Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Emilia
Name?” The cheery lady with a cookie in hand chirps from her seat behind the trestle table. There’s a pen in her other hand, and a smile pinned in place.
Swallowing my hesitation, I answer her. “Emilia Burton.”
Once Germain wrapped up her ceremony, I’d stayed seated—partially in disbelief, and partially to wait to meet Zachary.
Before long, the crowds had filed out, most of the Enforcers trailing behind, until suddenly, I was alone.
Unfolding my legs, I stood, fingers curling around the back of the wooden bench in front of me as I closed my eyes.
Rule breaker or not, I had assumed that maybe Zachary might linger and wait for the hall to empty before moving.
I was wrong.
Slight mishap of judgment, but he’d be at the assignment table. Just like the others.
I could face him.
I could face them all. Rayden. Sam. Heidi.
It didn’t escape my attention that out of everyone, I was the only one who didn’t receive even a flicker of a smile from my partner, not that I needed one. But still, my friends would have picked up on that.
I didn’t need him. Didn’t want him in the first place.
I lifted my chin, blonde hair falling down my back, and straightened my shoulders. A flicker of fire ignited within me as I stepped forward in my heeled boots, leaving the hall behind and striding for the exit.
I could do this.
I would do this.
And no one, not Germain, not the Enforcers, not anyone in this goddamn city, would see me falter.
But Zachary was nowhere to be seen in the entranceway.
The biscuit hangs from the woman’s mouth as she rifles through the tray beside her, brow furrowed.
Every ounce of my being screams that Zachary should be here. That he must be lingering somewhere, waiting for me, for the envelopes…
He must be.
My fingers twitch, aching to form a fist, but I fight the urge and paint a bored expression on my face. Eyes bore into the back of my head as the lady plucks out a white envelope and tugs the cookie from her lips. “Here you go.”
I take it, and the knot in my stomach tightens at her almost empty tray. “Have you… have you seen Zachary Hastings?” I ask quietly, voice calm despite the panic that ravages my chest.
The lady purses her lips but flips through her list before nodding. “Zachary? He was one of the first to collect his envelope.”
I force myself to nod and tuck my own under my arm, keeping my expression clear. Something curls in my stomach as I step away from the table, boots echoing against the polished floor.
I turn and plough straight into Sam and Heidi.
“Mils,” Sam says quickly.
“Emilia!” Heidi barrels into me, arms wrapping around my waist. Instinctively, I do the same.
“Where’s your…” Sam trails off.
“I don’t know,” I admit, voice quiet. I hook an arm through Heidi’s and steer them towards the edge of the room, away from all the beady eyes. “I waited for him,” I say. “He wasn’t in the hall. He isn’t out here, but he’s picked up his envelope so he must have left as soon as Germain dismissed us.”
Sam’s frown deepens. “Oh.”
I force a laugh, but it sounds hollow. I’ve never wanted any part of this experimental farce, but even so, it’s unheard of for someone to collect their envelope alone.
The couple is expected to do it together, to prove their unity in front of the State.
To introduce themselves to one another, and to figure everything out as a team, even if that team doesn’t stay united for longer than five minutes after they leave City Hall.
Guess this team doesn’t have a chance in hell.
“I’m sure he has a good excuse,” Heidi murmurs, brow creasing.
“I’m sure,” I echo.
“Are you okay?” Sam asks quietly, his worry obvious.
Smiling, I try to sound lighthearted. “I’m fine, Sam.”
“Mils—”
“Seriously,” I interrupt, sharper than I intended. “Don’t worry about me. Either of you.”
“But Zachary—”
“I’ll find him,” I tell Heidi. I give her arm a squeeze and, for their sake, add a grin. “You know me. That boy will regret everything by the time I’m done with him.”
It’s a lie. A barefaced lie.
From first impressions, I imagine Zachary will roll his eyes at anything I say and dismiss me without a second thought. But my sweet friends don’t need to think that.
“Trust me,” I say. Sam studies me, still unconvinced, but Heidi’s smile is almost hopeful.
“Make sure he does,” she says.
Stepping back, I lift my chin. “You two have fun.” Then, raising my voice so that others can hear, I add, “I’ll see you soon. I’ve got to catch up with Zachary.”
Heidi smiles, and Sam’s jaw tics, but he nods. I turn, boots clicking sharply against the floors as I stride down the corridor. The sound bounces off the walls and heads turn, whispers swirling around me. A dozen eyes track my every move as I walk alone, my other half nowhere in sight.
Briony watches from the far corner, surrounded by a few stragglers—girls lingering long after they should have left—whispering and pointing at the once-popular Emilia, now navigating the State’s vision of family all by herself.
Kayla, my old nemesis, is wide-eyed as she stands near the assignment table, watching me walk past with my head held high, disguising the sickening emotions that churn inside my gut.
Rayden and Nina stand to the side, the brunette hugging a middle-aged woman I assume is her mother. My eyes find Ray’s, his brilliant, piercing green ones filled with something akin to pain, and for a moment, I falter, nearly tripping over my feet. Nina follows his gaze, brow furrowing as I pass.
I ignore every stare, every question, every emotion, needing time, but more than anything, needing to maintain my composure.
The double doors are pinned open, and I step into the fiercely bright summer sun.
They all think I’m unlucky, pitying me for being alone, but if they think I’m not the same person I was two hours ago, they’re idiots.
Nothing has changed.
I’m Emilia Burton. I’ve never needed a man.
I will survive this, and deal with this, on my own terms.
Zachary Hastings doesn’t know what’s going to hit him when I finally manage to track the bastard down.
It only takes me twenty minutes to pack up my belongings, and half of that time is spent finishing a bottle of vodka I took from Rayden last week. The liquid scorches my throat, but I welcome the burn, finding it easier to feel that than think about everything else going on right now.
I sit on the metal window ledge of the old office building, bottle in hand, staring at the girls below.
The driveway is a mess of laughter and shrill excitement.
They come and go in pairs and trios, hugging, squealing, a few waving white envelopes as though they’re tickets to goddamn paradise.
The others—the lucky singles—fawn over the papers, clearly wishing it were them.
Given that everyone single has the day off for the ceremony, people tend to stay out after.
The ones partnered spend it in the married district with their new spouse, pretending it’s fate and not a State mandated prison; meanwhile, many of the lucky ones drown themselves in contraband alcohol and music until dawn.
Last year, Sam and I stayed out until three a.m., running through the abandoned university campus, drunk, laughing, and utterly free.
Afterwards, he went back to Brook House, and I soon followed, sneaking into Rayden’s room, making sure that Jace was missing before waking Rayden, a groan spilling through his lips, hand fisting in my hair as I wrapped my mouth around him.
I was drunk. The world had ended. We had nothing to lose.
This year, I won’t be doing that.
I can’t.
My jaw tightens. Lifting the bottle, I drain the dregs before tossing it at the bin. It clatters against the wall and falls to the floor, rolling under the bed. I tear my eyes away, leaving it there.
It’s not like I live here anymore.
I should go before Sam and Heidi get here. I don’t have the energy to lie through my teeth again about how okay I am, or to paste on a smile and convince them I’m fine.
I wish Zachary hadn’t abandoned me, but most of all I wish I’d never been chosen. I wish my friends hadn’t been chosen either.
My safe haven, my comfort, my small circle… all shattered. Obliterated.
Grabbing my brown backpack, I sling it over my shoulder and pick up my other smaller bag. My fingers curl around the door handle, but something in me hesitates, glancing back at the room that’s been my home for nearly five years.
Two single beds sit against the thin white walls, one now stripped bare, the other still covered in pink blankets, rumpled and unmade from Heidi last night.
The air smells faintly of floral shampoo and sterile smelling detergent.
A photo of us stands pride of place on the drawers between the beds—two grinning girls, one a Devil, the other an Angel, their arms around one another during our first Halloween together more than three and a half years ago.
It was the only year the State let us party, take photos, and drink.
My throat tightens.
And I leave the photo where it is. For her.
Retreating, I turn and close the door behind me, shutting away any emotional sentiment.
This period of my life is over, and the quicker I accept that, the better.
I’ll miss living with Heidi, but for now, it’s easier to pretend I won’t.
Instead of sleeping beside me, she’ll just be fucking my best friend.
I walk down the corridor, one of the tube lights flickering above. Two dark-haired girls stride past, looking right through me, as if I’m invisible.
I don’t say anything.
I’ve never made an effort with the girls. There’s no point. A lot of us just seem to end up dead, anyway.
It’s funny to think I used to be popular. I had friends, followers, all the attention a teenager could dream of. Gossip would spread about me, guys clambered to talk to me, girls watched wistfully from afar.
None of it meant a fucking thing once the sky fell and the world burnt. My pretty smile and smart mouth didn’t save me from the bombs, and it sure as hell won’t save me from this marriage.
So, what’s the goddamn point?
I push through the front door and step into the late afternoon sun. It’s dipped already, the golden glow so beautiful it almost makes me forget how humans have destroyed this world.
Hooking my hand under the rucksack strap, I hold it tight as I walk past the remaining girls, leaving the driveway for the final time and head towards the east side of town.
The east is where they focused their attention most. Rows and rows of repaired terrace houses stand uniformed and lifeless; a utopia for their happy families.
Unsurprisingly, it’s also the area with the most trouble.
Forcing puzzle pieces that don’t slot together into the same home and demanding they do whatever the State says…
it’s no surprise that domestic violence has become the norm.
Boots clacking against the cracked tarmac, I pull the envelope from my bag. My hands tremble, but I grit my teeth and rip the seal open. A set of keys fall into my palm.
They’re cold and heavier than I ever remember keys being.
I reach into the envelope once more and unfold the single piece of paper inside. The print is neatly typed black ink across the white sheet.
I stumble to a stop.
It’s a marriage certificate.
Zachary and Emilia Hastings.
For a moment, I just stare at it. My so-called goddamn future, reduced to three lines of text.
The last of which is just my name shackled to his.
“Fuck,” I whisper. The word hangs in the air, as sharp and bitter as the vodka still burning in my veins.