Stryker

 

 

I turn the corner, dreading to see the painting I damaged. I’m going to need to own up to it, admit I lost control.

Orfyn hasn’t said a word.

I do a double-take when I reach Jules’s door.

There’s now a new painting of a landscape with a pond, and a farmhouse with a dog out front. It’s beautiful.

Who wouldn’t seek out the person who destroyed his work? Who wouldn’t get angry? Want to retaliate? Orfyn just fixed it.

He’s a really good guy, and he’s right. Something is off with Lake. She’s been struggling to find the right words. Not all the time, but it’s been happening enough to be noticeable. I would have asked her about it earlier, but I barely have time to eat. It’s a pathetic excuse. I should have checked in with Lake sooner, but it takes so much energy to maintain the wall blocking out my feelings for her.

Which is worse, caring too much or not caring enough? Bjorn, I know, would love to weigh in.

I’ve been a pitiful friend by pretending nothing is wrong with her, just because I’m afraid I can’t control my emotions. I put on a mask of indifference and head to her room. There isn’t a scrunchie around Lake’s handle. I knock, but she doesn’t answer. We don’t have locks—they’d be redundant with Big Brother—but we do have an unspoken code where you don’t barge in on someone. I ease open her door. “Lake? Are you in there?”

When she doesn’t answer, I peek in. She’s stretched out on the couch with an arm thrown across her eyes.

“Go away, Orfyn.”

My insides twist. Does he come here that often? Not that I care. “It’s Stryker. How about a walk?”

Lake doesn’t move. “Not now.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve caught up.”

She sighs dramatically, gets to her feet, and takes her own sweet time reaching the door.

“Don’t forget your hat,” I say.

“I didn’t forget,” she snaps. She turns around and snatches her hat off the counter.

When we get outside, I say, “Let’s go to the rose garden. I know you like it there.”

She robotically walks beside me. I gesture to the bench, and she obediently sits. As I’m trying to figure out a way to start this not-so-easy conversation, I notice that the closest bush has huge yellow roses. The other roses look healthy, too, and all the weeds are gone.

“Did you do this?” I gesture to the garden.

“Deborah found me the supplies I needed to make my fertilizer.”

“These roses look great.”

“Thanks.” She almost smiles.

I mean it, but I also need her to be less defensive, or we’ll get nowhere. I take her hand as reassurance. When she intertwines her fingers with mine, my heart rate soars. Her skin is so soft, and it’s as white as marble.

I should not be holding her hand.

I force myself to keep clasping it. “Still Sophie’s lab assistant?”

She nods. “Does Bjorn still have second thoughts about being merged?”

Unease runs through me. “He says he’s fine with it. What does she have you working on these days?”

She grimaces. “Dissecting.”

“The octopi?”

“Sophie and I prefer to use octopuses as the plural.” She drops her head and mumbles, “They’re not real.”

“But it feels like they are when you’re in the dreamspace.”

“Sophie assures me I’ll get novel … I mean, numb to it. Eventually.”

Her stumble makes me wince. “You’ve been doing that more and more.”

“Doing what?”

“Mixing up words.”

She yanks her hand out of mine. “I apologize if I’m not communicating properly, but you’d have difficulty too if you had to kill your pets day after day.”

I retrieve her hand and hold it in both of mine. It’s so small. I feel like I need to hold it as gently as a Fabergé egg. “Lake, don’t be angry. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m just tired.”

“It could be more than that,” I push.

Her eyes pull away from mine. “I’m fine.”

“Will you talk to Deborah about it?”

She turns to me, and her eyes are flashing with anger. “Aren’t you the one who’s constantly lecturing me not to provide them a reason to be concerned?”

I chuckle. “Touché. This is what happens when you like the smart girl.”

Lake cocks her head. “Did you just admit to liking me?”

I never make that kind of mistake. Never. I’ve been telling myself I only think of Lake as a friend, but you can only fool yourself for so long. The truth is, I do like her. A lot. And that’s the problem. I can’t.

“Of course I like you,” I say. “We’re friends.”

“Stryker, friends don’t usually hold hands.” Her eyes gesture down to my hands, which still haven’t released hers.

I carefully set her hands on her lap. “Interactions are different here.” So much for my keen ability to think on my feet. I’m only glad Bjorn didn’t witness my barely believable explanation.

“So … are you telling me you don’t want to be more than friends?”

Somehow, I’ve lost control of this conversation. We’re here to talk about her memory issue, not us. “We can’t get involved.”

“There was nothing in the Agreement forbidding Nobels from being in a relationship.”

I run my fingers through my hair. “It would be a distraction from our work.” Even I don’t believe myself.

“You’re wrong. It’s counter-productive to work like we are. We need to add an element of fun to our awake-lives. If we don’t, the stove … the stress only compounds. And don’t look at me like that. I realize I stammered, which is my point.”

Despite the fact that I agree with everything she said, I say, “Lake, I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“I concur.”

“You do?”

Lake gets up, not looking at all upset. “I needed to understand where we stand. Now I know.”

Is she for real, or is she that much better than me at hiding her feelings? “Then, we’re good?”

“We’re great. And thanks for making me come out here. I’m feeling calmer.”

I watch as she stops to smell a rose. She smiles to herself, then heads back to The Flem. Is she really fine with us being friends? Because I’m not sure I am. I want to take it back. Tell her how I really feel. Hold her in my arms and kiss her.

But that can never happen.

When I joined the Program, I made a promise to myself: I will never put someone in harm’s way again. Bjorn’s and my mission will anger some people, and I know only too well what can happen. I can’t let anyone get close to me. It won’t make up for what I did, but it’ll stop another person I love from getting hurt.

I should’ve told Lake the truth, but it’s still too hard to talk about. I also should’ve made Lake promise she’ll talk to Deborah. I should’ve done a lot of things differently.

The guilt that never goes away feels like it’s burying me alive.