Whole, p.18
Whole, page 18
“Won’t he wonder where you are?” he asks, gently pushing my hair behind my ear and taking another step closer so that our bodies are nearly touching. I can feel my heart beating in my chest, and it’s so forceful I’m sure he must feel it too. My entire body is tingling all over, and the sensation of his chest so close to mine threatens to make me explode.
“I’m not thinking about him,” I say, looking into his eyes. He hesitates for a moment, holding my gaze, his face torn. Then he gives in to what we both want and bends down, taking my face almost forcefully in his hands and pulling it up to meet his lips. He kisses me over and over again, months of yearning pouring out of us both, and pulls me in even closer, our hands exploring one another’s bodies, hungry for more. He leads me up the stairs and into the bedroom, and I suck in a gasp of air as he pulls my shirt up over my head. I do the same to him, running my hands over his sturdy chest in the process, and stopping to gently kiss his collarbone. I toss the shirt to the side then move my hands to his pants, trembling slightly as I fumble with the buttons. My fingers finally complete the task, and I let the pants drop to the floor. He steps out of them then returns the favor, carefully pulling my feet out of each pant leg before setting them neatly aside. We stand there taking each other in, his brown eyes flickering green. I can feel them boring into me, intense and unwavering, and my body quivers, both terrified and completely comfortable at the same time. I step forward and place my hands on his arms, running my fingers over his deep scars.
“I’m sorry,” I say, earnestly. “I wish I could make them go away.”
“Don’t be,” he says, as our eyes meet. “I got them protecting you. They’re all I’ll have to remind me of you after tomorrow.” I kiss him hard on the mouth and he lifts me up into the air, our bodies weaving together in the moonlight.
Chapter 22
I wake up and blink my eyes open. It’s still dark, and I drape my hand over to the other side of the bed, feeling for Jake, but all that’s there are the cold sheets. I reach for the small clock on the bedside table—quarter to eight. We have to be in New York at nine, so he’s probably downstairs getting ready. I sit up and fumble around in the dark for my clothes, but all I can find is Jake’s t-shirt from last night, so I pull that over my head and pad to the bathroom to brush my teeth before I make my way down the stairs. I find him in the kitchen cooking eggs. He’s stone-faced again, staring off at some invisible object out the window as he stirs, but when he sees me his face softens.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes widening just a bit. “I made you breakfast.”
“Thanks,” I say, keeping my distance from the doorway, a little unsure of how to act. I can’t help feeling like we’ve done something wrong, but I want to do it all over again at the same time. “Sorry, I borrowed your shirt.” I pinch the fabric between two fingers and tug on it in acknowledgement.
“That’s OK,” he says, giving me a hint of a smile. “It looks good on you.”
I sit down at the table and watch him while he finishes up, as methodical in his food preparation as he is in everything else. “Here’s a question,” I say, running my hands over the old, worn kitchen table. It’s solid wood, heavy and aged, with deep grooves cut into the top from years of use. “Why all the old furniture? Are you a grandmother at heart?”
He chuckles at the tease. “Is it that bad? Most of it is from my parents’ house, and my grandparents before them. Never had the money to replace it and didn’t really care to, either. It’s not like I have a ton of company to impress. I’d rather spend money on music.” He pauses a moment before continuing, “I made the bookcase in the living room though. For you.”
The kind gesture reminds me of the bed my Jake made for me, and the similarity between them makes my heart heavy. When Jake’s done cooking, he walks over with two perfectly plated meals and sets one down in front of me. There’s bacon this time too, and melon in the shape of a flower. We start to eat, and I run over what I want to say to him in my head. I thought about it last night as I lay in bed watching him snore softly, his chest rising up and down. By morning I had only strengthened my resolve.
When he gets up to clear the table, I see my opening and follow him over to the sink. We’re going to have to leave soon, so if I don’t say something now, I may never get the chance. When he sets the plates down on the counter, I lay my hand lightly on top of his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You can come with me,” I say, determined to convince him. “Come with me to Earth.”
“Mara, don’t,” he says, pulling his hand away, but not in a hostile way. His eyes are sorrowful but decided. “We had a great night. A perfect night. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“But we could have more than just one night!” I say, my voice rising against my will. “Don’t you want that? Please, come with me.”
“Of course I want that, Mara,” he snaps, sounding frustrated now. “I want a thousand more nights with you. I want them all. But that’s not possible, so just let it go.”
“You don’t know it’s not possible,” I shoot back, pleading with him now, feeling him slipping away. I’ve thought about the logistics, and while it’s a long shot, I think we have a chance. We have to try, at least, don’t we? “We could send you to Earth first, before we destroy the cellerach. Then you’ll already be there when I come back. It could work.”
“It won’t work, Mara. I’ve already told you I wasn’t meant to live on Earth, just like you aren’t meant to live here. Nothing will change that. We weren’t meant to be together.”
“But...but...that can’t be true!” I say, tears welling up in my eyes. I’m borderline hysterical now, but I don’t even care. I won’t just give up on this. “What about that woman who raised her two daughters on Earth? You said their bond was so strong that she was able to keep the baby indefinitely. That means it’s possible, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not possible,” he says, exasperated. “Trust me, that was just a story.”
“But how do you know?” I say, wanting him to agree, to not give up on me either. “We could—”
But Jake cuts me off, raising his voice for the first time since we started talking. “If it were possible, why didn’t my parents come back for me?” he practically yells. “They left me here alone after they died, with nothing. I was ten years old, for Christ’s sake, I was just a child, bouncing around between terrible foster homes, staying with friends or on the street. Sometimes I rummaged through dumpsters just to get something to eat, sharing my meals with alley rats. If they had the option of saving me, of bringing me to Earth and giving me a brother, why didn’t they?” He seems to catch himself yelling and regains his composure a bit before continuing. “Because they couldn’t, that’s why. When you die on Pearth, you don’t get to go to Earth. You’re just gone.”
Silence fills the room, his words hanging in the air. I try to speak, but everything I want to say seems insignificant. I have to say something. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t know.”
“Even if it were possible, it wouldn’t matter,” he goes on, calmer now but with a sadness in his voice. “What are you going to do, love both of us? Be with both of us? You’d never choose me over him, and I wouldn’t expect you to. It could never work.”
In all my planning last night, I hadn’t thought as far as to what would happen if there were two Jakes living on Earth. I just wanted so desperately not to lose him that I focused on figuring out how to ensure I wouldn’t have to, not on what it would actually mean. Could I explain to my Jake that I was in love with both him and his other half? Could we all live together like some sort of unconventional throuple, or would I have to continue this secret affair? And if they did meet, would they even like each other? The two were similar, yes, but they were distinctly different people. One was quiet and contemplative, orderly and disciplined. The other, upbeat and fun loving; not loud exactly, but confident and content. I couldn’t picture my Jake following orders, much less wielding a trola. No, of course he was right, it would never work. I was about to tell him as much when an alarm sounded suddenly, and he looked down at his watch.
“Get dressed,” he said. “We leave in fifteen minutes.”
We meet in the living room with five minutes to spare. I’m back in my own clothes, which I found tangled in a clump under the bed, t-shirt and jeans with a hoodie zipped up to my chin. My backpack with both weapons is slung over my shoulder. Jake is dressed in plain clothes too, a black t-shirt and hoodie with jeans and sneakers. The commanders and my father have been treating this day more as a celebration than a mission, saying that we shouldn’t expect any trouble, but there’s been one too many attacks for us to truly believe them, and after last night I’m not sure who to trust anymore. Jake has two electrolasers and a stun-gun hooked to his belt, just in case. He stands next to me, twisting his ring back and forth until a portal appears, then he zips up his hoodie and puts a hand on his belt, making sure the trolas are still there.
“Are you ready?” he says, looking back at me.
Ready for what, exactly, I’m not sure, but I nod anyways, and he steps into the portal. I look around the room one last time, taking in the bookshelf, the chairs, and the floral sofa, attempting to commit them to memory. Then my eyes land on the photo of my family, and I run to grab it off the mantel. I hastily shove it into my backpack before taking a deep breath, pushing my hair behind my ear, and following Jake into the dark.
We arrive in New York in front of the PGM headquarters, the cool autumn air whipping up the leaves at our feet. As we approach the front doors, I notice that they’ve heightened the security. Four armed guards now flank the entrance where there once were only two, and their weapons are larger than I’ve ever seen them before. They stare expressionless ahead as we pass, only glancing down to check our cellerach rings before motioning us through the doors. Once inside, I throw my backpack on the conveyor belt and head through the series of metal detectors, expecting to pick it up at the other end and be on my way, but before I can grab the bag, a siren begins howling, accompanied by a red flashing light. I take a step back and instinctively put my hands in the air to show my innocence. A guard comes over and instructs me to open the bag, pointing his electrolaser at my chest. Jake has joined me at this point, and we both watch perplexedly as the guard rifles through my belongings, removing the electrolaser and stun-gun and tossing them in a bin on the floor. He thrusts the bag in my face and motions with his trola for me to move along as a second guard grabs Jake’s weapons off the conveyor belt and throws them into the bin as well.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Jake says, stepping toward the guard and holding out his cellerach ring. “We’re with PGM special forces. We’re allowed to have those.”
“Not anymore,” says the guard, pushing the muzzle of his electrolaser into Jake’s chest. “They’re taking extra precautions today. Now get going, you’re holding up the line.”
Jake just stands there glaring at the guard, the trola still pressed into his hoodie, and for a second I think he’s about to grab the barrel and shoot his way out of here, but instead he takes a step back then grabs my hand, leading me away from the security line. As we enter the waiting elevator, we exchange worried looks, but we ride to the twenty-ninth floor, silent except for the sound of me fidgeting with my hair. Jake stares at the wall in front of him, and I can feel his mind trying to quickly calculate what this could mean. When the elevator stops, a male voice in an Australian accent calls out, “Twenty-ninth floor,” and the doors slide open. Jake puts his hand back to tell me to wait as he pokes his head out into the hallway, then straightens again and turns to face me. “Seems ordinary from here,” he says. “Let’s go.”
We walk down the hallway to the PGM special forces conference room, and Jake pushes open the door. I peek around his back to see that the room looks different—the long table has been removed, and the chairs now line the walls, leaving a large open space in the middle. Most of the designates are already there with their guides, milling about getting coffee from the carafe or sitting in their seats waiting for things to start. Vincent Tellweather’s hologram stands at the front of the room, watching my father as he attempts to pull up a presentation on the large video monitor. I see Jake’s brow furrow as he discerns the hologram, and he turns to say something to me, but we’re interrupted by my father coming over. “Jake,” he says, nodding in Jake’s direction. “Sir,” Jake says in response, giving him a nod back to acknowledge there’s no hard feelings from last night, but making it clear they won’t be becoming best friends any time soon.
“Hi dad, what’s up?” I say, trying to break the tension. My father turns his focus toward me and gives me a hug to say hello.
“Exciting day isn’t it?” he says, enthusiastically. “We’re doing a great thing here today, making history, really. We should all be proud.”
“Sure,” I say, happy to do my part to protect the Earth, but not quite as excited as he is. I don’t feel good about the increased security and the fact that my weapons were confiscated, and I’d just like to get this over with, unscathed.
“Mara, can I speak with you in the hallway?” he asks. Then, his eyes darting to Jake, he adds, “Alone.”
I give Jake a look to say I’ll be fine, then follow my father out into the hallway. He stops just outside the door and pulls two small objects out of his coat pocket, handing me the first. I take it and turn it over in my hands. It’s a small silver picture frame with a little stand to set it upright on a table. It’s engraved with the words You’ll always be my Ellie-bear, and a picture of my dad, much younger with a full head of blonde, messy hair, holding a tiny, baby Ellie sits behind the glass. They look to be in a hospital room, from the day she was born if I had to guess.
“Give this to Ellie for me,” he says, getting choked up a little. “Tell her it’s a gift from you or make up some other excuse. I just want her to know I’m still with her, and I miss her other half with all my heart.”
“Of course,” I say, reassuringly, smiling at the picture. “I’ll take care of it.”
Then he holds up the second gift, and I can see that it’s a sealed envelope, my mother’s name written on the front. He hangs onto it a moment longer, tears welling up in his eyes, before handing it over to me. “This is for your mother,” he tells me, though it needs no explanation. “Hide it in the house, would you? Somewhere that she’ll think she overlooked before. I need her to think it’s been there for years, that I wrote it for her before I died.”
I think for a minute before responding, then I get an idea. “I know just the place,” I tell him, taking both items and placing them gingerly into my backpack. He leans in and hugs me tight.
“Thank you, Mara,” he says into my ear. “You don’t know how great it was to see you again, even for such a short time. I want you to think of me this way, always. Volunteering with the PGM to help save the world has given my life a real meaning I didn’t know I needed, and it was all because of you.”
I want to say something back, but I’ve never been good at saying goodbye, and the words stick in my throat. Just then the door to the conference room opens, and Jake pokes his head out. “Everything OK?” he asks, seeing me wiping the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. “We’re about to get started.”
My father clears his throat and claps his hands together jovially. “Everything’s great! It’s a good day to save the world.” He strides back into the conference room with a hearty, “May I have your attention, please!” Jake holds the door open for me as we follow and take a seat in the back, next to Jonah and Ben. I scan the room and see that everyone is there, including some new faces. Two young men about my age I’ve never seen before sit across the room near the windows. They look similar enough to be twins, but it’s clear one is a bit older than the other. Probably brothers, I think, taking in their matching cellerach rings. One must be a new designate, the other his guide. At the front of the room, two older gentlemen and one woman sit in a row next to Vincent’s hologram, and my father stands to their left, advancing the presentation slides.
“Welcome, welcome!” my father booms. “The reckoning is upon us!” A few people clap, halfheartedly, then stop when they realize no one else is joining in. The messaging thus far has been vague at best, and we’re all a little unsure of why we should be celebrating. “We’ll get down to business soon, but first, some of the PGM special forces commanders would like to take a moment to thank you all for your tireless efforts in getting us here today.”
The three commanders, as well as Vincent’s hologram, stand and wave to us as my father introduces them, one by one. “You all know Vincent, of course, he’s been here with us since the beginning. You’ll notice he’s not here in person, but that’s for good reason. He graciously offered to guard the cellerach store during the ceremony and confirm its destruction, a dangerous job indeed. He wanted to thank you all personally, though, so he sent his hologram to attend in his place. Rest assured, he wouldn’t want to miss this.” Vincent gives a perfunctory nod then promptly sits back down as a few people attempt the clap again before my father moves on.
“And here we have Didion Dupont, a PGM high official who’s dedicated her career to studying cellerach and maintaining the ethics of its use. This ceremony will be her last great accomplishment before her much deserved retirement, congratulations Didion!” More weak applause follows this introduction, and he goes on to present Chester Worthington and Win Sterling, former generals from Pearth’s British army. “As recognition of the dedication you’ve shown to aiding in the protection of innocent human life,” my father continues, “the commanders would like to extend their deepest gratitude and honor each of you with an official PGM special forces pin.”
All four of the commanders stand and begin making their way around the room, pinning a PGM seal to each person’s shirt and giving a military salute. I’m not sure any thanks are necessary when we didn’t have much of a choice in the matter—it was either participate in saving the Earth or wait to be burned alive—but I stand by patiently to receive my pin like everyone else, wondering how long this is going to take. We still have the presentation to go through after.
