Page 40 of The Order

My hands bang on the tram doors, startling Mark from his small cat nap in the front seat. I aid him in opening the doors, clawing them open in an attempt to get into the vehicle faster. I stumble into the warm tram, watching his body go rigid as I move closer.

“Please, take me home. I will take full responsibility for whatever grief you get for running an early route. Get me away from here,” I plead. I know he can hear the grovel of emotions threatening to break me. I fight back the tears that want to escape my eyes, wishing for a distraction to pull me away from this nightmare.

“Boring movie?” he questions in a light-hearted tone.

“Something like that,” I admit with no humor in return.

“I can make a quick route toward your neighborhood for you,” Mark begins, pulling the handle to shut the doors. “I can always call an Official, too, if you are feeling unsafe-”

“No!” I yell, covering my mouth in embarrassment at my sudden outburst.

I hear a slam behind me. Both Mark and I silence our conversation.

His large hand grabs the door, stopping it from closing fully. He looks as casual as he did when I first saw him tonight, only pulling me further into the theory that all of this derived from my own delusional mind. He glances at me with his standard look of annoyance, leaving room for Hunter to get in the vehicle first. I back away from the men working their way up the steps. Grabbing the first chair closest to the back as I can, I try to find the slightest bit of comfort in the presence of the only other person who might have seen what I had moments ago.

Hunter moves past me, taking a seat in his bus section. I pull my knees up to my chest, pressing my head between my legs to silence the noise of the tram's engine.

Mark converses with Fallan, glancing back at me before returning to the tall, raven-haired boy. Fallan moves closer to Mark, whispering something in his ear while placing a hand on his shoulder. I rock my body slightly, Hunter’s raised brows going higher the longer he stares at me. Tears coat my face; hidden by the position I have tucked myself into.

“Did you enjoy the movie?” Hunter questions, lowering his head to meet my hazy eyes. I sniffle, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand. No amount of acting can hide the emotions rolling through me. Fallan joins his friend, observing the same wave of emotions Hunter does, leaning back in his chair as he does so. Neither man knows how to approach my sudden display of emotions.

“It wasn’t my favorite film,” I admit with a small laugh, rubbing my thumb along my injured arm. Fallan cocks his head at the gesture, moving one seat over from Hunter, working himself closer to my balled-up position on the seat. He reaches into his pocket, fiddling with his one leverage over me. Now more than ever, the idea of him outing me to an Official is horrifying.

“I think the film is a tad bit over-praised,” Hunter begins, leaning into his knees with closed eyes.

“So does my brother,” I admit after a few moments, continuing to watch Fallan’s adamant stare in my direction.

“Your brother is quite the talker. I overheard him babbling on to that blonde. I don’t think she listened to a single thing he said. There were times I was ready to break regulation to put my input in on his horrible analysis of the plot,” Hunter says. I smile, wincing as my hand stabilizes me from the tram’s sudden start.

“How bad does it hurt?” Fallan questions, motioning to my wrist. He cuts off the conversation topic, focusing on the wound I have tried my best not to look at. I can tell he’s already treated the cut on his face. Nothing but a faint scar remains.

“What did you do?” Mark questions, looking in his rearview for some clarification.

“I-” I begin, feeling that familiar well of emotions form in me as I recall the Official’s boot pressed firmly on my arm.

“She fell carrying food back to her friends and landed square on a rock. On top of being arrogant, you’re also one clumsy little Untouchable, aren’t you, Little Dove?” Fallan questions, propping his arms on his legs like Hunter, who can’t seem to take his eyes off his brash friend.

The alibi flows off his tongue like it’s nothing. He’s covering his ass, just like he promised.

“Fallan, watch your tongue, man-” Hunter begins.

“Why do you call me that? Little Dove?” I question, cutting off Hunter's justifiable line of questioning.

“Answer my question first, princess,” Fallan says, waving away Mark’s frustrated grunts, signaling Fallan to quit pushing. Though low quality on these trams, the cameras can still pick up enough for Officials to dish Fallan a heavy violation which I’d rather he not get, even if he does deserve it.

“It feels like someone stepped on my arm … so yes, it hurts,” I hissed, holding my wrist with frustration.

He nods his head at the response, clenching his jaw, running a list of things to say to me through his head.

“Give me your arm,” Fallan says after a few moments, catching everyone off guard.

I pause, keeping my hold on my knees in hopes he will retract the command. “Unless you want to continue this whole ride pathetically wallowing in pain, I suggest you do as I ask,” Fallan continues, ignoring Hunter’s punches to his arm.

“You just don't know when to shut the hell up,” Hunter hisses, watching Fallan’s hand reach into his apron's front pocket.

He pulls out a small jar labeled with masking tape and words I struggle to recognize. He quickly unscrews the lid of the jar. The smell of lavender and mint hits my nose as he gathers some cream onto his fingers. Hesitantly, I lean my arm past the red line, letting his fingers work on the tender skin of my wrist in small circular motions.

“Hunter’s grandmother makes medicine even better than your people's Cure-All. The only thing is she needs the money to continue creating it,” Fallan says, pressing down a bit harder on my bruise with a glance up at me. “She’s the woman you watched get beat by your schoolmates this morning,” Fallan continues, closing the lid of the jar. I feel a great shame in the pain that flashes over Hunter’s face at the mention of his grandmother. “Consider this me making sure my tracks are covered,” Fallan whispers in a voice only I can hear.

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