21. ANNIHILATION
Aidan—
The GeeGee leave our wounded and what’s left of the crane. They take our dead.
All I can do is follow the vehicle bearing Sam’s remains to the Boundary. The adrenaline I had while facing the Captain is gone, replaced by common sense. Non-violent resistance would just get me captured, and Sam would still be dead. As the GeeGee truck rumbles across the tracks, I raise a hand in farewell.
It seems one end of my intestine is tied to Sam’s body; as the truck drives away, my guts slide out, unwinding, stretching between us until the vehicle is out of sight and I’m empty.
First my parents. Then Kylie. Now Sam.
Who’s next?
I return to the Ashram and find the ladder down, unattended. Inside, injured Bees recuperate on bedrolls, while the rest of my tribe sits in meditation. They shift restlessly, ears stuffed with cotton, deprived of the beat. I collapse into a cross-legged position next to Karen and wait for the pulse, to see if the makeshift earplugs will hold.
Someone nudges me, and I open my eyes to find a sweaty Love Child in-between crouched next to me in the fading light. Stillness has done me good; I can take a full breath without wanting to stop existing. The intruder touches my ear, and I pull out an earplug.
“We got speakers!” the Love Child shouts, making me wince.
Together we rouse the others. Karen stays behind with the incapacitated, while the rest of us climb out into the rain and join the kids streaming up the road under the overcast sky.
Most of D-town is already crowded into the common room of the Haven. Love Childs move stacks of blankets, cracked Tupperware full of grains, and other day-to-day supplies into smaller rooms that branch off a long hallway. I rush to help, followed by the rest of the Bees. The Cross-Bearers and Witches, then the Logic and Real Dealers join in.
A few minutes later, I’m hauling one end of a broken beam that serves who-knows-what purpose, a Witch named Riana carrying the other end, and I pass the round-faced A going the opposite way with a bucketful of water.
That’s when I know D-town is forever. The GeeGee can never beat us, because The Dance isn’t confined to one building. D-town isn’t restricted to this one area of the city. They’ve driven us here, back behind the railway tracks, and we’ve made this our home. We could do it again, somewhere else. If we have to, we will.
A smile creeps over my face, and I share it with Riana. Her features adjust, first with shock, but then her lips curl up, the expression in contrast to her drastic eye makeup. I glance left, still beaming, and an A femme almost drops the broom she’s holding.
When I look back, Lawson stands next to Riana. My fragile optimism hits the bottom of my empty stomach and shatters. A bitter taste coats my tongue.
“Sam’s gone.” I speak without meaning to, then bite down like I’ve made a sound during a beating.
Lawson flinches and wipes his hands on his jeans.
“I’ll just…” The Witch shoves her end of the beam into his hands like the wood is about to catch fire, and makes herself scarce.
Can’t blame her. My heart pounds with the need to escape this conversation.
“Where to?” Lawson hefts his end of the beam.
“Anywhere, I guess. Just clearing out the room.” I can’t meet his eyes.
So I don’t see when he takes a step forward. Wood hits my sternum, air rushes out of my mouth, and I stagger.
“Sorry!” He scrambles to back up and ends up tugging me forward.
We make lurching progress across the room toward the hall, bumping into people as we go.
“Your idea?” Lawson’s voice sounds strained, and I doubt it’s from the effort of carrying the beam. He indicates a Logic and Love Child with their heads bent together over the open back of one of the “new” speakers, hands deep in the wiring.
I shake my head.
“Oh,” he says.
I squeeze hard enough to feel the grain of the wood against my fingertips as we cross the last few meters into the otherwise empty hallway. Lawson is trying; I should try too, but loving him is like being addicted to a weapon. Every time I touch him, somebody dies. And I may as well be tied to him with barbed wire. Attachment scratches and slices and tears, but it doesn’t matter if I had a way to cut myself free; I’d never use it.
“You think too well of me,” I say.
My foot slides another step back along the floor, and I almost lose my hold on the beam because Lawson has stopped walking.
“You have no idea what you look like to me, and you should,” he says. “You’re like…you’re like this angel I could never live up to.”
“Thought you were an atheist,” I mutter, staring at the beam.
The wood shivers in my grip, trembling from his hands. Or mine. Maybe we’re both shaking.
“I think I believe in angels. Anyone who knows you would have to.” His voice is rough when he says, “I thought it was going to be you.”
It should have been. That would only have been fair.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says.
How does he know me so well?
“It’s my fault,” he continues. “And I’m so sorry. I tried to call it off, I swear. I was crazy. But I—we’d already…” His brows draw down, giving him a pained squint. “Everything made sense, before.”
I don’t have to ask, Before what? He means before me.
I swallow. “Same.”
“And now I feel so…” His shoulders rise and fall in a helpless shrug.
“Torn,” I whisper. “Lost?”
He nods and finger-combs his hair. The fine strands fall back into place. “Like I’m being ripped down the middle.”
We stand in silence for a moment and then start moving again, carrying the beam deeper into the hall. Smooth progress now.
“I thought it was going to be you,” he blurts again after a few more steps. “And I just, I just promised myself—can we put this down now, please?”
I nod. We lower the beam to the floor and shove it against a wall. Lawson skirts the wood, closing on me. I stiffen, and he stops, holding up his hands.
“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…for Sam…I didn’t…”
“I know. You were just being you.”
“But?”
I take a breath. “But I don’t know.”
“I would do anything to protect you, you know that, right? Anything.”
“I know that.”
He’s closing the distance between us again, and I have nowhere left to go, wouldn’t even if I did.
“I know, and I like it,” I confess. “No one’s ever wanted to protect me before, but I hate that I like it.”
“Why?” He takes that last step, up into my personal space. “What are you afraid of?”
“Whatever you do, whoever you hurt, it’s my fault, and what if…?” I can’t even articulate.
But he gets it. “You’re worth it.”
I shake my head. I can’t be. No one is.
“You are. You’re perfect.” And he sound so sure. “That first night I saw you….”
I remember. From his face, he’s remembering too.
“I mean, I’d seen you before but that was the first time I really noticed.” His voice deepens. “Aidan, you were amazing. You don’t see it, but you’re different from the other Bees. I have never seen someone just be so…so…completely oblivious. No, I mean that in a good way. You didn’t try to hold yourself still. You just let it happen. I told myself that you weren’t there, that you’d risen out of it somehow, but then I saw your face. You were there, you were feeling all of it, and I—I just, I just had to—”
He exhales, like surrender. Our lips are so close his breath is on my tongue. It tastes like the inside of his mouth. I lick my lips.
“But you feared me. You thought I was like him. I needed to prove to you, and to myself, that I wasn’t. It was like, seeing you…I’d never known someone who deserved to be protected so much, an
d I wanted to be the person to do it. I decided right then that that was who I was, who I wanted to be. So I guess what I’m saying is, I know I said you don’t know me, but I was wrong. No matter what, you know the real me. I became the real me because of you.”
I shake my head. “That’s a bunch of—”
He lays a finger across my mouth. “It’s the truth.”
Sam is gone. Kylie is gone. Just like my parents. My heartbeat fills my head as my lips part. Maybe this is how the ego wins. Loss and death and one thing left to savor.
Who’s next? It had better be me.
I suck his finger into my mouth. Salt and metal and Lawson’s rough skin on my tongue as I wrap my hand around his wrist. He pulls back with a gasp. I grab the back of his neck and pull his face down to meet mine. His lips are soft tonight, like he’s found cocoa butter somewhere.
“I want you more than enlightenment. I always have.”
I tread all over the beam, trying to find a comfortable place to stand, while his tongue wraps around mine and my fingers twist in his shirt to pull him closer. His big hands massage my back, and lower. His biceps flex under my hands.
When the kiss ends, he lays his face on my shoulder, buries his nose in my neck, and inhales. His mouth opens, and teeth graze my skin. My fingers dip into his hair, running back and forth across his scalp, holding him there. His hair feels so soft and clean.
“Get a room,” someone grumps. “There are plenty of them around.” Whoever it is squeezes by and carries on down the hall.
Lawson’s hand moves to my stomach, tugging at the top of my jeans, then pulls back again, making my breath catch. I lean my head back, letting it hit the wall.
B-b-boom. Boom. The new speakers stutter to life, and the bass reverberates through the building. Ba-boom. Boom.
A cheer goes up. Lawson pounds on the wall with one hand, still holding me with the other. I let out a whoop, and he joins in with a yipping howl. Others take up the cry.
D-town throws back its collective head and screams in triumph. Our feet pound the floor in time with the boom—boom—boom, and The Dance is reborn.
The lamps have been extinguished. Sight comes through flesh and breath. I know which body is Lawson’s the way I know North and can point to it from anywhere. That way, up over the Boundary to Three Street. The moving crowd has a rhythm, a tide, and Lawson and I float on it like an island of four hands and two mouths. He is all over me with only a few points of contact that burn brighter than any light.
“What are you doing?” Lawson asks, when I reach for the fly of his jeans.
In answer, I undo a button.
His hand closes over mine, and he sounds short on breath when he asks, “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m ready.”
“We could go somewhere more private.” His lips move against my scalp.
“If you want.” I don’t stop on the buttons, though.
“I don’t mind if you don’t.”
I leave my task for only a moment, to guide his hand where I want it. “Come here.”
“I’m here.” He kisses me again.
Sometime later, I’m leaning against the wall, palms splayed on the solid surface. Rubber touches the bare skin of my inner thigh—he’s got it on, finally—and then one of Lawson’s hands grips my hip, tilting my pelvis. My heart pounds as he adjusts my stance.
“That’s it, just relax. That’s it,” he coaches, lips brushing my ear.
I brace my hands on the wall and try to loosen my muscles. He moves slowly, coaching me with words that turn short and sharp like he’s clenching his teeth—a way of speaking I’ve always before associated with pain or anger, but now I feel dizzy with this, with what’s happening between us. There’s a twinge as he pushes deeper, but in the scale of my life’s discomforts this barely registers as pain. Not when other, stronger, and much more pleasant sensations dominate.
“Oh, baby,” Lawson groans.
And I am annihilated. Meditation has nothing on this.