Chapter 2
Chapter Two
O nce the officers are gone, I breathe a little sigh of relief and hurry to my room on the second floor. It’s small, barely big enough for the two sets of wooden bunk beds that sit in opposing corners. A wardrobe for clothes is positioned at the end of each, and a threadbare rug covers most of the hardwood floor. There are a few decorations, mostly hand-made ones plastered on the walls, but it’s not much.
I share the room with three other girls. Two are gatherers—they load into the back of a truck every morning and are driven miles away to collect things like firewood and drinking water—and the fourth is a thirteen-year-old harvester from my group. We may not be blood-related, but the three of them are the closest thing I have to sisters.
Only when I’m back in my room can I remove the black veil and strip out of the uncomfortable work dress I’m forced to wear. A wave of cool air washes over my hot skin, and I immediately crave a shower. I need to wash off the sweat and the memories of the day before I crawl into bed. Besides, the hot water will do my sore muscles good.
Gathering my pajamas, the standard issue gray pants and cotton shirt that all girls get when they age into our faction, I grab my towel and head down the hall to the nearest bathroom. There are four on this floor, eight total in the house, which is hardly enough to accommodate forty-eight—forty- seven now—girls, but we manage.
I hurry inside and close the door, exhaling a deep, tired sigh. Moments of solitude are few and far between in this world, and I cherish each and every one. For a moment, however brief, I am alone.
I am not the collective.
I am not a worker or property.
I’m just Torri.
“About time,” a voice says behind me. Goosebumps prickle over my skin in a wave, and I stiffen.
Turning around slowly, I take in the person standing before me. She too is nineteen, but she ages out of the gatherer house in a couple of months. She’s wrapped in nothing but a worn, frayed towel, her dry blonde curls spilling over her shoulders. Her gray eyes gleam when I look at her, dancing with secrets only she and I know.
“Keep your voice down, Lita,” I whisper sharply, flipping the lock on the door. I test the handle anxiously to make sure it’s locked before looking back at her.
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve told you I don’t care who knows.”
“And I’ve told you I won’t let them hurt you.”
I glare, my gaze boring into hers.
We go through this at least once a week or so, but I mean it when I say I won’t let them hurt her. If that means calling things off and pretending like none of this ever happened to keep her safe, I’ll do it, no matter how much it pains me.
“I know you won’t.” Her voice is low as she steps closer, and my heart rate kicks up speed, the way it does anytime she’s near.
Lita is everything I never knew I wanted and everything I can’t have. She is both my lifeline and my death sentence. She is a reminder of the dark world we’re trapped in and my only ray of sunlight in the gloom.
She stops in front of me, and I exhale a shaky breath.
“Well, come on,” she whispers, dropping her towel. “We don’t have much time.”
I immediately drink in her tanned skin and perfect curves, tracing her scars in my mind, mapping out every inch of her that I’ve memorized. My last shred of restraint snaps, and the next second my lips are on hers. My towel and pajamas drop to the floor as my hands eagerly roam over her skin.
She smells so fucking good, a mix of earth and flowers from the woods she works in all day. I’ve never seen them because I’m restricted to the vegetation fields, but she tells me how beautiful they are all the time. Beautiful like her.
“You stink,” she whispers into my neck as I reach for the knobs in the shower and turn the water on.
“I guess you should wash me.” I chuckle, dragging her under the spray of water with me and pinning her against the wall.
I kiss her like it’s the last time, the same way I kiss her every time, because all of this could easily blow up in our faces. The only faction allowed to have sex are the breeders, and even they aren’t allowed to sleep with other women.
What we have is dangerous, a flame that could combust and incinerate us at any second.
It’s also addicting, and my favorite way to dance with fate.
I slide my hands over her hips, dragging her against me, and I swallow the little gasp that leaves her lips. Heat swells in my stomach, making the spray of water against my back feel cold, and I slip my fingers between her thighs.
“I want you, Torri,” she whispers as I move my digits through her folds, teasing her clit before sinking two fingers inside her. My need to have her, feel her, taste her, blots out the rest of my thoughts, drowning my anxiety and fear. “I-I don’t care. Let them know. What are they going to do to me?”
I press my mouth against hers to cut off her questions and pump my fingers into her. She’s so tight and warm around my digits, her channel pulsing with every thrust, but it’s not enough. I want to feel more of her, drink her in, drown in her.
“They’ll kill you, and you know it,” I say before dropping to my knees in front of her. I nudge her legs further apart and paint a lick over her seam.
My heart is racing, beating in my throat as the taste of her arousal blooms over my tongue. If anyone finds us like this, they’ll kill us both. They’ll make a spectacle out of us in the square and leave us dangling there for days as a reminder to never disobey the High Majesty.
But I can’t stop.
Lita is the only thing in this entire world that makes me feel something. The numbness fades, replaced by a flutter in my chest and a warmth in my veins whenever she’s near. When I touch her, jolts of electricity dance through my limbs.
The way I feel doesn’t have a name. It doesn’t exist in Merik, but I know it’s real.
She comes with a whimper, clamping a hand over her mouth to keep quiet, and I kiss my way back up her body. When she reaches for the apex between my thighs, I brush her hand away.
“When are you going to let me touch you?” She pokes out her bottom lip, pouting, and reaches for her wash towel.
“One day,” I say, even though I don’t know the answer. I press my lips against hers in a quick kiss to reassure her.
Dark memories begin to bubble up, but I mentally skirt over them, stuffing them down deep where they belong. Just because a Peace Officer isn’t supposed to do something, doesn’t mean they always follow the rules.
And if they break the rules, they’re never punished.
The violent memories of hands on me, touching me—violating me—is enough for me to tell Lita no. Even if she doesn’t understand why, and probably never will because I won’t tell her, she respects my decision and washes me instead, taking her time to scrub the day’s work off my skin.
She kisses me one final time before slipping out of the bathroom alone and making her way to the opposite end of the hall. I wait, counting out a full minute before I follow after and hurry to my room.
When I lie down for the night and close my eyes, wishing with all my strength that things could be different, a sense of hopelessness settles over me as reality sets in.
This is the way, as it must be.