| |
My heart hammered as we stood in the bathroom of the club. I hadn’t been able to relax at all since sneaking out of Anna’s house, catching a taxi, and then walking through the door of a nondescript brick building. It wouldn’t surprise me if I passed out from the light-headed sensation that accompanied every shallow breath I took.
Music pulsed and pounded somewhere below us, another floor down, perhaps. This seemed to be an old factory of some sort, the walls dark with soot. The bathroom lights buzzed and flickered, harsh and unforgiving fluorescents that didn’t flatter my reflection, no matter what angle I tried. I winced at how haggard they made our teenage faces look.
“Oh, honey.” Anna brushed off my worries. “No one looks good in these bathrooms. Not even me. Here. You need this.”
The black tube she handed me contained an illicit substance I had never touched until now. Mascara. Contraband, like all cosmetics. Of course, plenty of girls wore make-up and passed it off as natural, but I knew better. This had to have come from some back-alley dealer, but where they got this sort of thing, I didn’t know.
I turned the tube over and over in my hands, not sure what to do with it. I was acutely aware that the way I fumbled with unscrewing the cap showed my ignorance. Anna took the mascara back, pulled out the wand and, with an indulgent smile, did my lashes, brushing the bristles up and along the fine hairs to coat them with the tarry black substance. My stomach twisted in knots when I blinked at myself in the mirror.
In the harsh lighting and wearing illegal makeup, I looked like a stranger.
“Hey, Anna, who’s the fresh meat?” The girl next to us was slicking on lip color in a shade of fuchsia that I’d only seen in books. She stopped and blinked owlishly at us, her gaze raking my body in a way that sent shivers down my spine.
It didn’t help that Anna had insisted I wear tight, black leather pants, but I’d balked at the midriff-baring bustier she’d suggested. Instead, I wore a light blue blouse with a sheer layer atop a silky, iridescent tank top.
“Stand down, Lydia, she’s not after your guy, so don’t pick on her.” Anna puckered at her own reflection and then fluffed her hair. Despite what she’d said about not looking good under the blueish light, I didn’t see any imperfections in her face, hair, or body.
“Maybe not, but I know how you prep girls are. The moment Wes looks at you, it’s all he wants. Prep school pussy. Especially a new one, and none of you seem to mind entertaining him.” Lydia was glaring at me openly now.
The foul language made me blush and turn away from the mirrors. There were two different schools in the city: Commonwealth Prep Academy that Anna and I attended, and Lincoln District School, for lower class citizens. It was clear that there was a rivalry between the two that I’d never known existed, beyond the few times I’d heard my peers mock the Lincoln students as destined for trade careers, at best.
Anna blew out a sigh that I recognized too well. She turned, rested her elbow on top of the ancient hand dryer, and narrowed her eyes, even though her lips were pulled into a taut smile. “Lyds, get over it. Wes is a one pump chump, and I sure as hell wouldn’t waste Kira’s perfect virgin pussy on him.”
The next moment, she blew a kiss that I knew was meant to twist the knife deeper. Most days, I was grateful I had Anna on my side. Most days. Even when she was spoiled, crude, and unrelenting when it came to getting her way. This was the first time I’d seen her play up the persona I’d heard a few of the other girls at school dub her back in our eighth year: Queen Bitch.
Lydia pursed her lips, picked up her bag, and left the bathroom with her head held high. Trading barbs was probably normal for the girls who frequented places like this. It would pass, as most adolescent spats did, but understanding that didn’t make me feel better about being there.
After a few more squints at herself in the mirror, Anna seemed to decide she was ready. She took me by the hand, hauled me through the door, down a steep staircase, and into a haze-filled room with colored beams of lights flashing back and forth across the room.
A long table on a raised stage was the source of the thumping beat. The guy behind it must have known what he was doing, because he manipulated turntables—another thing I’d only seen in books—with confidence, his fingers thrusting vinyl albums back and forth. The scratching sound was a strangely complementary counterpoint to the music. I’d never heard anything like it, but I knew tonight was going to be full of even more firsts.
“Anna Banana!” A girl with a short, green bob trotted up to us, shot glasses in hand and viridian minidress sparkling. The hair couldn’t have been natural... could it? “Bottoms up, ladies!” she crowed as she handed a glass to each of us.
My fingers closed reluctantly around the glass while Anna lifted hers. “To you, Em, our own green fairy!”
The way Anna tossed back the drink made me think it couldn’t possibly be that bad. Green punch of some kind. The reality, however, of the trail of bitter fire it lit along my throat was much worse.
“The h-hell?” I sputtered, my eyes watering.
“Absinthe, darling.” The green-haired girl trilled out the words, elongating her vowels. “It makes you forget all those yucky, inconsequential things, like your test results and who you’ll be matched with at the end of term. You can do it the right way with sugar and dilute it, or drink it like this, if you’re brave. Do another one.”
Now it was my turn to squint at the so-called green fairy holding another shot glass out to me. I knew this girl. My lips parted, but before I could recall her name or which year she’d graduated, she shrugged and flitted off like the fairy Anna proclaimed her to be.
“Emily is right. Let’s forget all of that and get another round.” Anna dragged me toward a long, raised countertop with a man in a leather vest behind it. She lifted her fingers in a V and he nodded. Two more shot glasses with that terrible green liquid appeared.
“I can’t,” I told her. “I don’t like it.” Even now, my throat felt raw and acidic. Why would anyone willingly drink that stuff? Even the idea of diluting it or adding sugar didn’t sound appealing.
Anna knocked back her shot and chased it with mine, barely stopping for breath in between. “Fine. That means more for me. Here.” She held her hand out to me and I looked at the folded rectangles of green paper between her thumb and forefinger.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Money. Pre-Fracture dollars. Put it in your shoe. Always have cash in your shoe for the club. They don’t take our plastic here, you know. Besides, you wouldn’t want to swipe your white card here, anyway.” She shoved the money at me and I fought the urge to unfold it. Instead, I stuffed the wad in my shoe as she’d instructed.
We didn’t use cash. It was considered part of a bygone era, a pre-Fracture collector’s item. Each citizen over a certain age had a blank plastic card with their name engraved in it. The chip inside the card carried all of our other information, as well: address, date of birth, parents, school, and registration number. The cards was updated remotely by the Central Registry whenever our information changed.
If I got into college, that information would be added. So would the name of my match who would ultimately become my husband, just as the Tenets dictated. The white card was the only thing we needed to carry, and we were expected to have it at all times. We presented it for anything we wanted to buy and every purchase went through the government’s processors. Every little thing we bought—food, clothing, and other goods—was logged on our citizen record.
Of course we wouldn’t use a registered form of currency here, in an underground club. Why hadn’t I thought of that? The weight of my card made worry spring up into my throat. Just how trackable was it?
“Let’s dance!” As soon my hand was empty, Anna laced her fingers through mine and led me onto the dancefloor. She was like a hyperactive child, doing shots one moment and bouncing away from the bar to sway her body into the undulating crowd the next. At least she dragged my awareness back to the moment and away from the fears that’d threatened to send me running home.
Dancing in public was easier said than done. It was yet another thing I had no experience with, so I broke free of Anna’s grip, hung back, and watched. The other girls seemed to know what they were doing, hips shaking and arms waving. I tried to emulate them from the edge of the dancefloor. It was awkward, and all I could do to keep up with them. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for dancing.
“No, girl.” Anna swayed toward me, her words flowing together like water. Perhaps one of the effects of the alcohol. She took my hands in hers, interlacing our fingers once again, and pulled me into the crowd of shimmying bodies. “Like this.”
The way our hands were connected was more intimate than any touch we’d ever shared. I tried not to think about that. Instead, I focused on what she was trying to teach me. Loosen my hips a bit, and then get the upper body to follow. I could do this.
Our bodies drifted closer together.
This was... nice. Anna was warm and friendly, her eyes closed, our bodies moving to the same beat. I leaned closer. Her eyes peeled open for a second before she, too, leaned in.
When our lips touched, I was lost. She was as soft as I’d always imagined she would be, sweeter than pink cotton candy on a summer’s day.
A hand pressed into my chest with such force, I lost my breath. She shoved me away and glared, eyes flashing with disgust. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Kira?”
The way she screeched my name and scrubbed her forearm across her mouth sent my heart skittering to a halt. Before I could formulate the words to explain, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone in a club I didn’t want to be at in the first place.
I dashed in the opposite direction, heedless of the bodies in my way. Finding a bathroom wasn’t difficult, and I plunged headlong through the door, ready to make my escape. My fingers dug into the edges of the counter at the first sink, and I bent over, sucking in stale air that filled my chest and upper back with unimaginable pain. Heaving sobs made it impossible to catch my breath. I deserved it, though.
I’d done something disgusting, unnatural, against the Tenets.
As before when I’d looked in the mirror, the face that looked back at me was that of a stranger. Except, this stranger didn’t look wide-eyed and unsure. This one had tears of mascara rolling down her cheeks. Long, blackish streaks marring otherwise young, perfect skin. I looked like a ghost straight out of a horror movie.
One night at a club had taught me far more than any time spent in the classroom. I was better off sticking with being the good girl, with acing the CAITs and waiting for my match, and hoping he’d let me go to college. Hoping he’d be a good, Tenet-obeying husband who would lead by example.
It was time to forget these strange feelings I had around Anna, to shove them under everything else in my heart and mind. Like I’d always done.
The door squeaked open and someone walked in. I shut my eyes tight and bowed my head, hoping she wouldn’t notice me. No chance of that. I was standing at the center sink, my hands gripping the counter.
“Whoever he was, he’s not worth it, doll.” It took five heartbeats for me to realize the stranger was talking to me.
A hand reached out in front of me and turned on the bathroom sink, water gushing from the faucet. My gaze couldn’t help but trace the tattoos on the back of her wrist. Her skin was lost in a riot of colorful ink––flowers and letters weaving around a strange bird that appeared to be rising from flames––but she moved before I could see the design clearly.
“Here. You’re a mess.” I heard the sound of paper towels being removed from the dispenser and then she offered them to me. “Wash that crap off that pretty face of yours, go take some Bubble Gum, and you’ll get over it.”
I released a small hiccup. “I won’t.”
“Of course you will. Plenty of fish in the sea. You can find someone better than him.”
“It wasn’t a guy.”
This time, I hazarded a look at the girl standing next to me. The first thing I noticed was the way her lips quirked. Then her expression went neutral again and she thrust the paper towels at me. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
“I don’t come to places like this.” I accepted the offering and held it under the faucet. The wetness did nothing to alleviate the abrasiveness of the brown paper towels, but at least I was able to remove the tracks of mascara from my face.
“So, I take it you don’t have any Bubble Gum on you, either.” She made the remark offhandedly, as if it was a normal topic of conversation. Bubble Gum was a drug, one that was supposed to make a person feel all kinds of lovely things, even love itself. I hadn’t touched it. Not once in my life. Nor would I.
My teary eyes couldn’t discern her facial features clearly. I thought she had short, dark hair, maybe dark eyes, too, as she slicked on mauve lipstick. I blew my nose into another paper towel and shook my head. “Definitely not.”
She nodded, capped her lipstick, shoved it in the pocket of her cargo pants—another scandalous article of clothing for a woman to wear—and then held her closed hand out to me. “Take some, then. It’ll help.”
“I can’t. I mean... That’s...”
“It’s not enough to get you high. Just enough to ease the pain. Take it.” She shoved it at me insistently and I couldn’t help but accept the small square of paper-thin pinkness from the palm of her hand. “I gotta go. You take that and then get yourself home. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Before I could question how to take the drug or how to get a taxi from here, she was gone. And I was left alone in the dingy bathroom, contemplating whether or not I should break yet another law.