1. Vesper #2
My eyes jerk from the orange to her. “But it’s yours. You should enjoy it.”
Dox snorts. “Don’t be silly. I’m splitting it in half.” She starts peeling it. “But I will give you the moldy part.”
“Deal,” I say, stepping closer.
As her finger punctures the peel, the bright smell of citrus fills the air. It’s almost too sweet, too intoxicating, but when she hands me half of the orange, I take it. It’s soft, telling me that it won’t last until tomorrow, but it’s an orange.
“Smell it first,” Dox orders, taking her own big whiff. “We gotta savor this.”
The last time I had an orange, we were teenagers. They’re incredibly rare, and those who have managed to grow an orange tree protect it like the rarity it is. The trees don’t produce much and what little they do goes to the most powerful people in Dross, not people like us.
“Who paid you with this?” I ask, already knowing it’s one of the gangs. They’re the only ones with enough power to protect such an asset.
“Black Spur Union,” she admits. “I delivered some metal parts they needed two rotations early. They gave me the orange and bars as payment.”
I peel off one of the segments and take a deep breath before popping it in my mouth.
The flavor explodes on my tongue, tingling as the hint of sour sweet spreads through my taste buds.
My mouth waters so badly, it’s almost embarrassing when I drool a little, but any Wastrel would understand.
It’s the most flavorful thing I’ve had in years, and it’s fucking orgasmic.
I’m pretty sure I moan as I peel off another segment and lick it before I pop it in my mouth.
“I wish we could save them,” Dox murmurs, biting into her own segment. Her eyes roll back. “Fuck me, it’s better than sex.”
I nod in agreement as I take a seat on the floor and cross my legs, settling in so that I can cup the orange in my lap. Dox follows suit, smiling at me as we share the first fruit we’ve had in years.
It’s more common to be paid in fruit with the higher risk jobs, and we’ve managed to take a few of those on.
It’s useless work really. It’s just movement of assets around between gangs, but we usually at least get Harrow Bars as payment.
We don’t starve thanks to them, while others have to fight for scraps.
Dox and I share everything we bring in. Others don’t understand it.
Most think we’ll turn on each other if we’re were hungry enough.
They may not be wrong since hunger makes us all equal.
We just do our best never to get to that point.
We’ve grown up together, survived together.
Dox and I may not have the same mother, but we’re sisters in every way that matters.
I’d do anything for her, just as she would for me.
It’s rare, and I cherish our friendship.
There are very few things I cherish as much as her.
Even the few items I carry on me at all times pale in comparison.
“You know, if we went through The Harrow—” Dox starts.
My smile falls away. “Don’t start this again.”
“I’m just saying,” she says, raising her brow. “We could have fruit every day.”
“If we didn’t die trying to make it there,” I remind her. “You know how slim the chances are.”
“If anyone can do it, it’s us,” she points out.
I sigh. We’ve had this conversation so many times, I have dreams about it. “There are worse things than being hungry, Dox.”
She leans back on her hands and stares at me. “Are you scared because we might die or because—”
“Enough,” I grunt. “The Harrow is for runners and dreamers. That ain’t us.”
She tilts her head. “I don’t know,” she murmurs. “I think I’m a bit of a dreamer.”
My gaze softens. “Dox—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupts. “One of these days though, we won’t have a choice. We’ll get into trouble and it’s either stay and be killed, or take the only option out.” She pops another orange segment in her mouth. “We’ve already lived longer than most. What’s a few more years?”
I look down at the orange in my lap and slowly pull away the moldy peel. “You calling me old, Paradox?” I tease instead of pointing out the flaw in her plans. That if we have no choice, we might already be dead.
She grins. “At the ripe age of thirty-one, you’re practically a spinster, Vesper.”
“Says the old woman across from me,” I fire back, sinking into the familiar jabs.
She scoffs dramatically. “I’m only a few months older.”
“So, you admit you’re old then?”
She snorts and then smiles, her eyes softening in a way I know means she’s about to get sentimental.
“Nope,” I tell her, pointing at the orange. “Just eat your orange, Doxxie. We ain’t crying today. There’s no crying when we have the sweet victory of an orange in our hands.”
We don’t have to say it. I don’t tell her I love her or that I’m glad I’m in this hellhole with her of all people. She doesn’t remind me that she’d kill for me. We don’t discuss it, but the feeling is there between us, hanging heavy in the air.
Dox’s eyes crinkle and she holds up her orange. “You think I can get Trig to suck my toes in exchange for a segment?”
I roll my eyes. “That idiot would do it for free,” I remind her. “But I’m sure he’ll suck it out if you stick it up your—”
Her giggles make my chest warm as she carefully pulls a segment off and sets it aside.
Apparently, Trig is going to have a very good night.