Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Zac
Ican’t let it go. Not when she stumbles again.
“How do you cope at work?”
Her arms shoot out for balance before she hops down on the other side of the rubble. “They provide trainers for us at the farm; that’s why footwear was never really my priority.”
I land beside her. She’s wearing the only leggings she owns, and that damn shirt is tight and open-backed, showing the straps of her grey sports bra and far too much skin.
Her hair—torn from its updo—falls down her back, catching in the sunlight.
My eyes drag lower before I can stop them.
The curve of her hips, the way those leggings fit her ass perfectly. Just the right size to—
I bite the thought off, my eyes narrowing at the road ahead.
She’s achieved nothing from buying this crap; nothing but a shit tonne of lustful stares from people who don’t know how to keep to themselves. All she’s doing is garnering attention as she spits on the State’s traditional family values.
I don’t know why I keep painting her as an innocent, na?ve girl in my head when she’s shown me time and time again, she’s anything but. The thought sparks another flash of frustration, hot, protective, and annoyingly misplaced.
We keep moving in silence. Half the structures around us are nothing but jagged ruins, blackened steel and crumbling brick, and soon I realise where she’s leading us: the castle.
The ruins surround us, mountains of broken stone that once held centuries of the city’s history.
I weave through the wreckage, climbing over collapsed walls until I reach the edge of the hill.
I stop there, catching my breath, staring out over what’s left of the city.
On one side, everything is fractured. Black husks of long forgotten office buildings, streets no longer visible, vines and weeds coating the lot.
On the other side, there’s order. State mandated order. It’s tidier, the streets clear and buildings rebuilt, the State’s flag waving sharply atop City Hall.
“I haven’t been up here for years.” Emilia breathes, eyes wide.
“It’s pretty remarkable,” I say, leaning against the small, still-standing brick wall behind me, taking in the view.
“Remarkable? People lost their lives,” she snaps.
“It’s remarkable that we can still see this from up here,” I shoot back, turning to face her.
“That we’re here. That this place exists.
” I pause, the words rough. “I know that people died, Emilia. You don't have to fucking lecture me about it. War is not remarkable.” I gesture at the city. “But we’re still here, and this… this is what we have left.” The hard edge in my voice surprises even me.
I push off the wall and turn away, stalking around to the other side of the ruins, putting distance between me and her constant need to irritate me.
I hadn’t been to Nottingham before the war, so I’ve got no idea what it looked like before the bombs hit.
It’s probably hard for her to see. She remembers all of it.
And that’s exactly why I can’t let her sway me when she spits all her shit about hating the State. No matter what, she’s too attached to this place, too full of feelings and opinions about everything that happens here. People like her won’t last long in a fight like ours.
Not against Germain. Not against the State.
“I’m sorry,” Emilia calls out behind me, louder and harsher than I expected. “I didn’t mean to… but this was my city, my home, and there’s nothing fucking left of it.” Her voice cracks. “Sorry if hearing someone call the destruction remarkable came as a shock.”
I glance back over my shoulder. “There’s the attitude I know,” I say.
She steps closer, anger in her tone. “You don’t know what it’s like to stare over the city that used to be your home and see nothing but death.”
I cross my arms over my chest, watching as she fuels her own fire.
“Sam’s dad is allowed to visit him once a year. Heidi’s an orphan who lost her foster family. Rayden’s sister disappeared.”
His sister… disappeared. I pause, something uncomfortable shifting under my ribs. Fucking hell. I swallow the revelation, burying it as deep as I possibly fucking can.
“This is a fucking graveyard, Zac, and we’re living in it.”
“You’re right,” I reply.
“Yeah,” she says, the fight seeping out of her shoulders. “Yeah. I am.” She turns away, walking through the outermost part of the ruins, following along the edge of the hill. Her fingers trail over the brick wall.
Out of instinct, I follow, watching her weave along the uneven ground, pausing now and then to glance at the city below. My eyes stay on her longer than they should. Her hips, the way those too-tight leggings hug them. It’s not until my cock twitches that I realise where my thoughts have gone.
Fucking idiot.
Gritting my teeth, I drag my gaze back to the city’s skyline, and then to the ridiculous boots on her feet. She stops, both hands dropping to rest on the brick wall, and she exhales.
Then she starts climbing.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The words rip out of me.
My gut lurches as she hauls herself higher, obnoxious fucking boots slipping on loose stone.
“Emilia, stop.” I’m already moving, hand shooting out to grab her arm.
There’s no ground on the other side of the wall, just an endless drop. My stomach jolts once more.
She glances down at me with a calm expression that instantly pisses me off.
“Trust me,” she says, and keeps climbing until she’s standing upright on the wall, wind whipping hair across her face.
“Trust you?” I bark out a laugh that’s more panic than humour. “Are you fucking insane?”
“Are you going to join me?”
“And put myself in danger, too? Fuck off.”
“I want to show you—”
“Emilia, you’re going to fucking fall.”
She looks down again, meeting my glare.
“Then don’t let me.” Her stare is sharp enough to cut, fierce in a way that should probably piss me off more than it does. Instead, something warms deep in my chest.
I curse under my breath. For a second, I actually consider walking away and letting her be the idiot she’s determined to be, but my legs move before my brain catches up, and I haul myself up beside her, every muscle tight.
The wall shifts slightly beneath my boots, and loose dust slides off the edge.
“This wall isn’t fucking strong enough for this,” I hiss, reaching out and catching her waist, making sure she’s stable on the uneven wall.
“I just wanted to see from up here. And to show you,” she says quietly, glancing at me before turning back to the city. “Sam is all I have left. Family wise, that is.”
“I thought he—”
“We’re not related,” she cuts me off, quickly explaining herself.
“But he’s been my best friend since we were ten.
He survived the war but, like most of us, he lost his mum…
and he also lost the love of his life. But you know what his primary concern was, during those first few months after the war?
” She looks at me. “It was me. Always me.” She swallows, eyes returning to the horizon.
“The one time he broke down in front of me was when we first found each other at City Hall. From that day on, he was just so concerned with helping me get through losing my family.” She peers down the rocky cliff to the rubble below.
“And that’s where I lived with my family.
Before the war.” She points down to the streets, little more than a jungle now.
A few rooftops still cling to their houses.
“You lived by the castle?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Her smile is faint. “My parents were doctors. Mum was partially retired, though, so she spent a lot of time with me. Once a month, when Dad worked his Saturday shift, we’d walk up here with our dog, Eva.
Just sit by the wall. Then we’d head back, and if it was sunny, we’d sit in the garden and have a Pepsi.
Always a Pepsi. It was so… random, but it became tradition. ”
I watch her as she speaks. The corner of her mouth quirks, but there’s a darkness in her expression, a weight in her eyes that I haven’t seen before.
“When Dad got home, he’d join us, but he’d grab himself a red wine instead.” She continues with a smile, but my chest tightens at the hollowness of it.
“My brother, Jake, was never around, though. Never joined. He was always gaming or out doing something nerdy with friends. I never asked what. Didn’t care.
” She swallows, her gaze fixed on the rooftops below.
“I wish I had. Wish I knew him better.” Her lip trembles, but she bites down on it. She inhales, sharp and shaky.
“When the bombs fell, they didn’t stay at home.
They were worried about me.” Her eyes snap to mine, heavy and full, brimming with tears.
“All three of them got into Mum’s goddamn Range Rover.
All three of them drove through the city to get me.
” A tear slips down her cheek, but she swipes it away.
“And that house? Our house—it’s still there. Standing.”
She swallows roughly and continues. “It’s damaged.
Windows broken, leaky roof, a hole where the front door used to be.
” She laughs, an utterly humourless sound, and shakes her head.
“But it’s still fucking standing. If they hadn’t come to find me.
If they’d just stayed home… they’d still be alive. ” Her voice cracks on the last word.
The story slams like a rock into my chest. I swallow, eyes returning to the twisted streets below, my stomach tightening. I should say something… but there’s nothing I can do to fix it or eliminate her pain.
“I’m the same as you, Zac. Barely anything is left of the girl who lived down there,” she says quietly.
“But it’s still where Mum baked me a terrible birthday cake every year.
Where Dad cooked his signature spaghetti bolognese.
Where Jake left wet towels all over the bathroom floor.
” Her lips tremble, and her shoulders shudder.
I step closer without thinking, my thumb tracing small circles on her waist.
“It’s home,” she murmurs, eyes fixed on the destruction.
“Even if everything else is gone, the memories… they give me hope.” She looks at me, her eyes clearing, determination taking over.
“That’s the point. Some hope still exists in this endless sea of hell.
It has to. If not…” She exhales before pursing her lips.
For a fraction of a second, I can’t look away.
The world below feels impossibly far, fading away as I stare into the blue eyes brimming with pain, and hurt, and raw resilience.
Neither of us speaks. My hands remain planted on her waist, steadying her on this narrow, dangerous precipice. I feel the small tremor in her body, and I hate that I notice it. Hate that part of me wants to pull her closer, to shield her from the grief, the city, the State, everything.
A hollow ache gnaws at my chest, sharp and unwelcome. I shouldn’t care like this. I shouldn’t feel anything.
Emilia was fucking lucky; from an affluent part of the city, living in a no doubt large-bedroomed home, her parents doctors, driving Range Rovers—we couldn’t be more different. And yet now, none of that matters.
She licks her lips, breaking eye contact as she glances behind. “Come on. We should get down before one of us slips.”
I nod, not letting go as I jump down, turning back to help her. She stumbles, but I grit my teeth, swallowing down my insult that she doesn’t need it right now.
We say nothing on the walk home, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Emilia is probably replaying her memories… having friends over for sleepovers at her fancy home, being spoilt at Christmases and birthdays.
The pre-war divide between us has never been clearer. She grew up with enough food to never worry, gorged herself on sweets whenever she fancied, the complete opposite to my own childhood.
It’s another fucking reason we shouldn’t get closer.
She’s a princess, not a fighter. My world isn’t hers, and I refuse to drag her down to my level. She doesn’t have what it takes, and I won’t put her in danger; it isn’t fair.
Letting ourselves into our home, I wordlessly head into the kitchen, pulling out a packet of biscuits and offering her one. She shakes her head, picking up her book and sinking into the armchair, lost in her thoughts.
I let her be, heading upstairs and diving into the shower. Even under the pounding water, I can’t shake the glassiness of her blue eyes, the way she stood on that wall, how she shared more with me than I ever thought she would.
My chest tightens again, and I find myself wondering, more than I want to admit, how she could look so fragile, and yet so untouchable at the same time.
I turn the dial and the hot water scalds me just enough to chase her out of my head, my teeth gritted as I hiss.
And yet, as I dry off, the thoughts return.