Page 57 of The Order

His hand pauses just as he’s about to reach my face. I lean over the sink, bracing myself for whatever cruel comments I’ve learned to expect in response to any sign of weakness from me.

His hand lands on the back of my neck, gently rubbing the skin with his fingers like he did on the night of the screening. I should be shoving him away, screaming at him for touching me so soon after what happened. His fingers circle the tender spots on my neck, working up into my hair, and I can slowly feel my tension melting away. I feel his hands continue to work gently, moving along my skin like my mother used to, meant to soothe me from headaches when I was a child. His free hand moves to my face with the towel next, wiping away anything left around my mouth. He continues comforting me well after my stomach has settled.

My heart races with each brush of his fingertips over my neck. It’s different from how I felt after the Officials touched me. I want to lean into him, to wrap myself in his scent that I’ve come to recognize. At this moment, I find myself longing to touch him like I’ve watched Valerie touch him. But reality quickly sets in.

I pull my head up from its position, watching his hand fall from my neck. He looks down at me with sad eyes, clenching the towel as hard as he can. My fingers graze the back of my neck.

“How… how did you know that calms me down?” I question, watching something flash over his eyes.

“It was a lucky guess. It works on Valerie. I don’t need you all worked up.”

“Don't lie. You did it once before, at the movie screening,” I say, cutting off his dismissal.

“Like I said,” he begins with a lean toward me. “Lucky guess, Blackburn,” he finishes, tossing the towel in the dirty hamper, moving back toward his canvas, letting whatever interaction we just had wash away with the water down the sink.

“Can our chips kill us?” I question, staring at the running water deep in thought. A box cutter for a paper mâché project sits near the sink, the blade clean and sharp, like it’s hardly been used.

“Untouchable chips are non-lethal. I can’t say the same about the ones for the Unfortunates,” Fallan says, grabbing our canvases, letting his eyes linger on my portrait that I’m still trying to figure out the meaning of.

“What do our chips do then, other than make us compliant?” I question, watching his eyes narrow for a moment at the ground.

“They can confuse you. Make you remember things wrong … even Marked like us,” Fallan says, using a name I have only heard in whispers between Officials.

Marked. Tainted. All the same. Words that leave the mouths of those who speak them like a curse that's never meant to be repeated.

“And if the chips were gone?” I question, feeling the cool metal of the box cutter press to my palm.

“Free will, I suppose,” Fallan says, his voice drowned out by the sound of the water in the sink.

I pick up the box cutter in my hand and raise it to the spot behind my ear, feeling the cool metal against my scar there. I’m ready to tear away at the ticking time bomb in my head. I feel the tiniest tear begin, ready to yank it clean from my skull and crush it beneath the sole of my shoe.

“Forest!” Fallan yells, yanking my wrist away from my ear.

Fallan slams my hand on the counter, forcing me back into it with him. I drop the blade, snapping back to reality. His gaze is wild as he looks over me. His knee has me pressed against the counter, his hand holding my wrist, his other clutching my waist. I feel the warmth of his hand above my clothes. He looks feral, ready to rip off someone's head, just as he had in the hallway.

“Did you not hear me?” he questions angrily, moving his hand away from my hip. He gently grabs my jaw, making me look at him. The warmth of his body so close to me sends a fleet of emotions through me. It's different from Xavier and Max. For some reason, I’m not afraid. I want him here. I want him to crave my touch too. It makes me feel like I’m alive.

But he resents me as much as I should him.

“It shouldn't be in my head-”

“It will kill you if you try to remove it. It’s attached to your prefrontal cortex. Remove it, and you go with it,” he says, tossing the blade across the room out of frustration. He leans in closer, trapping me in front of him. “Wedon’t make decisions like that. You don’t get to decide that,” he hisses, letting his thumb run down my cheek. His nose is inches away from my own. His blue eyes only look that much bluer at this angle. A slight warmth in my stomach grows once I take notice of where his hands are.

“We?” I question, leaning closer out of anger.

He lets me go, biting the inside of his cheek with a shake of his head.

“You. I meant you,” he clarifies as he quickly looks away from me again.

“I thought you wanted me dead. It would’ve made things easier for you,” I say, watching his hands drag across his face as he lets out a defeated laugh.

“You don’t know anything about what I’d like to happen to you, Forest. What I want eats me alive,” Fallan growls. I admit to myself then that I wanted to know what he wanted. I wanted him to confide in me.

I look down at our clothes, turning my head toward Mrs. Auburn’s small closet.

“We need to change. Or else we’ll just end up in more talks with Officials,” I say, pulling my bag closer. Fallan gives me a nod.

“You go first. I’ll join you shortly,” Fallan says, catching me off guard. The idea of us stripping off clothes and changing together in such a confined space invades my mind and makes my face fluster.

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