Our eyes meet. I get lost in a pool of darkness, unable to distinguish where his pupils begin and where they end. I notice a thin scar that runs through the right corner of his upper lip. I wonder how he got it. His brown hair, shaved close to his head, is faded at the top in a military-style cut. The angular shape of his face becomes more pronounced when he clenches his jaw. For a moment we’re both still, looking at each other.
He gives me a pained look. “Get in the Jeep,” he says with a flat tone.
Oh sure.
My hands are slick with sweat, unable to hold on to the handle, and I stumble backward, landing on a rock that sends shooting pains up my back. I grit my teeth and push up. I hear an irritated exhalation as Cole opens the door. He grabs my waist and I lunge forward, smacking my head into the door.
He laughs, revealing his dimples, and says, “I’d think you’d be used to being touched.”
Jerk.
I don’t entertain his remark as he lifts me inside the Jeep. He pushes my legs out of the way before slamming the door shut. I reach up, grab the seatbelt, pull it across my body, and click it into place. I tug hard to make sure it’s secure. The thick fabric doesn’t budge, but that doesn’t alleviate my fears of falling out.
Cole doesn’t buckle up; he slams his foot down on the gas, causing the Jeep to bolt forward. My head snaps back into the headrest, aggravating my neck even more. As we turn onto the main road, the breeze whips my hair around and I let it carry my mind with it. My world has completely changed…
Back home, the upper class basks in wealth and their lifestyle is gluttonous with parties and all the trappings that come along with money. Snobbery abounds. You’d think since their lifestyle reeks of lavishness, they’d end up accused, but I’ve been told they pay off the guards to escape judgmentthe hypocrites. Looking at me, you’d never know I’m from the High Society. I’m thin, much too thin. But not by choice. I was never given a choice, and it seems I may never have the opportunity to choose anything else in my life.
Only sinners grind away, doing the cleaning, bidding, and serving. They’re transported out of the Hole by train to work each day, but High Society members are too afraid to associate with them, even if they once knew each other. Even commoners, those who aren’t sinners or High Society, refuse to acknowledge them. Instantly, they become strangers.
The guards prove the exception and do whatever they please. They make the arrests, enforce their laws, and even dictate education. High Society is oblivious to the real gritty stuff, though my father was aware of it. I once heard him whispering to a friend about it over a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. His hushed words come back like a nightmare now. If only I could remember everything I heard that day.
“There’s been word of mass rapes and beatings outside of here,” his friend said. “Keep your children on a tight rope. It’s not safe.”
“I know. It’s getting worse by the day. Yet somehow, they manage to cover up most of it. I’m not sure we’ll ever know the full magnitude,” my father replied. I remember peering around the corner from the staircase to listen and pinching my nose to hold back a sneeze.
“I’m hearing rumors of lab testing too”
“Shhh, that’s enough. We need to take this conversation somewhere else.” Their chairs scraped on the tile floor, so I tiptoed up the staircase before they spotted me.
I always took for granted that my father would be there to protect me. Now, I’m seated in a Jeep with the enemy he tried so hard to shield me from.
Cole keeps his eyes on the road and rubs the back of his neck. He joins a procession of vehicles from the transformation center, escorting new prisoners to the Hole. Roadblocks occur every few miles and he flashes his identification each time. I’m scared to look at him, yet I find myself glancing in his direction more often than I’d like. His sharp jawline and intense expression never falter as he grips the steering wheel. It’s as if he’s expecting trouble ahead. I don’t know why, but his close proximity makes me self-conscious.
Part of me desires strength to deal with my present situation; the other half wants to collapse from mental overload and exhaustion. I give in to the latter.
I close my eyes and daydream. I bring myself back to my father, to the tall grass fields out west, to times of love and laughter, and in my dream I’m okay.
“Wake up!” my father says, but I realize it isn’t his voice. A hand shakes me awake, and I open my eyes as Cole turns in his seat.
Holy crap. I did fall asleep.
“We’re here,” he says. “You’re likely the first sinner to ever fall asleep during the transport.”