Robin Wasserman - Shattered

We backed away. But not quickly enough to avoid the attack of Mama Bear.

“What’d you do to her?” The woman was just as chubby as her child. She snatched the girl’s hand, yanking her away from us.

“Nothing,” I stammered. “She just dropped her doll, and we—”

The woman grabbed the doll away from the kid, who started sobbing again. “Who knows what they did to it,” she snarled. “We’ll get you a new one.” She glared at us. “Skinners don’t belong here—this place already stinks of death. Or is that why you’re here? Come to laugh at our grief?”

I opened my mouth—nothing came out.

“Well?” she snapped, shaking the doll in my face. “Are you getting out of here, or should I call the secops?”

The thought of the secops was enough to get my voice working again. “Why don’t you shove that doll up your—”

“We’re leaving,” Riley said quickly, slipping his hand into mine.

Her eyes widened, and her face paled. I saw it: She’d recognized me from the vids. “You,” she said in a weak, shuddering voice. “It’s you !” That wasn’t so weak. I could tell she was gearing up for a scream.

“Now,” Riley hissed, pulling me away.

He didn’t let go of my hand until we reached the car.

“I feel sorry for that kid,” I said, reluctant to get in. Surely the woman wouldn’t go to all the trouble of calling the secops. And I refused to let her ruin the calm that had descended over the day. Besides, we’d parked far enough from the crowds that the lot felt empty. Riley was right, there was something about this place, the wide open space, the heavy sky… I wasn’t ready to leave.

“I almost feel sorrier for the mom,” Riley said. “Having to listen to that screeching all day.”

He was right. Getting stuck with a kid like that would be a nightmare. Any kid would be a nightmare—now, at least. But there was supposed to be a later. A later when we weren’t seventeen, when we would want all that crap. The screaming. The diapers. The kid.

We were supposed to grow up.

Riley leaned against the car, arms crossed. He tipped his head back, gazing up at the swirling clouds. It was clearer here, since the wind blew most of the crap inland, and I wondered if at night you might actually be able to see the moon. “I chose this,” he said wonderingly. “I chose to live like this.”

“You chose to live ,” I corrected him. “Anyone would.” I joined him at the car, my back resting on the metal, our arms almost touching.

“Would you?” Riley asked. “If you could go back? If you’d had a choice?”

“I’d choose for the accident not to happen,” I said. “After that, there were no more choices.”

“Jude loves it. Being a mech.”

“You’re not Jude.”

“He hates talking about this stuff. Thinks we should forget all about it. That we’re lucky now.”

“You’re not him,” I said again.

“Yeah.” He turned to face me. “He’s right, though. It’s hard. Talking about it.” He shook his head. “So I just don’t. But you’re different. You get it, right? You miss it too, you know?”

No, I thought. Because that was the answer I gave everyone, including myself. “I miss home,” I admitted. “I miss who I used to be. I don’t…” But that was enough truth telling for the day. I couldn’t say it out loud. I don’t want to live like this.

I didn’t say it because there was no point. It didn’t matter what I wanted. This was reality. This was life.

“Thank you,” he said. “For not lying.” He leaned forward, raised his fingers to my jaw, grazing the skin midway between my cheek and chin. So lightly I could barely feel it. “It’s good talking to you. Like I can say anything.”

I should tell him about Ben, I thought. Riley would know what to do. Whether I should give call-me-Ben what he wanted, whether it my was job to keep Jude’s secrets.

I should tell him, because not telling him is a lie.

But telling him would be like telling Jude. Telling him meant no more choices.

Riley rested his other hand at my waist. Drew me toward him. “I don’t know who you used to be. But this version isn’t so bad.”

“Because you don’t know me.” But I let him hold on, and I let him believe. And when his fingers traced the line of my jaw, down my neck, I pressed my hand over his. Flesh to flesh.

“You don’t know me either,” he said.

His lips were soft and fit perfectly against mine, as I fit in his arms, huddled against his chest.

His lips were soft, and his kiss was soft, and if I didn’t feel it in my body, if it didn’t rip me open, leave me trembling, torn out of myself, if the sensors on my lips, my back, my chest, my fingertips registered the pressure of his skin, the temperature, and not the electric shock of raw desire, it didn’t matter.

Because we fit together. Because his lips were soft but his arms were strong and they held me up.

And when he let go, I held on, his hand in mine, our fingers linked. And I wasn’t alone.

As always: Things got back to normal.

As always: Nothing got back to normal.

But this time, in a good way.

This time, Riley was there.

We spent hours, whole days, walking through the orchards, watching apple blossoms flutter to the ground as we walked, hands linked, sometimes silent but often, more often than I would have expected, talking. Never about Jude, who had barricaded himself in the vidroom, searching for a clue about how to turn the tide of public opinion in our favor; never about Ani, who was rarely around anymore and rarely wanted to talk when she was; never about the Brotherhood-inspired crowds camped out at the estate borders, shouting, spray painting the gate, throwing things over the electrified fence, usually things like rocks and fiery wads of paper and rotted fruit, sometimes things like pig intestines, and once a thing set to explode, a homemade thing with a timer and a defective fuse.

Never about the messages I got daily from call-me-Ben, messages that were gradually turning into threats. He’d given me a deadline. Two weeks to choose: Give up Jude (with information I didn’t have), or let Ben give me up to the secops (for crimes I hadn’t committed). To decide whether I wanted to be a traitor or a martyr.

I let Riley believe I had no secrets. I let the time slip by. I deleted the messages.

We talked only about the past. I told him about Zo and Walker and my father and, after a week had passed and my hand felt empty without his hand pressed against it, about Auden.

He asked more than he answered, and there were certain things I still wasn’t allowed to know. How he got shot, or why he blamed himself. Why he owed so much to Jude—and it was more than just the mutual protection he’d alluded to by the flood zone. There was something specific, some chain that bound them together—that was clear. We edged near it a few times, but then we drew too close, I asked one question too many, and he would shut down again.

Sometimes it was better not to talk. Sometimes it was good just to lie there with him, under a tree, a cold wind blowing that neither of us could feel, my head against his silent chest, his arms curled around me. It was strange being with another mech. I could still close my eyes and remember the feel of Walker’s arms around me, his body cradling mine. I was used to Walker’s steady, even breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, his warm breath misting my cheek. When I lay my head on Riley’s chest, it rested there, completely still. When we looked into each other’s eyes, we didn’t blink.