Dark World: The Surface Girl (3 page)

              Willow dropped her arms but she curled three of her fingers around my elbow and tugged on it as her gaze shifted toward my chambers. We had been best friends since we were small children so I understood her hint right away. I raced behind her and before I closed my door I shot my mom a slightly apologetic, but anticipatory thankful expression and explained, “girl talk!”
              Once the door was closed, Willow and I assumed our usual chatty positions with me sitting by my pillow and her curling up her legs indian-style at the foot of my bed. I rested my hands over my knees.

              “Are you scared?” Willow asked carefully. She knew I wasn’t looking forward to this day at all. I shrugged a shoulder trying to put on airs of being nonchalant, but immediately dropped the act because I knew Willow would immediately see through it.

              “I just wish we could do this in our own time.”

             
Or not at all.

             
I gazed at Willow with profound sadness in my eyes. I was helpless to stop the path my life was about to lead me down. I could dream of other things up until now but reality was about to hit me like a freight train.

             
I'm not ready! I don't want this.
             
Willow shifted her weight on my bed. “What do you think of your dad?” Her question caught me off guard and I tilted my head.

              “What?”

              “Do you love him?” That was a silly question.

              “Of course I do, he's my dad.”
              “Does your mom love him?” I paused and briefly closed my eyes. Did my mom love my dad? That wasn't something I had ever thought to ask myself or anyone else before. My parents were mated. That was Doctrine. But beyond that, I rarely ever saw them fight or argue. My mother was a butterfly and my father was a tree. His roots were firmly planted and nothing made him sway. He comforted her when she was afraid. He steadied her when she stumbled. If I really thought about it I would have to admit they complemented each other almost perfectly.
              “Yeah, I think she does.” Willow shifted her weight again and ran her tongue over her lips as if trying to choose her next words very carefully.

              “Maybe this genetic matching system is really a good thing, you know? Have you ever heard of the word
divorce
?” I bit down softly on my lower lip and crinkled my eyebrows. Something about that word seemed vaguely familiar but I just couldn't place it. Because I didn't respond right away, Willow explained. “B-I, there wasn’t any genetic matching system and half of the couples that mated voluntarily split up. Their marriages were basically cancelled. It was called
divorce
. People were getting married randomly without knowing if they were a good match and they ended up getting in too many disagreements.” That sounded like such a crazy concept, didn't it defeat the entire purpose of marriage? Marriage to the government meant to be mated and to be mated meant optimal to breed, but the added benefit was supposed to be for us to have a companion there for us always. Supposedly it kept us content, which kept us obedient. I sighed in partial defeat.

             
Crap
.
              Willow was doing this on purpose. She was trying to get me to look forward to being mated to Connor and to see it as a positive thing. I knew she was just trying to be my friend and help me accept my path but it was still frustrating. I frowned and rested my hands behind me so I could stretch my back.

              “
Divorce
sounds terrible,” I admitted, “but I wish I had more time. I know I don't have to get married for two years but I don’t even feel like that matters. I have to meet Connor tonight and then I belong to him whether I want to or not.” Willow pressed her lips together and I assumed she was going to try and bring up another positive thing about being mated, but instead she reached forward and tapped my arm. She drew her hand back to herself, reached into the pocket on her shirt and pulled out a piece of folded paper. Before I could ask any questions she held her index finger on her other hand up to her lips. What was she doing?! Willow wasn't secretive! She hadn't passed a note to me since we were thirteen years old, and when our teacher Rita caught Willow she made her bend over and receive her ruler slaps right on her butt cheeks in front of everyone. I cautiously reached forward and grabbed the note. I carefully unfolded it and perused its contents.
             
There's something important I have to show you. Meet me at the place where we found the butterfly.
             
That was it. That was all. There was no signature but there didn't need to be.
              A few months ago Reese and I had been walking down a hallway that lead from classes toward my barracks. We heard a strange chirp-like sound and we paused. The sound continued. I looked left, he looked right and soon we found the culprit; a single, undersized butterfly who couldn't quite fly. We were amazed because although our labs had various larvae, it was extremely rare to see an insect free from laboratory confines. Anything and everything that happened in our labs was carefully monitored. The only other insects I had ever seen roaming free were ants who occasionally got in through very minor, overlooked cracks in the foundation of The Complex. I was six the first time I saw one. I was fascinated and I brought it into our barracks to show Grandpa. He picked me up, plopped me onto his lap and told me stories about how he used to watch entire ant colonies marching through the grass when he was my age.
              Mom screamed when she had seen the ant crawling over my hand and immediately killed it. She made me tell her where I found it and promptly reported the incident to a flatfoot.

              Reese and I were fascinated by the butterfly we ran across. I bent down and watched it struggling, scraping its tiny little feet against the wall and trying to spread its wings but something was wrong; one of its wings stuck out at an odd angle. Reese bent down next to me and when I shifted my eyes toward him, I saw that being partially in the way of one of the lights on the ceiling was casting a shadow over his cheek. The shadow was reminiscent of his sadness. It touched me to witness how much compassion he felt for this poor little creature who couldn't fly like it was supposed to. It was as if Reese was actually experiencing its struggle right along with it.
              The butterfly, although still small, was considerably larger than any of the three ants I had seen before so I doubted it had found its way into the complex through a crack exposing us to the earth's deep soil. This little guy had to have escaped from a lab, but how, if it couldn't even fly? How could it have gotten all the way out here near our barracks?
              I didn't ask Reese any of these questions because the soft, saddened expression that made his cheeks sink downward told me that knowing how this happened was not going to help this little guy now. Reese cupped one of his palms and carefully laid it next to the insect. It paused in its frenzied but fruitless attempt to scamper up the wall and seemed to consider Reese's offer of assistance. My lips parted in actual amazement as it carefully climbed into his hand. He was magical like that.

              Carefully, Reese stood up straight. “I'm going to take him home,” he said very quietly. “I'll try to make him comfortable.” His words caused me to shiver and I curled my arms around my chest. I understood what he was saying. A butterfly who could not fly could not survive. I imagined Reese would probably put the little guy into some kind of container and offer him food (what did butterflies eat? I had no idea and I doubted we had access to what they probably needed) but it would probably spend all of its moments trying to climb out of the container, its little legs sliding helplessly against the sides until it was so exhausted and disheartened that it finally gave up and gave in to inevitable death.

              A butterfly, an insect, knew that to be alive meant to be free and if there was no such thing as freedom there was no reason to live. Why didn't humans understand that, too? Why did we continue to breed if there was no real possibility of life outside of the confines of The Complex? A
lways have hope
, the government tells us, but they've also told us there was no hope for my generation. I would never see anything but walls to my sides and a ceiling above my head.

              Reese took the butterfly back to his barracks and never spoke of it again. I knew why. I knew it didn't survive. Maybe he even put it to sleep himself just to save it from its misery but he wanted to spare me knowing about it. It touched my heart to know that although Reese was incredibly vulnerable and sensitive himself, he still wanted to protect me from the worst things.

              I tore my eyes away from the note and jumped off of my bed like it was on fire. My fingers, resting on either side of the paper as my fingers gripped it, yanked in opposite directions tearing it right down the middle. Before I could stop myself I stuffed the paper into my mouth. The compressed tree root seemed to dissolve on my tongue and an unpleasant sourness invaded my tastebuds. I involuntarily gagged and covered my lips but I forced myself to swallow the paper-turned-chalk. I shifted my guilty eyes back over to Willow, a bit terrified that my extreme response gave something away. It relieved me to witness the way her styled black brows furrowed in pure confusion. Still, I detected worry.
              “I don’t know if you should go,” she said openly, “but I promised I'd get the note to you.” I knew that tone. It was akin to my mother's tone when she was afraid for me. I looked away. “Do you remember when people used to call us
the three amigos
?” I couldn't help but crack a small smile. Willow, Reese and I had known each other practically all our lives. It felt strange to think about that because although nothing ever changes within the constricting walls of The Complex, in another way – everything constantly changes. I could glance upon Willow right now and so easily recall what she looked like as a child. When we first met, she resembled a tiny, tanned cherub. Her cheeks had that cute puff to them while her arms and legs still carried residual baby-fat. She was picturesque innocence, a perfect little angel.
              It was different to think back on Reese's younger days. Myself, Reese and Willow truly were
the three amigos
back when we were kids. We were equal. I was the one with my head in the clouds (clouds I had never actually seen), Willow was the one with her feet firmly planted on the floor and Reese was the scientific one that balanced us out. Back then, we were three sides of one person and we were only complete when we were together. As we grew older the friendship between Willow and Reese became more strained, but in a subtle way and without any substantial cause. I was the one Reese always tackled, until we turned eleven and my mom sat me down and told me it was time to act more ladylike. Reese and I developed our own silent language and maybe Willow felt left out. It was something I noticed, but I noticed it alongside my far-fetched dreams of wanting more than friendship with Reese so it was never something I spoke out loud. “Yeah, I remember,” I responded carefully. A lump began to form in my throat. It would make absentmindedly swallowing access saliva a slightly difficult feat.

              “I know things haven't been the same lately.” Willow's voice was barely above a whisper. Her eyes darted around the room as her pupils dilated. I couldn't help but follow suit. I knew the government claimed they did not monitor conversations in private barracks but I never quite trusted that they were telling the truth. I supposed that was what they wanted though; to always keep us afraid and on edge so we never stepped out of line. My parents, to my knowledge had never been informed that I was officially on a Watch List (which would be the only legal instance in which the government would have surveillance inside barracks to monitor in-home conversations) but with my incessant childhood questions I wouldn't refer to that possibility as a paranoia. “You're still my best friend, though. I still want you to be safe.” I got it. Message received. Yet another person who cared about and loved me was telling me I had to go through with meeting Connor tonight and accept him as my mate in order to preserve my life. What I wish they understood was that Connor did not feel like an assurance of my life, but instead, he symbolized the inevitability of my eventual death that could only follow and unsatisfactory life. Still, Willow had given me Reese's message and that meant that some part of her, even if it was forever silent and buried deep, didn't want Reese and I to have unfinished business.

              I reached one of my hands forward and gave Willow's a squeeze. I would do it – I would meet Connor tonight like I was supposed to, but first I had to see Reese. I had to look at him one last time and let go of my secret feelings on my own terms. Willow's relief was temporary because although I knew I had assured her that I would go through with tonight, I was almost positive she knew what I was going to do first. “I need your help,” I said softly. Willow apprehensively twitched.

              “With what?”
              “I know it's Saturday, but I'm going to tell my parents that I forgot something in the lab that I need for homework due on Monday. Tell them you'll walk there with me?” Willow bit her plump lower lip. She was just as bad at lying as I was. “All I really need you to do is stand there and look agreeable. Can you do that?” Willow shifted her weight and her eyes before lowering them toward her lap with a defeated sigh that sank her shoulders.