams are back.
They’d left me for a while, shortly after I’d been freshly imprisoned on base with Warner. I thought I’d lost the bird, the white bird, the bird with streaks of gold like a crown atop its head. It used to meet me in my dreams, flying strong and smooth, sailing over the world like it knew better, like it had secrets we’d never suspect, like it was leading me somewhere safe. It was my one piece of hope in the bitter darkness of the asylum, just until I met its twin tattooed on Adam’s chest.
It was like it flew right out of my dreams only to rest atop his heart. I thought it was a signal, a message telling me I was finally safe. That I’d flown away and finally found peace, sanctuary.
I didn’t expect to see the bird again.
But now it’s back and looks exactly the same. It’s the same white bird in the same blue sky with the same yellow crown. Only this time, it’s frozen. Flapping its wings in place like it’s been caught in an invisible cage, like it’s destined to repeat the same motion forever. The bird seems to be flying: it’s in the air; its wings work. It looks as if it’s free to soar through the skies. But it’s stuck.
Unable to fly upward. Unable to fall.
I’ve had the same dream every night for the past week, and all 7 mornings I’ve woken up shaking, shuddering into the earthy, icy air, struggling to steady the bleating in my chest.
Struggling to understand what this means.
I crawl out of bed and slip into the same suit I wear every day; the only article of clothing I own anymore. It’s the richest shade of purple, so plum it’s almost black. It has a slight sheen, a bit of a shimmer in the light. It’s one piece from neck to wrists to ankles and it’s skintight without being tight at all.
I move like a gymnast in this outfit.
I have springy leather ankle boots that mold to the shape of my feet and render me soundless as I pad across the floor. I have black leather gloves that prevent me from touching something I’m not supposed to. Sonya and Sara lent me one of their hair ties and for the first time in years I’ve been able to pull my hair out of my face. I wear it in a high ponytail and I’ve learned to zip
myself up without help from anyone. This suit makes me feel extraordinary. It makes me feel invincible.
It was a gift from Castle.
He had it custom-made for me before I arrived at Omega Point. He thought I might like to finally have an outfit that would protect me from myself and others while simultaneously offering me the option of hurting others. If I wanted to. Or needed to. The suit is made of some kind of special material that’s supposed to keep me cool in the heat and keep me warm in the cold. So far it’s been perfect.
So far so far so far
I head to breakfast by myself.
Sonya and Sara are always gone by the time I’m awake. Their work in the medical wing is never-ending—not only are they able to heal the wounded but they also spend their days trying to create antidotes and ointments. The one time we ever had a conversation, Sonya explained to me how some Energies can be depleted if we exert ourselves too much—how we can exhaust our bodies enough that they’ll just break down. The girls say that they want to be able to create medicines to use in the case of multiple injuries they can’t heal all at once. They are, after all, only 2 people. And war seems imminent.
Heads still spin in my direction when I walk into the dining hall.
I am a spectacle, an anomaly even among the anomalies. I should be used to it by now, after all these years. I should be tougher, jaded, indifferent to the opinions of others.
I should be a lot of things.
I clear my eyes and keep my hands to my sides and pretend I’m unable to make eye contact with anything but that spot, that little mark on the wall 50 feet from where I’m standing.
I pretend I’m just a number.
No emotions on my face. Lips perfectly still. Back straight, hands unclenched. I am a robot, a ghost slipping through the crowds.
6 steps forward. 15 tables to pass. 42 43 44 seconds and counting. I am scared
I am scared I am scared I am strong.
Food is served at only 3 times throughout the day: breakfast from 7:00 to 8:00 a.m., lunch from 12:00 to 1:00 p.m., and dinner from 5:00 to 7:00 p.m. Dinner is an hour longer because it’s at the end of the day; it’s like our reward
for working hard. But mealtimes aren’t a fancy, luxurious event—the experience is very different from dining with Warner. Here we just stand in a long line, pick up our prefilled bowls, and head toward the eating area— which is nothing more than a series of rectangular tables arranged in parallel lines across the room. Nothing superfluous so nothing is wasted.
I spot Adam standing in line and head in his direction. 68 69 70 seconds and counting.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Something lumpy hits me in the back. Falls to the floor. I turn around, my face flexing the 43 muscles required to frown before I see him.
Kenji.
Big, easy smile. Eyes the color of onyx. Hair even darker, sharper, stick- straight and slipping into his eyes. His jaw is twitching and his lips are twitching and the impressive lines of his cheekbones are appled up into a smile struggling to stay suppressed. He’s looking at me like I’ve been walking around with toilet paper in my hair and I can’t help but wonder why I haven’t spent time with him since we got here. He did, on a purely technical level, save my life. And Adam’s life. James’, too.
Kenji bends down to pick up what looks like a wadded ball of socks. He weighs them in his hand like he’s considering throwing them at me again. “Where are you going?” he says. “I thought you were supposed to meet me here? Castle said—”
“Why did you bring a pair of socks in here?” I cut him off. “People are trying to eat.”
He freezes for only a split second before he rolls his eyes. Pulls up beside me. Tugs on my ponytail. “I was running late to meet you, your highness. I didn’t have time to put my socks on.” He gestures to the socks in his hand and the boots on his feet.
“That’s so gross.”
“You know, you have a really strange way of telling me you’re attracted to me.”
I shake my head, try to bite back my amusement. Kenji is a walking paradox of Unflinchingly Serious Person and 12-Year-Old Boy Going Through Puberty all rolled into one. But I’d forgotten how much easier it is to breathe around him; it seems natural to laugh when he’s near. So I keep walking and I’m careful not to say a word, but a smile is still tugging at my lips as I grab a tray and head into the heart of the kitchen.
Kenji is half a step behind me. “So. We’re working together today.” “Yup.”
“So, what—you just walk right past me? Don’t even say hello?” He clutches the socks to his chest. “I’m crushed. I saved us a table and everything.”
I glance at him. Keep walking.
He catches up. “I’m serious. Do you have any idea how awkward it is to wave at someone and have them ignore you? And then you’re just looking around like a jackass, trying to be all, ‘No, really, I swear, I know that girl’ and no one believes y—”
“Are you kidding?” I stop in the middle of the kitchen. Spin around. My face is pulled together in disbelief. “You’ve spoken to me maybe once in the two weeks I’ve been here. I hardly even notice you anymore.”
“Okay, hold up,” he says, turning to block my path. “We both know there’s no way you haven’t noticed all of this”—he gestures to himself—“so if you’re trying to play games with me, I should let you know up front that it’s not going to work.”
“What?” I frown. “What are you talking abou—”
“You can’t play hard to get, kid.” He raises an eyebrow. “I can’t even touch
you. Takes ‘hard to get’ to a whole new level, if you know what I mean.” “Oh my God,” I mouth, eyes closed, shaking my head. “You are insane.” He falls to his knees. “Insane for your sweet, sweet love!”
“Kenji!” I can’t lift my eyes because I’m afraid to look around, but I’m desperate for him to stop talking. To put an entire room between us at all times. I know he’s joking, but I might be the only one.
“What?” he says, his voice booming around the room. “Does my love embarrass you?”
“Please—please get up—and lower your voice—” “Hell no.”
“Why not?” I’m pleading now.
“Because if I lower my voice, I won’t be able to hear myself speak. And that,” he says, “is my favorite part.”
I can’t even look at him.
“Don’t deny me, Juliette. I’m a lonely man.” “What is wrong with you?”
“You’re breaking my heart.” His voice is even louder now, his arms making sad, sweeping gestures that almost hit me as I back away, panicked. But then I realize everyone is watching him.
Entertained.
I manage an awkward smile as I glance around the room and I’m surprised to find that no one is looking at me now. They’re all grinning, clearly accustomed to Kenji’s antics, staring at him with a mixture of adoration and something else.
Adam is staring, too. He’s standing with his tray in his hands, his head cocked and his eyes confused. He smiles a tentative sort of smile when our gazes meet.
I head toward him.
“Hey—wait up, kid.” Kenji jumps up to grab my arm. “You know I was just messing with—” He follows my eyes to where Adam is standing. Slaps a palm to his forehead. “Of course! How could I forget? You’re in love with my roommate.”
I turn to face him. “Listen, I’m grateful you’re going to help me train now
—really, I am. Thank you for that. But you can’t go around proclaiming your fake love to me— especially not in front of Adam—and you have to let me cross this room before the breakfast hour is over, okay? I hardly ever get to see him.”
Kenji nods very slowly, looks a little solemn. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I get it.”
“Thank you.”
“Adam is jealous of our love.”
“Just go get your food!” I push him, hard, fighting back an exasperated laugh.
Kenji is one of the only people here—with the exception of Adam, of course—who isn’t afraid to touch me. In truth, no one really has anything to fear when I’m wearing this suit, but I usually take my gloves off when I eat and my reputation is always walking 5 feet ahead of me. People keep their distance. And even though I accidentally attacked Kenji once, he’s not afraid. I think it would take an astronomical amount of something horrible to get him down.
I admire that about him.
Adam doesn’t say much when we meet. He doesn’t have to say more than “Hey,” because his lips quirk up on one side and I can already see him standing a little taller, a little tighter, a little tenser. And I don’t know much about anything in this world but I do know how to read the book written in his eyes.
The way he looks at me.
His eyes are heavy now in a way that worries me, but his gaze is still so tender, so focused and full of feeling that I can hardly keep myself out of his
arms when I’m around him. I find myself watching him do the simplest things
— shifting his weight, grabbing a tray, nodding good morning to someone— just to track the movement of his body. My moments with him are so few that my chest is always too tight, my heart too spastic. He makes me want to be impractical all the time.
He never lets go of my hand.
“You okay?” I ask him, still feeling a little apprehensive about the night before.
He nods. Tries to smile. “Yeah. I, uh . . .” Clears his throat. Takes a deep breath. Looks away. “Yeah, I’m sorry about last night. I kind of . . . I freaked out a little.”
“About what, though?”
He’s looking over my shoulder. Frowning. “Adam . . . ?”
“Yeah?”
“Why were you freaked out?”
His eyes meet mine again. Wide. Round. “What? Nothing.” “I don’t understa—”
“Why the hell are you guys taking so long?”
I spin around. Kenji is standing just behind me, so much food piled on his tray I’m surprised no one said anything. He must’ve convinced the cooks to give him extra.
“Well?” Kenji is staring, unblinking, waiting for us to respond. He finally cocks his head backward, in a motion that says follow me, before walking away.
Adam blows out his breath and looks so distracted that I decide to drop the subject of last night. Soon. We’ll talk soon. I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing at all.
We’ll talk soon and everything is going to be fine.
