Chapter 7 #2
His hand comes to my arm, but he hesitates to touch me, his intention paused and retracted as he realises it isn’t appropriate.
But I don’t know if it’s for my sake or for the cameras, which glare from every corner of the bar.
I gulp, pulling up a fragile smile. But what I don’t admit is how I wouldn’t have minded his touch.
In fact, the feeling it gave me earlier could be helpful right now.
A boost of endorphins. A flutter of tenderness.
A connection. But I have made a connection—I shared a memory of my family with Joey.
Something that screams trust. Something I didn’t think I’d ever feel away from home.
I’m half surprised that it’s Joey I chose to do this with, and not Sasha.
But relief sweeps through me as I feel safe with the choice I made.
It might be a minor story, but it was a major dismantling of my emotional wall, and in its place is a window I could allow Joey to peek through.
People have always asked—have always pried about my life before—but I keep my family secret for good reason.
The pounding bell of my clock wakes me, startling my heart to an athletic pace, as it’s woken me for the first time.
At first, I think it’s the ringing aftermath of the alarm, but as I rub my ears, straining to listen, I hear nothing.
I stretch onto my tiptoes to peer from the window, where untouched snow lies, with no shuffling of commuters, no bells from bikes, no city chorus.
Christmas morning is here—and the city is soundless.
After my shower, Sasha is sitting at the dining table, smiling as she delves into an emerald-green box, with its ruby-red ribbon unravelled below.
“Well, well, well. What are you so happy about?” I say, chucking my things into my room before joining her at the table.
She smirks. “I got a little care package from my family … and a little something from Forest.”
“Forest…? Ohhhh, Forest! The Forest?!” I say, realising he is the suitor she’s been talking to from the Unity Index. The man with the dog.
She lifts each item from the box as she tells me about them.
“He’s such a good listener. I mentioned toffee popcorn the first time I spoke to him. And this is a Yankees baseball cap! This is a book from my favourite author! And hot chocolate! Isn’t he thoughtful?!”
Or a dickhead? He’s an Eden elitist with enough money to buy a wife. I can’t believe good men become powerful anymore, but I give my head a shake as I shift myself to a more positive mindset for her sake.
“Wow. He is pretty impressive! I’m guessing this is your Christmas Day sorted, then?”
“Yeah. I’m going to make hot chocolate and cuddle up in my bed … ALL … DAY!” she sings, dancing with a crinkle of her nose.
“Now I’m jealous. You’ve made me question why I agreed to do this at all.”
It’s only a half day, and I get a dainty bonus for my troubles, but an exhaustive wave of regret weighs me down as I gather up my things, readying myself for work.
“At least it’s an earlier closing time. I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate when you get back.”
“Did I mention you’re my favourite roommate?!” I say with a flutter of my eyelashes.
“The competition’s weak, but I’ll take it. Now, be on your way… Hey, hey, wait.”
She reaches back into the box and pulls out a bundle of green leaves with a red ribbon, but on closer inspection, I spy the white berries of mistletoe, and scoff with laughter as she offers it to me.
“In case a charming prince comes into the bar,” she says with a wink.
“No, thank you, Sasha. You save that for you and Forest.”
My joy builds with every pleasing press of snow on my way to work.
The infotrons host text-only holiday greetings from the president and other members of his cabinet.
I may be working for the day, but a reprieve from the Unity Siren is a treat in itself.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Seth’s store unlit and closed, while he spends the day with his sister-in-law and nephews.
I stand before it for a moment because it feels too weird to walk past. Only a few men are out, while the rangers remain vigilant on the street corners, but the emptiness doesn’t make me grip my alarm any less.
Silence in the Wilds is tranquil, but here, it’s unnerving, especially with the distant melody of a man whistling a Christmas carol.
I expect the drag of the shift before we open, while I set up without Joey.
Those weekday shifts without him are always the longest, and today will be no exception.
Like clockwork, Smith unlocks the front door, and I wave him over, having bought him a small treat: bacon-flavoured chips, which Seth recommended.
Despite him being the fourth-closest person to me in this city, he still refuses to partake in conversation, but there’s a kindness to him, and I never push for more than his muted protection.
I offer them to him. “A little something to say thank you for walking me home every day.”
He stands wordless as always, but his stern exterior melts into a glee-filled face. “It’s my job, but … I like watching over you, Lee. Thank you!” He returns to his spot in the porch with a bounce in his step.
When the regulars arrive, the depressing ambience doesn’t develop as expected.
While it’s much quieter than usual, these have come exchanging food and gifts, exuding a joviality that I can’t help but enjoy.
Some bring me treats, and others leave large tips as a thank you for my service.
They offer for me to join them as I stand alone behind the counter, but the cameras are surveying, each one plotted and poised to catch every inch of this place, even in the stock-room.
Their little red blinking lights remind me of my place.
I’m mindful not to get too comfortable with customers in case Donnie reviews footage for whatever reason, so instead, they sweetly offer to take turns playing a game of cards with me across the counter.
I shouldn’t have favourites, but I do. Hector is a sweet, chirpy customer, and I often prioritise his drinks and my spare time to play cards with him.
We’re mid-game when the music videos on the TV fade to black, and the national anthem filters through the speakers, collaring the attention of every man in here like an obedient dog who’s heard the whistle of its master.
It’s the public address from President Beckett.
He’s much older than pictured in the usual clip used for the Siren.
There’s a sagging padding to his cheeks, with wrinkles forking around his tight lips, and a deepening around his eyes.
His very fresh image, repeated on the multiple screens, sets the hair on the back of my neck stiff enough to trigger a shudder down my spine.
The annual prerecorded Christmas address thanks all Americans for another successful year, spouting fiction to appease the citizens and lift their hopes.
He still can’t help but spread fear, mentioning pressing forces on land from the north and south, while the east and west coasts are bombarded with ships and submarines sailing into our territory.
The lies roll off his tongue as he speaks, with his purring voice luring people in.
I’m surrounded by him, feeling claustrophobic in his presence, the air thinning while pinned beneath his leer.
It’s hard to remind myself that he can’t see me, that he isn’t personally talking to me.
And it’s hard to ascertain whether that’s from fear, or an unbridled hatred of him—a hatred he could feel across the miles.
I chew my lip to disguise my disdain, but I can’t help but stare at the men who look up to him with their enduring patriotism, completely unaware that the country they once lived in is not here.
There isn’t even an ongoing war. There are no other nations with enough resources to touch us anymore, but who would be left to hate if there weren’t an enemy to focus on?
Their oppressor stands before them, and they don’t even recognise it.
We’re a single state, with a single power.
Democracy died long ago, and the men are blissfully ignorant.
After lunch, a rollicking crowd catches my ear from outside, and I expect Smith to turn them away, but with a swing of the door, they are inside to greet my huffing exhale.
Four young guys—wearing the ugliest Christmas sweaters I have ever seen—hush one another, while one calms them with a simple gesture of his hand on his approach to the counter.
My mouth parts, ready to ask him for his order, when he grins with a pearly smile. “Merry Christmas, Lee.”
I try to place his face—young and bald with dark skin—but I don’t recognise him. Looking between them all, I don’t recognise any of them. They must have heard my name from someone else.
I raise a single brow. “Merry Christmas, guys. What can I get you?”
“Five beers, please.”
I fetch the drinks, even though the numbers don’t add up, and place them on the bar in front of them, offering the spare to the main guy.
“Oh, that’s Joey’s. Thank you,” he says while offering me the money.
“Ohhhh. Joey’s brothers?!” I ask excitedly, with widening eyes.
“Yeah. He insisted we come down for a drink. Best bar in town, apparently,” he says with a smirk.
“Well, he’s not wrong.” I look between them all and point back towards him. “You must be Carl—the big brother?”
He claps, just like Joey does. No doubt Joey has mentioned me, while Carl introduces the others: Mo, Gabriel, and Jack.
“Well, come on, then.” I lean into the counter, “What embarrassing Joey stories have you got for me?”
“Oh, he loves boy bands.”
“He’s scared of cats.”
“He can build anything, but can’t cook to save his life.”
They’re practically flailing over one another to share stories, while I can’t help but laugh at the eagerness to shame their brother.