Chapter Twelve: Relations and Relationships
She went on to tell me all sorts of things. At first, I responded, but it eventually became obvious that no such response was necessary. She needed to speak, and she was upset about something. All I had to do was listen. It was kind of nice, hearing her voice. And I felt a small swell inside me as I realized that she was confiding in me. I thought of all that she’d said. Really thought about it. It made me sad for her.
“He settled for the first warm body he could find,” she finally finished.
And every ounce of pain that she’d felt between the time when Foot had left her and now was packed tightly into those few words.
It took my breath away.
“Though I am in error for thinking this way,” she continued, her voice slightly shaky, “the Turks have brought nothing but discord to our colony.”
“How?”
“They are self-absorbed. They kind of…look down their noses at us.” She cringed. “Well, they all do that to me, but Iris does it especially.”
For the first time, I felt something positive for her on her behalf.
“She must be jealous of you then,” I suggested carefully.
She snorted.
“Iris?” she asked. “Jealous of me?”
“Yeah, why not? She wouldn’t be meaner to you if she didn’t think Foot still cared about you, right?”
“But she’s her!” Fisher cried loudly. “How could she possibly be jealous of me?”
I saw that this was the root of her distress. I held my breath. The vacillations in her voice pained me.
“You know?” she asked me. “She’s tall and beautiful and her hair is smooth and soft and long.” Fisher grabbed the edges of her hair and tugged with what seemed to be frustration, as if pulling at it would grow it out to look like Iris’. “She is exotic and wild. Her voice is smooth, and she never gets in trouble. She follows all the rules, and she’s good. She’s mean, but she’s…”
Tears finally pierced her resolve, and she stopped talking.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this,” she said finally, her voice high.
I nodded eagerly, which only seemed to embarrass her more. I made a quiet noise to myself, wishing she didn’t feel that way, but I was powerless to communicate the depth of my conviction. It made me angry that she was so upset, but for more than just the obvious reasons. She didn’t just deserve respect, she’d earned it. Whether I liked it or not, she carried her weight in the colony. She brought food back, she kept threats away.
And she was beautiful – so beautiful. I felt surprise that she wasn’t aware of this. The fact that she discounted this so readily made something inside of me growl with displeasure. She thought of herself as less than she was.
This was fundamentally wrong. I wished I could tell her, but I couldn’t.
I felt lost, thinking this.
“Mr. Dark?”
I jumped. Her voice was reserved. She looked tentative. It was extremely endearing.
“Yeah?” I asked distractedly.
“You think as much as I do,” she remarked.
It actually made me laugh.
“I don’t have anybody to talk to,” I said with that same, strange, honest abruptness that only she could bring out of me.
She actually laughed and smiled all the way, a rare thing. It was the first time I had seen it in my time there, and it transformed her face into something breathtakingly divine. Fisher had clean teeth, to my surprise, and they were all naturally straight. Her lips were cracked, but they had an honesty about them. Her joy was earnest. I found my eyes wandering all over that face, lapping up with my eyes hungrily what I suddenly wanted my mouth to have.
I saw her neck then as she looked away from my face, the mark, the meaning, and I scowled again, the bile of rage and hatred suddenly poisoning my burgeoning happiness. Her smile left her as she saw this in my eyes, leaving my insides feeling foolish and betrayed by that sudden rage. I hadn’t meant to scare her away. I didn’t think she could see.
I decided to chop at all the feelings, leaving none behind. I was not supposed to feel things, I told myself. I couldn’t feel things. I was content with feeling nothing inside. She was making me feel. It wasn’t her right or her place, and she was making me suffer.
I was not supposed to be emotionally compromised.
It was almost like, with her words, the control I had on my emotions stopped working. I reevaluated the girl before me. To my dismay, I liked what I saw there. I just didn’t understand why. But confusion was fear. Fear was anger. Anger was hate. It was as simple as that.
Or it was supposed to be.
Then, the smile faded, and a pained look came on her face.
“What?” I asked, sitting forward a little. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just remembered…something. That’s all.”
The smile was gone now.
“What did you remember?”
“Someone. I have more family here than you’ve seen,” she finally said.
The air in the room became tense. Maybe it was the way she finally looked away from me – maybe the way she began to play with her hands. Maybe even the way she breathed. But something indefinable in her shifted.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Your uncle, I’ve met him, and your parents are dead. Who else is there?”
She closed her eyes and lied on the mat Paige and Pierce shared. Her body’s curves were accentuated by this position, and I forced myself to look away.
“Skate,” she whispered to the ceiling.
I felt the sudden need to understand why Skate’s name brought her so much pain, and all thoughts of climbing on top of her diminished. My eyes found her again, and, I was proud to say, this time platonically.
“Who is that?” I asked quietly.
“Skate’s…my best friend.”
She took a deep breath to steady her shaking voice. The emotion wasn’t fleeting, not like all the others. It was present – and precious.
“Your best friend?” I repeated dumbly.
“He’s Rhyme’s son.”
I felt the strange need to make her feel better.
“Well, that’s ironic, isn't it?”
She laughed appreciatively –but it was forced – and, like before, that pleasant, loose feeling came over me.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” she said back.
I hesitated.
“Well…” I cleared my throat. “Where is he?”
I heard her stop breathing, maybe to stop something large and painful from rising out of her chest. She sat upwards and put a hand on her chest, and the dam of breathlessness gave way to pain. It heaved now, and she turned her face away from me.
“I don’t know,” she whispered weakly.
Abruptly, she stood.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she said.
And before I could answer, she was out of the room.