Page 41 of The Order

Pulling his warm fingers away from their hold on my arm, I yank it back, watching the skin's deep bruise fade into something much more tolerable.

“Why the nickname?” I question again, rubbing my wrist with comforting motions.

Fallan leans back in his chair, pondering the question despite Hunter's urge to get him to quit speaking to me. Hunter had nearly torn away his shirt, trying to get him to stop applying the cream earlier. Even Mark had resorted to slinging his hat over the tram’s interior camera, hiding what most would consider treason.

“When there was religion, the dove used to symbolize innocence and purity in a world scorched with floods and fire,” Hunter says, taking the words away from Fallan. “What Fallan won’t tell you is how you were the first Untouchable he had observed say sorry to someone like us-”

“It was abnormal and clearly an act to assuage your own personal inner turmoil. I liked the irony in nicknaming you after something as gentle and innocent as a small dove,” Fallan says, raising his arms above his head, causing his shirt to ride up. His torso is exposed, and despite its scarring, it’s not so rough on the eyes. I glance at his hip bone, seeing nothing but smooth skin. I was hoping to see a mark like mine.

“How is that ironic?” I question, forcing my eyes back up to meet Fallan’s. He smirks at my wandering eyes.

“The irony is in how much violence you hide within yourself,” Fallan says, smirking ear to ear, keeping his arms above his head. “And that’s where you and I become the same. No Unfortunates, no Untouchables, just two humans pretending to be something they're not,” Fallan scoffs, referencing more than just an innocent nickname. He knows so much more than he’s letting on, and he’s using that knowledge to torment me.

“Go to hell,” I hiss, forcing my knees back to my chest.

I cover my ears with my hands, staring out the window blankly. My head is pressed against the cool glass, balancing out the burning fire within me.

Mark stares back occasionally, debating whether or not it’s worth scolding the boy for how he spoke to me. Still, Fallan focuses on me, forcing a raise of his mouth each time I look back to see if he’s still watching. Hunter apologizes profusely for his friend, eventually giving up once he realizes no one is listening.

This is all part of his game, isn't it? Seeing how far he can push me before I break. Despite what we saw together, his hate for me runs too deep, and can I blame him after what I saw?

Those were my people. The Untouchables. The Officials.

“Stop looking at me,” I hiss, holding my head tighter to contain my negative thoughts.

Hunter nudges his friend, urging him to quit aggravating me. Still, Fallan pushes, continuing his blank stare.

“See something that scared you, Little Dove?” he questions, pushing me further. My head pounds with anticipation, spilling countless emotions I have yet to understand. His touch, the girl, our marks, all memories forced into my mind with no way to rid myself of them.

That feeling of another presence inside my mind returns. It holds my thoughts, coming from deeper than what lingers on the surface. I no longer feel alone in my thinking. The scuff of one's feet dragging along the surface of my mind echoes in my head as the pains behind my eyes ripples out. I lace my fingers with my hair, inhaling deeply, forcing away the pain with all I have. I focus on the open door in my mind, taking the unwelcoming presence by the hand and forcing it far away with a slam of the door.

Fallan takes a sharp breath, grasping his thigh, forcing his head back into the seat behind him. With a raise of his hand, he grabs his head, clutching his temple with angry curses. My hand shakes, wiping away a bit of blood that is trying to escape my ear. Hunter questions his friend, looking over his pained expression with confusion. I now see Fallan's grasp on his chest, higher than where my mark has taken residency. If tonight has taught me anything, it's this:

The impossible is entirely plausible.

I can't trust anyone or anything, even the recollection of my memories.

And the worst revelation of all is that I might be losing my mind.

Chapter thirteen

Forest

Ikeepmybodyleaningaway from the pair, continuing to reflect on tonight's events in hopes that I can try and piece together anything I might have missed. As much as I try to blame everything that happened on my faltering mind that often leads to blackouts, I can't deny the blood the Officials have shed, even if I so desperately wish it was all in my head.

The slightest speck of red touches the bottom portion of my shirt, barely noticeable to anyone not actively looking. It’s brown now after being touched by the oxygen in the air. You'd think I dropped a bit of chocolate on my front.

Fallan has been silent ever since he leaned his head back. He seems to be having his own unbearable headache, which only adds to my list of suspicions about the man and my list of reasons for continuing to break regulations to figure out what he wants from me. There has to be a reason he’s been willing to violate the law so often to torment me as much as he has. Hate has to derive from something.

Hunter lies asleep on his friend. He must’ve tired himself out with his non-stop scolding toward Fallan, who apparently could care less about his actions or their consequences. My head dipped down a couple of times, clouded with exhaustion from the energy I exerted doing my best to play dead. The weight of my reality is heavy, holding me down like rocks in my shoes as I sink to the bottom of the ocean floor.

The tram rolls to a stop, jolting me away from my wave of thoughts. The streetlight illuminates my neighborhood, casting large shadows across the pavement. Each of the house's curtains are already drawn, lit inside by the soft glow of bedroom lamps as people begin to unwind. Some living areas that I can see are alive with bright screens, though only some use their televisions, often relying on music due to its lack of blue light. Unlike the rest, my house is dimly lit, only my father's study is barely illuminated. Even from here, I can see how still the massive house is at this hour.

I pull myself to my feet, letting the dizziness fade away before continuing my slow pace toward the front of the tram. My head's pain is tolerable, fizzled down to nothing more than the usual minor pain behind my eyes. Mark retrieves his cap from the camera, planting it on his head to hide his silver hair.

“Thank you again for going out of your way to bring me back,” I say, smiling at the older gentleman whose presence has seemed abnormally comforting.

“Anytime, sweetheart. I promise you it’s my pleasure,” Mark says, his eyes flashing with something unfamiliar. For a moment, and just a moment, he opens his mouth, ready to say more.

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