Kenji spins around. “You’re not bothered by all the heavy breathing going on over here?” He makes a haphazard gesture toward us.
I jump away from Adam reflexively.
“No,” James says, crossing his arms. “Are you?”
“Disgust was my general reaction, yeah.”
“I bet you wouldn’t think it was gross if it was you.”
A long pause.
“You make a good point,” Kenji finally says. “Maybe you should find me a lady in this crappy sector. I’m okay with anyone between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five.” He points at James. “So how about you get on that, thanks.”
James seems to take the challenge a little too seriously. He nods several times. “Okay,” he says. “How about Alia? Or Lily?” he says, immediately pointing out the only other women in the room.
Kenji’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he says, “Yeah, no thanks, kid. These two are like my sisters.”
“So smooth,” Lily says to Kenji, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve really heard her speak. “I bet you win over all the eligible women by telling them they’re like sisters to you. I bet the ladies are just lining up to jump into bed with your punkass.”
“Rude.” Kenji crosses his arms.
James is laughing.
“You see what I have to deal with?” Kenji says to him. “There’s no love for Kenji. I give and I give and I give, and I get nothing in return. I need a woman who will appreciate all of this,” he says, gesturing to the length of his body. He’s clearly overexaggerating, hoping to entertain James with his ridiculousness, and his efforts are appreciated. Kenji is probably their only chance for comedic relief in this cramped space, and it makes me wonder if that’s why he sets off on his own every day. Maybe he needs time to grieve in silence, in a place where no one expects him to be the funny one.
My heart starts and stops as I hesitate, wondering at how hard it must be for Kenji to keep it together even when he wants to fall apart. I caught a glimpse of that side of him for the first time today, and it surprised me more than it should have.
Adam squeezes my shoulder, and I turn to face him. He smiles a tender, tortured smile, his eyes heavy with pain and joy.
But of all the things I could be feeling right now, guilt hits me the hardest.
Everyone in this room is carrying such heavy burdens. Brief moments of levity puncture the general gloom shrouding this space, but as soon as the jokes subside, the grief slides back into place. And though I know I should grieve for the lives lost, I don’t know how. They were all strangers to me. I was only just beginning to develop a relationship with Sonya and Sara.
But when I look around I see that I’m alone in feeling this way. I see the lines of loss creasing my friends’ faces. I see the sadness buried in their clothes, perched atop their furrowed brows. And something in the back of my mind is nagging at me, disappointed in me, telling me I should be one of them, that I should be just as defeated as they are.
But I’m not.
I can’t be that girl anymore.
For so many years I lived in constant terror of myself. Doubt had married my fear and moved into my mind, where it built castles and ruled kingdoms and reigned over me, bowing my will to its whispers until I was little more than an acquiescing peon, too terrified to disobey, too terrified to disagree.
I had been shackled, a prisoner in my own mind.
But finally, finally, I have learned to break free.
I am upset for our losses. I’m horrified. But I’m also anxious and restless. Sonya and Sara are still alive, living at the mercy of Anderson. They still need our help. So I don’t know how to be sad when all I feel is an unrelenting determination to do something.
I am no longer afraid of fear, and I will not let it rule me.
Fear will learn to fear me.
EIGHTEEN
Adam leads me toward the couch, but Kenji intercepts us. “You guys can have your moment, I promise,” he says, “but right now we all need to get on the same page, say hello and how are you and whatever whatever and we need to do it fast; Juliette has information everyone needs to hear.”
Adam looks from Kenji to me. “What’s going on?”
I turn to Kenji. “What are you talking about?”
He rolls his eyes at me. Looks away and says, “Have a seat, Kent.”
Adam backs away—just an inch or two—his curiosity winning out for the moment, and Kenji tugs me forward so I’m standing in the middle of this tiny room. Everyone is staring at me like I might pull turnips out of my pants. “Kenji, what—”
“Alia, you remember Juliette,” Kenji says, nodding at a slim blond girl sitting in a back corner of the room. She offers me a quick smile before looking away, blushing for no apparent reason. I remember her; she’s the one who designed my custom knuckle braces—the intricate pieces I’d worn over my gloves both times we went out to battle. I’d never really paid close attention to her before, and I now realize it’s because she tries to be invisible. She’s a soft, sweet-looking girl with gentle brown eyes; she also happens to be an exceptional designer. I wonder how she developed her skill.
“Lily—you definitely remember Juliette,” Kenji is saying to her. “We all broke into the storage compounds together.” He glances at me. “You remember, right?”
I nod. Grin at Lily. I don’t really know her, but I like her energy. She mock-salutes me, smiling wide as her springy brown curls fall into her face. “Nice to see you again,” she says. “And thanks for not being dead. It sucks being the only girl around here.”
Alia’s blond head pops up for only a second before she retreats deeper into the corner.
“Sorry,” Lily says, looking only slightly remorseful. “I meant the only talking girl around here. Please tell me you talk,” she says to me.
“Oh, she talks,” Kenji says, shooting me a look. “Cusses like a sailor, too.”
“I do not cuss like a—”
“Brendan, Winston.” Kenji cuts me off, pointing at the two guys sitting on the couch. “These two definitely don’t require an introduction, but, as you can see,” he says, “they look a little different now. Behold, the transformative powers of being held hostage by a bunch of sadistic bastards!” He flourishes a hand in their direction, his sarcasm accompanied by a brittle smile. “Now they look like a pair of wildebeests. But, you know, by comparison, I look like a damn king. So it’s good news all around.”
Winston points at my face. His eyes are a little unfocused, and he has to blink a few times before saying, “I like you. It’s pretty nice you’re not dead.”
“I second that, mate.” Brendan claps Winston on the shoulder but he’s smiling at me. His eyes are still so very light blue, and his hair, so very white blond. But he has a huge gash running from his right temple down to his jawline, and it looks like it’s only just beginning to scab up. I can’t imagine where else he’s hurt. What else Anderson must’ve done to both him and Winston. A sick, slithery feeling moves through me.
“It’s so good to see you again,” Brendan is saying, his British accent always surprising me. “Sorry we couldn’t be a bit more presentable.”
I offer them both a smile. “I’m so happy you’re all right.”
“Ian,” Kenji says, gesturing to the tall, lanky guy perched on the arm of the couch. Ian Sanchez. I remember him as a guy on my assembly team when we broke into the storage compound, but more important, I know him to be one of the four guys who were kidnapped by Anderson’s men. He, Winston, Brendan, and another guy named Emory.
We’d managed to get Ian and Emory back, but not Brendan and Winston. I remember Kenji saying that Ian and Emory were so messed up when we brought them in that even with the girls helping to heal them, it’d still taken them a while to recover. Ian looks okay to me now, but he, too, must’ve undergone some horrific things. And Emory clearly isn’t here.