*
ON MY TWENTY-FIFTH NIGHT I wait for Kiran, as I have every night since his first visit. When I see him emerge from the darkness of the barn, I wait expectantly. Just like every night before this one, he shrugs and shows me his empty hands. His plan for getting me out is failing. He leaps over the stream, hesitating like he always does to check for the Watcher, and joins me behind the office wall.
Something’s on his mind. His brows are knitted together, and his lips are drawn in a straight line. Usually he’s more relaxed, more confident, at night. Like a mountain lion, I think. Lazing out on the grass, stalking around his turf.
“What is it?” I ask him, holding my arms out questioningly.
He points to a small pile of stones beside the wall. I’ve placed one there each night so that I know how long it will be until the Pips come back to get me for auction. I figure I’ve got twenty-eight or so days in here. About that time they’ll need to begin prepping me for the meat market.
I count out the stones. Twenty five. My throat grows tight. I hold up all my fingers twice, then once more. “I’ve been here twenty-five days,” I tell him. I’m glad my ma taught me how to count.
He points to the main facility of the Garden and holds his hands out.
How many days before you go back? I hear him say in my mind.
“Three.” I hold out three fingers. If Kiran can’t get me out by then, I’ll be taken back with the others.
Now I can barely swallow.
He slouches on the ground, resting his forearms on his knees and looking irritable. After a moment he points to me, then over the Garden towards the heart of the city. He mimes the snooty look of a Magnate typing on a messagebox as he pretends to look me over. At least, I think he’s pretending. His typing fingers slow, and his eyes linger somewhere around my waist before popping back up.
The auction?
“Yes,” I manage, nodding. Somehow, I’ve managed not to think about the auction in several days. He picks up a pebble and flings it across the yard towards the barn. I hear it clap against the wooden siding.
“Your plan to get me out won’t work?” I gesture so he understands.
He shakes his head.
“Are you sure?” I wish I knew what he wanted to do, then maybe I could help him. We could work together. As it is, I’m stuck trusting him blindly.
He’s still shaking his head. I groan quietly. Breaking me out would have been dangerous, probably even impossible. I know this, but I still can’t help but feel like Kiran’s not trying hard enough.
It’s warmer tonight, and I’m sitting on one of the wool blankets. I don’t offer the other to Kiran. If he wants it, he can take it. We’ve worked out that much over our past three weeks together.
My bare feet, now hard with calluses, stretch out in front of me. My straight legs are about as long as Kiran’s bent, and our toes are very close. Almost close enough to touch.
He’s looking at my feet, and this makes me look at my feet. I feel the need to cover them, so I try to pull the slinky dress down, but he stops my arm with his large hand. His nails are caked with dirt and when he sees me looking at them his cheeks get a little darker.
“I don’t mind,” I say.
He hasn’t touched me since that day the Watcher slapped me. My skin feels like ice next to his, even through the fabric of my dress. But I’m not cold, he’s just so warm.
Then he leans forward very slowly and traces his finger very lightly along the twisting scar around my right calf. It’s at least a half inch thick and always lighter than the rest of my skin. Like a tattoo of a white snake.
The tickle of his fingertip on my leg sends a bolt of heat right into my belly, and I gasp before I can stop myself. My hand snaps up to cover my lips. The blush burns my face. And then I hold as still as I possibly can, like this will erase everything that just happened.
My voice is a little higher than normal when I finally speak.
“It’s from a wire. The Trackers that caught me had one.” I can still remember the freezing cold, then the burn. The way the metal tightened, tearing into my skin and flesh. “They gave me surgery for it at the infirmary, but they couldn’t get rid of the scar. The Governess doesn’t care. It disappears with concealing powder.”
Kiran’s still staring at my leg. I jerk both knees into my chest and hide them in my skirt.
“I know about doing it,” I say.
Something has caught Kiran’s attention and he’s looking the opposite way. I look over his shoulder to see what he’s staring at, but I don’t see anything. When he turns back, his face is mild. He’s not even irritated anymore.
“I mean, Salma told me. I’ve never … you know. I don’t see how anybody would want to. All the jabbing and slobbering and grabbing. I don’t know why all the girls at the Garden are so set on getting Promised.”
A renewed desire to sabotage the upcoming auction fills me. Kiran’s looking up at the sky now, and his hands are clasped together over his knees. I gaze for a moment at his wavy hair, silver in the moonlight, and then pick a fistful of grass just to busy my hands before I do something stupid like reach over and touch it.
“A few years ago I followed Salma down to the edge of Marhallow, to the farms outside of town. She met a boy in the woods, and they … Well. They didn’t know I was there, but I saw them. So I know how it works.”
I don’t know why I just told Kiran this story. I don’t know why I’m talking out loud about these things at all. I don’t normally even think about them. But Kiran’s hand on my leg did something to me, and now I’m thinking about all kinds of crazy things.
He’s very still for a long time. And so am I. As if waking from a dream, he points to me, and then towards the city gates, with a heaviness in his eyes.
“Why don’t I leave?” I ask him, puzzled. He mimics the same gestures.
“You know why I can’t leave.” I point to the Watcher, then to my heavy metal bracelet and the invisible wall surrounding us.
He reaches slowly for my elbow, cupping one hand beneath it, and slides another finger between my metal cuff and my arm. He’s very close to me, and I can see how his skin grows lighter from his neck to his collar, where the sun is blocked by his Driver shirt.
He begins to pull at the bracelet.
First he’s gentle. Then he begins to tug, trying to pry the contraption off my arm. Beads of sweat appear at his brow, and he climbs to his knees for more leverage. There’s a determined gleam in his eye, almost frantic. I want so badly to believe this thing can be torn off that I try to help him. I try to jerk my hand out, and can feel the bones of my wrist bend and crunch together until they nearly break.
I grind my teeth together, and keep trying.
Please, I pray. Please let this work.
We can do this. We can get it off. And then we can run through the barn towards the city gates and pretend that we’re both Drivers. We can … cut all my hair off, and Kiran can dress me as a boy. It’s too dark for the gatekeepers to tell the difference, and too late for them to ask too many questions. We can do this.
The pain from the metal bites at my skin. The tears stream from my eyes, but I don’t stop. Kiran doesn’t either. He’s pulling as hard as he can, until finally the breath bursts from my throat, and I know our efforts are wasted.
My dreams, that had come so quickly, are smashed into the dirt.
“It’s not working,” I say, already trying to put myself back together. I won’t let myself cry. I refuse to. But the look in his eyes is so full of resolve that it’s hard not to break down and weep. He tries one last time, before I find myself pushing him back, shoving him away from me so he’ll stop.
“Kiran, it hurts!” I say. “You have to stop! Please!”
He falls back on his heels. I feel a trickle of blood slide around my wrist, and pinch my eyes closed to fight the burning in my arm. In my eyes. In my chest.
Kiran’s hand rests on my shoulder, but I shove it off. I don’t want his comfort. I don’t want his help. I remember why I don’t have friends. Friends give you hope when you shouldn’t have it. They make you trust in things other than yourself. They trick you into forgetting what really matters.
“I would have gotten the key a long time ago if not for you,” I say. It’s not true, but I want to hurt him, just like he’s hurt me.
I jolt up to my feet, my aching wrist trapped against my chest.
“Go away,” I say firmly. The fire has returned, slicing through my veins. I hate myself for thinking Kiran could get that bracelet off. I hate that he’s distracted me from getting out of here for twenty-one days. Tam could have drowned in these three weeks. Nina could be starving. All because I’ve been talking to a mute boy who doesn’t even know what I am saying.
How many escapes have I missed? How many times could I have grabbed the Watcher’s key, or returned to the Garden, or snuck out through the infirmary? I’m failing them because he’s distracting me. No. Because I let him distract me.
“Go away!” I nearly shout now. Brax jumps up from his place at my side and begins to growl. Reluctantly, Kiran falls back a step.
He looks hurt, but his eyes stay on Brax. My protector is now backing Kiran away from the plaster wall, back towards the barn. Step by step they go, until they cross over the bank, and Kiran’s knee-deep in poison water. He trips and falls back, making a splash. Brax snaps his teeth and Kiran rises, sloshing across the rest of the stream.
The automatic office door slides open. The Watcher has heard me yelling, or Brax’s growls, or both. He’s coming around the corner.
Kiran looks at me one final time before spinning and disappearing inside his safe haven. And seconds later, Brax is gone within the sewer.
The Watcher comes out and stares at me with his horrible, dead eyes. I can’t stand it any longer. I fall to the ground, and curl into a ball.