Across the Universe (Across the Universe 1) - Page 76
Harley hands me a glass of cool water.
“I’m sorry,” Harley says. An angry purple-red bruise the size of my pinky finger underscores his left eye.
He touches my hand, and I flinch. I want to cry, I want to scream, I want to hide, but all I can do is flinch because a man came close enough to touch me.
“I’m sorry,” Harley says again. He backs up and sits at the desk chair, all the way on the other side of the room. He sits on the edge of his seat, as if ready to jump up and protect me again. But he holds himself back. His hands grip the armrest, making sure he doesn’t touch me again.
I raise my head. “No. . . I mean. . . Thank you. You saved me. ”
Harley shakes his head. “I left you. That was stupid. I knew the Season was full on. I’ve seen it getting worse since yesterday. And I left you alone. ”
“Why were they like that?” I ask. In my mind’s eye, I can still see the glazed look of the couple having sex beside me, of how they turned away from my screams. I press Amber closer into me, relishing the feeling of her buttons grinding into my ribcage, wondering how the bruises she makes will compare to the ones already blossoming on my wrists.
Harley shrugs. “That’s just the way the Season is. Wasn’t Sol-Earth like that? People are animals. No matter how civilized we are, when our mating season arrives, we mate. ”
“Not you. Not Elder. Not everyone’s acting like they’re insane with lust. ”
Harley’s brows knit together, a ridge of flesh forming between his eyes. It reminds me of the deep, heavy brow of the man who was on top of me, who held me down, who ground his hips against mine. I bury my face into Amber’s fake brown fur, and I breathe in her musty smell. My arms tense around my knees, and my hands grip my legs, and I’m glad, because if I wasn’t holding on to myself, I think my body would all fall apart like a puzzle lifted at the corners.
Harley has not noticed that I’m quivering under my hard exterior. “Actually, a lot of the people in the Ward are fine. Some are using the Season as an excuse to act. . . recklessly. . . but most of the Ward patients aren’t quite so. . . ”
“Crazy?” My voice cracks.
“Ironic, huh? The crazy people are less affected by all this than any of the others. Maybe it’s our mental meds. They’re called ‘Inhibitors. ’ They’re supposed to inhibit the crazy, but maybe they inhibit lust as well. ”
Didn’t seem to inhibit Luthe’s lust. He knew what he was doing. But the Feeders hadn’t, not really. I wonder if it’s because the Feeders are so brainless. Whatever’s making them want to screw, the Feeders just do it, like how that girl with the rabbits just believed what Eldest had told her, even when she read the truth. People like Harley and Luthe, who aren’t mindless idiots, have more control over themselves. They can choose to be kind, like Harley.
Or they can choose to be like Luthe.
Harley’s still talking, trying to distract me from everything. He talks like talking will make everything okay again, but it isn’t, it can’t be, it won’t be. I just want him to go.
Harley stands up. “Let me get you some more water. ”
“No. ” I want to be alone. I want him to go and let me shrink into myself.
“But I think—”
“NO!” I scream. My hands slip down my sweaty arms. My fingers scrabble back up to my elbows, and my fingernails dig into my flesh so I can’t lose my grip on myself again. “No,” I whisper. “Please. Just leave me alone. Let me be alone. ”
“But—”
“Please,” I whisper into Amber’s fur.
Harley goes.
I lie curled on the bed for a long time, my eyes shut but my vision still achingly clear.
My arms grow tighter and tighter, pulling my knees so hard against my chest that it hurts. It doesn’t help. I am tired of hugging myself. I want my daddy to hug me and tell me he’ll kill anyone
who hurts me. I want my momma to kiss me and stroke my hair and tell me everything will be okay. Because the only way I can believe anything will ever be okay again is if I hear one of them say it.
I let my knuckles relax. They are white on the edges, and my fingertips tingle as the blood returns to them. The insides of my elbows are slick with sweat. Creaking, popping sounds escape my knees as I stretch my legs fully out.
For a moment, I lie flat on the bed, but that reminds me of lying flat on the grass in the field, and I jump up so quickly that I make myself dizzy.
I cross the room to the door in three long strides, but when I reach for the button to open it, my hands are shaking.
They’re still out there.
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