Cora
AFTER THE ARGUMENT AT the diner, the rest of Cora’s night was as surreal as a nightmare.
Lucky took her to see a film in the movie theater, ten minutes of a goat standing in a field while the phantom smell of popcorn choked her. He spent every hard-earned token he had on chocolates and gummies from the candy shop, which Cora forced down with a smile, never mind that they made her stomach burn. At suppertime he played a song on the jukebox about finding true love.
The entire time Cora smiled, and smiled, and smiled, just like her father had taught her to do. Her mind was too tired to fight anymore. It was clear that this newfound peace was shaky, at best. Lucky might believe that they were a happy little group in a perfect little prison—except for Leon, of course, insane in the jungle—but the others clearly didn’t. Mali was as cryptic as ever. Rolf eyed Cora suspiciously, while Nok’s smiles were so frost coated that Cora shivered like she was back in the alpine area.
Evening fell, and the artificial stars appeared one by one, and Lucky followed her heavy footsteps upstairs to the bedroom they would now share. She crossed the threshold and stopped abruptly. The fog in her head returned.
A quilt rested on the bed. A Persian rug was stretched on the floor. Watercolor paintings hung on the wall. A ceramic dog sat on the foot of the bed. It was like taking a dizzying step back into her old bedroom—into her old life. There were even constellations drawn on the ceiling.
“I wanted to surprise you.” Lucky came in behind her, fiddling awkwardly with a book on the shelf. “I listened when you told me what your bedroom was like, and I’ve been redeeming tokens for similar prizes. I know it isn’t exactly the same, but I hoped it would make you feel better. Like this was home.”
She sank onto the corner of the bed. Memories spilled back, of scribbling lyrics at her desk, gazing at the stars outside, petting Sadie. She picked up the ceramic dog. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was back on Earth.
But she let the dog drop to the floor. It wasn’t Sadie, it was a toy. The thing that Lucky didn’t realize was that her bedroom in Richmond had been as artificial as the one here. She had come home from Bay Pines to find every trace of her mother gone, moved to an expensive condo in Miami that she’d only see on weekends after a long flight. As if to make up for it, her father had completely redecorated her room. He’d covered the stars she’d painted on the walls with expensive wallpaper. He’d hung elegant curtains over the windows where she used to stargaze. He’d poured thousands of dollars into giving her a room fit for a princess—or for a daughter who’d taken the fall for him—but he had only succeeded in excising everything that had made it hers.
She felt just as hollow as she had at home. She wanted those stars back. She wanted her room back. She wanted her life back—the real one.
Lucky leaned in. “I’ll always look out for you.” He kissed her cheek.
As he closed the door and pulled her down with him onto the bed, she couldn’t find words for how catastrophically heartrending it was. His lips were on her cheek, her forehead, her neck, her mouth. He whispered in her ear how he was so glad she had been standing in the surf twenty-one days ago, how he had been so afraid she would hate him, how he would take care of her forever. Her tears were hot against her cheeks. He kissed them away without asking their reason. He said they had a chance to change the world. They would have children that would grow to have children of their own, ensuring the continuation of their species, under the Kindred’s guidance. He said they were so lucky that out of all humans the Kindred chose them to entrust with this important role. He said their love was going to save humanity.
Cora had thought, when she’d so desperately agreed to obey the third rule, that she could do this. She had thought that the relief of giving in would make up for the awful feeling of bowing to the Kindred’s will.
But the voice inside her was screaming now, and she wasn’t sure of anything.
Lucky shrugged off his leather jacket, setting it carefully aside, not rushing anything. Cora glanced at the black window as she shed her dress. She had to believe Cassian wasn’t watching. If he was knowingly letting this happen, then she really had been blind. Cassian said he’d never be cruel to her, but this was the definition of cruel—watching this happen, knowing how terrible it was. He must be able to see inside Lucky’s head and read his intentions: that they would sleep together tonight, that they’d soon be as deliriously in love as Rolf and Nok, that Cora would get pregnant too, and then next year the same thing, and the year after that. It might have been paradise for the others, but it was Cora’s hell.
As Lucky slid one camisole strap over her shoulder, she looked at the ceiling, at the stars he had drawn there. He’d done the best he could, but it would never be right.
A realization suddenly struck her.
That’s why Cassian isn’t stopping this.
Just as Cassian could see inside Lucky’s head, he could see inside hers too. He knew that Lucky might have every intention of them sleeping together, but she didn’t.
She couldn’t.
Cassian wasn’t stopping it because he knew she was going to stop it herself.
A tear rolled to her chin. She imagined what would have happened if she and Lucky had met on Earth, before the accident, just two strangers. Maybe her expensive car had broken down, and he’d come to fix it in his worn jeans with a rag in his back pocket. She might have loved him there, on the side of the road, on Earth.
But not like this.
She whispered, “Lucky, do you remember when you taught me to spar in the desert?”
He nodded against her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut. The memory was fresh: sand warm against her back, hunger to feel his lips on hers. “Of course I do,” he said. “It’s hard to forget having a beautiful girl under you.”
“I just want to say that I paid attention,” she choked. “And that I’m sorry.”
She dropped her hand down, curling her fingers around the ceramic dog on the floor. If she told him how wrong all of this was, he would only smile and whisper something about fate. He would never force her to obey Rule Three, but he’d never understand, either.
She thrust her hip up, throwing him off balance, escaping the mount like they had practiced. His surprise gave her enough time to slam the ceramic dog into the side of his head, where it connected with a sickening sound.
He slumped against the bed, moaning.
Tears spilled from her eyes as she held on to him and murmured apology after apology, hating what she had done, hating the Kindred for making him into this twisted person. She pulled on her dress and gave his forehead a trembling kiss. He would wake with a killer headache, but that would be nothing compared to his heartache when he realized she’d deceived him.