Sovereign (Sovereign Series) (13 page)

“Do
it,” I whisper.

“No,”
Twig says, his jaw set.

In
what seems like a fraction of a second, a gun is drawn and Nathan pulls the
trigger, putting a bullet in Twig’s head. 

The
world has gone black.  I’m half-awake to the smell of vomit and the sensation
of being carried.

I
drift in. 

I
drift out.

My
body is limp in someone’s arms.  My wounds won’t let me rest, and my mind won’t
let me sober up and figure out what’s going on...or who’s touching me.  I force
my eyelids apart before they’re overcome with light that’s too bright.  Then
it’s black again.  And I’m slipping away.

I
wake with a start, my head throbbing.  A device about six inches long is
attached to my forearm with numbers and readings on a screen.  A digital line
rises and falls with my heartbeat.  My wrists are wrapped with fresh
bandages--I hadn’t even realized I’d injured them both. 

I
think back to when I acquired the wounds, remembering how pathetically I
performed in our team exercise.  I couldn’t reach, I couldn’t keep my balance. 
Constantly at the mercy of Billy and...

Twig
.

Oh,
god.  Nathan shot him.  A cold, dull pain stabs my stomach as the details
return, flooding my mind.  Twig was kind to me, and it got him killed.  Without
meaning to, I’d shown him up by taking control when Sean was hurt.

The
lines on my monitor pick up speed until I lean over the edge of the hospital
bed and vomit on the floor. 
Why didn’t he just hit me?

I
groan and fall back against my pillow, hitting the bed hard enough to make it
rattle.  I tilt my head back and try to focus on a spot on the ceiling.

“Ahem.”

My
eyes dart to the chair on the far side of the room, where Nathan watches me. 
The sight of him makes my heart rate soar and my blood pound against my
temples.  I don’t know whether to wring his neck or curl into a ball and cry. 

Anger
and fear bubble up and I can’t decide which to go with.  He did this to show me
what he’s capable of.  If he was trying to win me over, killing Twig was a
misstep.

I
say nothing but grit my teeth while staring into his eyes.  The pains in my
injured body scream at me.  The rage in my soul screams louder.  I want to see
Nathan bleed, but there’s nothing I can do.  There’s nothing I can say.  Before
I can stop them or give them permission, tears well up and spill over, rushing
down my cheeks, burning scrapes I didn’t know I had.

There’s
no way I would have been caught crying in front of a single soul a couple
months ago.  But today, after everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve
worked for, I just don’t care. 

I
don’t even bother to wipe the tears away.  I just continue to stare at him
through blurred vision.  He disgusts me.  He killed Twig to prove a point.  I
don’t hide my anger, but still no words come.  No sarcastic remark, nor clever
comeback.  No accusation.  No dig to get under his skin.  He’s under mine.

“It’s
nice to finally have your attention, Miss 1206,” he says to me,
over-enunciating each digit in my number.  The pride oozing from his voice
makes me feel sick.  My belly burns, my throat burns, my skin burns.  All of my
insides burn looking at him.

“You
didn’t have to do that.”  It’s killing me that he’s seeing me so weak.  I’m
pathetic, and I know it. 

“Ah,
but I did, you see,” he challenges.  I don’t care to wait for an explanation.

“You miserable piece of--”

“Shhhh. 
Don’t make me angry, little girl.  We both know how that story ends.”  He moves
toward me with his hands folded perfectly behind his back like he always does
when he’s in control.  “I tried to be reasonable with you.  I tried being...
nice
.” 
I get the impression that last word tasted putrid on his
tongue.  “But you’ve made it clear the only way I can get through to you is
with violence. 
Cruelty
.  Do you see what you’ve made me do?”

I
see it.  And I hate it.  I’m in no way willing to accept full responsibility
for what Nathan is, but the shame of forcing his hand is overwhelming. 
What
would my father think of me?
  I was raised in a violent world, and I’ve
played along.  Death is a consequence of that violence--I understand that--but
this was not war, nor survival.  This was a game to Nathan, a game that I
lost.  And Twig was a pawn.

“Why
don’t you just kill me if I’m so much trouble?”  I clench my jaw, not really
expecting an answer. 

“I
don’t want that, Cori.”  His voice softens a little.

“What
do you want?” 

He
steps closer, letting his hands fall casually to his sides.  They look awkward
there, but they’re all I can bear to look at.  “Submission,” he says.  “It’s
such a simple thing, really.  Be a soldier who does what she’s told.”

“What
have I not done, Nathan?” I say louder than I mean to.  “What have you asked
that I’ve not done?  You say run, I run.  You say shoot, I shoot.  You
blindfold us and tell us to work as a team, so I work with my team.  The team
you
gave me.”  I’m yelling now.  “What have I not done!”

He
takes a long, measured breath, and lets it out with a sigh.  His eyes search
mine so intensely it makes me feel exposed.  “You haven’t bought in.  I can see
it in your eyes.  You’re merely surviving here.  You’re playing a game.” 
We
both are
,
I correct him in my mind.

“You’re
right,” I whisper, not remembering giving my lips permission to speak.  I meet
his eyes, which have softened with intrigue, wonder even. 

“Pardon
me?”

“You’re
right.  I’ve been a kid about this.  A child, playing children’s games.”

I’ve
caught him off guard, but he can’t hide the joy in his eyes or his crooked
grin, no doubt thinking he’s finally won.  “Are you ready to grow up then?” 

He
lays a heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezing too hard.  Touching me, breaking
his own rules again.  It’s everything I can do not to push his hand away, but I
have to survive.  Just survive.

“Yes,”
I mumble, another wave of tears taking me over. 

“Good,”
he says, returning his hands together at his backside.  “Get some rest.”

My
heart still races when he leaves.  I give myself five seconds to scream and cry
into my pillow then I suck it up and try to wipe my tears away. 

There’s
a knock at the door.  I panic and try to pull myself together.  A mixture of
blood and tears rub off on the backs of my hands.  The door cracks open, and
Titus sticks his head in. 

“May
I?” he asks softly.  I nod and he comes in, but I continue straightening my
clothes and bedding.  When I realize it’s hopeless, I drop my hands at my sides
and look up at him. 

There’s
a stain on his white undershirt.  The outer one is missing.  “What happened to
your shirt?” I ask.

He
looks down at it and shrugs, a subtle smile forming on his lips.  “You threw up
on me,” he says lightheartedly.  “Twice.” 

“Oh,”
I mumble, turning shades of red deeper than the blood staining my skin.  “I’m
sorry.”  He must’ve carried me to Medical.

He
laughs once.  “It’s okay.”  He hesitates for a moment and I’m starting to
wonder why he’s here, talking to me.  Did Nathan send him to check on me?  Make
sure I’ve really had a change of heart? 

“Are
you okay?”  He moves a tiny step closer.

“Yes. 
Yeah, of course.”  My eyes stray away from him.  “Did Nathan send you?”  I’m
afraid if he says yes, and afraid if he says no.  Why is he so nice to me? 
Adults aren’t supposed to be nice, they’re not supposed to be anything.  Most
of them don’t even smile.

“No,
I...” he closes the door and steps closer, weaving and unweaving his fingers. 
“I just wanted to check on you.” 

“Oh,”
I whisper.  I take a breath then blurt out what I can’t stop thinking.  “Why
are you different?  The other adults...they don’t... They’re not like you.”

He
blushes a little and shoves his hands deep in his pockets.  “Our, um...our
hormone restrictors aren’t as strong in the military.  Some say violence
requires a certain amount of passion.” 

“Passion?”
I ask, shocked by the turn this conversation has taken.  They control people
with drugs.  It makes perfect sense. 

“Passion,”
he explains.  “Some emotions.  Certain instincts.  Things civilians aren’t
allowed to have.”

“What
does that mean?”  I feel like a child, so naive.  So uninformed. 

“It
means I care about people,” he says in a low voice.

I
ponder over the word
care
.  Titus cares about people and I guess, for
the moment, that includes me.

“You
don’t even know me.”

“I’ve
known you for years,” he says.

I remember him from Underage, sure, but I
hadn’t considered those passing moments “knowing” each other.  Every one seems
to know me, but I’ve let them be a sole entity, “them.”  Not individuals.  All
I’ve strived to be was just that, and I never granted that courtesy to anyone
else.  Except the few who practically forced themselves into my life.  Dylan,
Alyssa, Ginny.  That’s it.  My whole world.

“I
just want you to be okay,” he adds a beat later.

“You’re
not supposed to be here.” 

Even
if he was a friend to Cornelius, he shouldn’t care about me, or check on me, or
be nice to me.  Look where it got Twig.

“I
know.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  He starts for the
door, but lingers there before opening it.  “I understand it now.  You’re
very...” 

He
stares at the floor for a moment, deep in thought over something.  Something
pertaining to me.

“Very
what?” I ask.

He
shrugs his shoulders, dismissing some thought I’m not privy to, and thrusts one
hand into his pocket and reaches for the door with the other.  “It’s nothing. 
Forget I said anything.”

When
he leaves the room, I ignore the almost-conversation about me and instead focus
on the more important thing he revealed.  Nathan controls the colony with
chemicals
. 
Drugs that restrict emotion and natural hormones.  That’s
why they don’t protest, why I’m the only one who seems to care about the
injustice here.  That’s why it’s so frustrating to Nathan that I’m immune. 
It’s not because he can’t predict me, it’s because he can’t
control
me.

  Titus
returns with a wet cloth.  “Your face,” he says without really looking at me. 
The curiosity from a moment ago has left his expression.  He’s back to being my
trainer.  “You won’t say anything to Nathan?” 

His
eyes meet mine for just a moment.  He’s nervous about what he said--that he
cares about people.  He’s scared I’ll rat him out.  He
should
be
nervous.  What if he does something stupid and Nathan caught him?

“I
won’t,” I assure him, but I hope he doesn’t continue to confide in me.  I’m
grateful for the concern, but it really isn’t safe for either of us, whatever
his reason for having it is.

Titus
extends the cloth toward me.  I don’t realize what it’s for until he dabs some
blood from my face, and I wince.

“Thanks.” 
I take the rag and wipe the blood myself as he leaves again, giving a little
nod as a goodbye.

I wonder why Titus has become concerned
with me at all.  I think back to our various interactions, and I have to admit,
he is kinder than most.  Even kinder than Marsiana, my roommate/superior
officer/confusing, unpredictable friend, although she seems grumpier each day. 
Still, if there were signs that Titus was becoming attached to me, I missed
them.  Perhaps it’s simply a bond formed between teacher and pupil.

I
wonder how many of the adults feel things despite Nathan’s effort to control
them.  I wonder how Titus became so comfortable discussing such a taboo thing,
and I wonder why he felt he could trust me to know it.  The only other person
I’ve ever heard openly discussing things like this was Cornelius.

I
garner a little strength and decide to go after him.  If he knew Cornelius like
I did, maybe he can tell me what happened to him.  If he really did die from
his sickness or if it was something else. 
Someone
else. 

Hopefully
I can catch up.

I
step out into the darkened hallway and don’t see him.  I look both ways, not
sure which leads to the elevators.  I hear his voice to my right and I jog
toward him, my bare feet falling softly on the linoleum flooring.

When
I’m almost to the end of the hall, ready to round the corner, a giant hand
covers my mouth, and a strong arm wraps around my waist pulling me into a dark
corner.  I try to scream, but don’t have the strength.  I fight against the
arms, but I’m helpless.