Chapter 18
Eighteen
Jada
My dreams are filled with twisted darkness and tipped scales.
I wake on edge, anxious that I’m missing some crucial piece to a puzzle I didn’t know I was meant to be completing.
Torin’s breaths are slow and measured next to me, undisturbed by the depths of my inner conflicts.
I slip out of the bed, re-dressing and quietly close the door before making my way to my room.
Torin settled my nerves and made me feel better about the situation at hand, but sometimes a girl needs the solitude of a warm shower in her own space.
The eye scan completes, and my door unlocks.
Stepping into the space, I can’t help but feel that I’m too big for it; that it no longer serves me.
Tough circumstances for me, since I need to sleep here every night.
What was it Zellie said? Good enough to visit but not to live?
That’s striking a nerve right about now.
I sigh, frustrated that my thoughts feel just as jumbled as the prior day.
I tap the screen to life before heading into the bathroom and rinsing off, mindlessly going through the motions.
When I come back, towel wrapped around me, the screen it lit, displaying:
Day 4/7
Current time: 07:00
Jada Bellamy
Station: None
The constellations are the only constant.
I know I’ll no longer be stationed on Lunara; it was part of the occupational agreement, but seeing no assignment day after day is going to take some getting used to.
Rummaging through my drawers, I pull out a tight lavender tee and charcoal pants, quickly changing while yearning for the elaborate styles I saw the females wearing in Astralis.
Once I get paid, that will be one of the first things I do—buy something pretty for myself.
I smile while brushing out the tangles in my long hair, thinking about what it will feel like to have an income for myself.
No prohibitions, no limits. Excitement bubbles within me until reality slaps me in the face once more as my stomach protests in hunger.
I can’t expect every place in Astralis to offer free food, guess it’s a rationed breakfast for me.
I punch the buttons on the service center, print my meal ticket, and head off to the Commons.
Each step holds weight as I make my way down the spoke.
Every face I pass has me wondering: have you gone?
Did you see? Are you filled with dreams like me?
Does dread fill your bones to be back in this prison?
Or are you content with this life, accepting of the mundane?
I shake the thoughts away, irritation quickening my steps.
I don’t want to feel this way; in fact, I’d like to reverse time to how I felt two days ago—full of joy, relief, and wonder.
A scan permits me into the Commons, where I file into the breakfast line.
Faye stands beside an elder, scooping some form of slop.
Hopefully, it’s oatmeal; the grits are terrible.
What I wouldn’t give for another turnover.
Faye’s eyes flick to mine longingly before back to her scoop of mush.
I approach the counter, trading my meal ticket for a tray. Not making eye contact, Faye greets me. “I’m assuming you haven’t been around because you didn’t take my advice.”
“Why won’t you go?”
“Why would I?”
“So you can see what it’s like—it’s amazing, Faye!”
“I don’t want to know, Jada.” Faye bites out each word of her response.
“Why? So I can loathe my existence here? Nothing changes for us except seeing how much better it is there.” If I hadn’t known Zellie couldn’t cross back into this world, I would’ve thought she’d been speaking with Faye.
I grip my tray tighter, unsure of how to respond.
“I’ll be off in thirty minutes. Wait for me?
” I nod and shuffle out of line, wondering how I’ve managed to make two out of the three people I care about most angry with me.
I toss my tray down on a nearby table and plop down, sighing.
Grits.
I’m still poking at my bowl when Faye pulls the seat beside mine.
She wipes the wispy pieces of her long braid away from her face and sighs, wiping her hands on her pants.
I’ve always been mesmerized by her hair—the way the light and dark pieces were entwined.
Especially when it’s plaited like this, the pieces tangle and dance, a tango of silver, black, silver, black.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to your advice, but I’m not sorry I went.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you. How can I protect you over there?”
“By the stars, it’s not like it’s dangerous, Faye!”
“You don’t know that!” I push the tray away—over the slop, and over this conversation. “I am capable of making good choices for myself. I’m not just some dumb girl. At least they see that about me,” I mumble the last bit for good measure.
“Stars, Jay, I don’t think you’re stupid.” She spits the words out, narrowing her eyes at me. She leans back in her chair, pressing her hand to her chest. “I have a bad feeling about it.”
“And my intuition is telling me it is good. I don’t want a simple life, Faye. Or to live out my days harvesting potatoes or washing windows or making babies just to keep our population alive. I want to do more.”
Faye rolls her eyes, her words dripping condescension. “And you’ve realized all this in the few days you’ve been visiting? Must be some place to provide life-altering realizations.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Faye. Galatea calls to me. It feels like home.”
Faye scratches the back of her neck, nodding. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet. “Why can’t home be me? Why can’t this be enough?”
She really is beautiful. Lithe and delicate on the outside, but sharp-witted and even sharper-tongued on the inside.
Maybe in another life, she would be enough.
The difference between my conversation with her and Torin is striking.
One urging me to go, one pleading to stay.
It’s like the sun and the moon sit on opposite shoulders, orbiting around me and whispering their thoughts.
I’m in the middle, pulled in opposite directions.
But I must blaze my path, like a comet streaking through the night.
Maybe I am meant for more, meant for Astralis.
Perhaps I’m meant to restore the balance and fix what’s broken between the Kosmos, Zellie, and the citizens of the city. Well, it’s a nice thought, at least.
It’s rare for Faye to show this side. I know she wants more from me—from us—but I can’t give it to her. Not anymore. “If you saw it, you might understand.”
Faye sets her jaw, understanding she isn’t going to get the response she longs for.
“I’m sorry,” I add, feeling the need to make her feel better. Not that words can fix a soul wound. They never do.
“I hope it brings you happiness.”
I hope so too.