PROLOGUE

They say you never forget your first kiss. But that's not true. I did.

I only remember how awkwardly my lips fell on top of another pair of lips. I don't remember what she looked like. I don't remember if she had short hair or long hair. I don't remember the color of her eyes or the sound of her voice. Sadly, I don't even remember her name. But if I did at one point, it all went away after I kissed Lena Haloway.

I had other kisses after that first kiss, but they are a blur. Vague memories from years ago. It had been so long before I allowed myself to talk to a girl, let alone kiss one, after I left the Wilds. I really never allowed myself the freedom to think that I would find someone like her, especially in the confines of Portland, where the drones dominated and the uncured were brainwashed into thinking that life was better after the "Cure."

That's what they call it. We call it a lobotomy. A dredging of the soul is more like it. They were barely human after the surgery, often looking lost, a blank stare. It's a horrible thing to see. Why even live, to be honest, when you were a Cured? It didn't make sense to live and not feel any kind of true joy or sadness. Or love. But that's how these people chose to live, and yet, I found her in this mess of a place. Lena.

Magdalena. Even her name sounds full of life. It flows with the sea, with the movement of the trees in the Wilds. There is beauty in that name. But the Cureds don't know anything about beauty. They would think nothing of it. They would say it's just a name. Just an identifier, but nothing special.

She is everything special.

Here in the Crypts, I cling to her name. I cling to everything I can remember about her. Her face, her eyes, the little mole on the wrist of her right hand, the warmth of her head against my chest, the feel of her slim, delicate fingers laced with my fingers. I could even feel the empty space between us when she couldn't stand next to me, when we had to walk on opposite sidewalks of the street.

I imagine the flecks of green in her brown eyes, and flow of her soft, brown hair against the ocean breeze. I can hear her laughter in my head, not at all harsh, but soft at times, melodically loud at other times. I visualize the moments of when those laughs entered my ears. Many of those times at 37 Brooks Street, that hollowed-out wreck of a house that was ours, where we played Scrabble, had picnics, looked up at the night sky. I could still list all the things I love about Lena with each star that I saw from the broken-down rooftop. I kissed her so many times in that house.

Lena's kisses are the only kisses that invade my mind now. They are the only ones that matter. They are the ones that keep me alive. That keep me breathing. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, allowing the memories to come. Welcoming them.

If I imagine hard enough, I think I can even smell her sweet fragrance, something that's distinctly Lena. A combination of her shampoo, soap, and her own scent of her skin. Ironically enough, her scent reminds me of the flowers in the Wilds that sometimes pop up in the Spring, if the ice has melted early enough and there's a patch of healthy dirt around.

I smile at the idea of her being out there, but just as swiftly as the idea comes, dark thoughts take over, and I realize that I have left her on her own. The night of the escape fills me with dread. I remember her there on the other side of the fence. I told her to not look back. I knew what I was doing. I knew there was no way we'd both be able to make it. I made myself the diversion. I told her to run, abandon me.

She ran, but not before looking back. I could still see her face in my mind just as clearly as the night it happened. The confusion and panic set in the lines of her face. The realization that I didn't follow her like I said I would. I whispered to her to breathe, then yelled at her to run. I didn't want her to see me that way. I didn't want her last memory of me to be that moment. I play it over and over in my head almost every night and each time it hits me like a blast to the heart. She didn't abandon me that night.

I abandoned her.

•••••••••

I touch the scar on my face. It's my keepsake. My reminder of what happened that night. Not that I need it. Being in here reminds of it every single day. I don't know how bad it is, but the feel of it, rough and jagged, tells me that it's not a pretty thing to look at. I haven't seen my face since I've been in this place. The Crypts.

When I was first brought in, they had left me alone. I don't know how long I had been left there, without food or water, and blood seeping out of my wounds. They didn't even come in to kill me like I thought they would. They just let me waste away until I was delirious from dehydration.

I'm still here, though. They eventually gave me just enough to eat and drink, if only to keep me alive to see me suffer. I was wrong about them. These drones did feel something. But it wasn't love. They would never feel love or empathy or sympathy. But they feel pleasure. Pleasure in seeing me writhe in pain. Pleasure in hearing me scream when they ran electricity through my body.

I never saw anything like this when I was just a visitor. Maybe they did this after visiting hours. I don't know. I have no concept of time here as there are no windows or bars in my cell. Just the fluorescent lights that shine dully above me and through the small space on my cell door. That itself is a kind of torture, not being able to see the outside, to see the sky, to feel the wind, to smell the sea water. Everything here is dull but the pain.

I may scream in pain, but I have been able to make it through each time, without giving them what they want. Without giving them information. They want so badly to know where to look for us in the Wilds, but I won't tell them. I won't risk them finding Lena and bringing her back here to be one of them. I won't risk them finding everyone else just to kill them, because I know that's what they want to do. We're a symbol of what's "wrong" with the world. We're the reason that they have to go to such measures as cutting off everyone's ability to feel, to be human. We are Invalids to them. We don't belong. We don't fit their so-called perfect world.

So, I won't do it. I won't give in. I would rather die.

•••••••••

Lena's face comes to me in a dream. She is just as beautiful as ever. She bends forward slightly and tilts her head up to look at me. I bend down just slightly to kiss her, but I don't feel her lips on mine, and I wake up with a dull ache in my chest.

I would have never wanted her to try to find a way to get me out of here, but I know that deep in my mind, I had hoped that somehow she would do just that. I hate myself for even thinking that. I had let her go. I don't even know if she's alive. But I have more hope for her than for me. I should've died already. I should've died many times before. And I'm still here.

I'm still here, and I don't know if I want to be anymore. Thoughts and images of Lena are the only thing that's keeping me going. And part of me now wishes that those thoughts would be lost to me, that I would forget her. But I can't. I can't. I love her and I just want to be with her. And if she's alive out there in the Wilds, I have to find her.

But how can I when I'm here? I've been here forever. Each day is another day of torture, and they don't even have to do anything to me anymore. They don't. They haven't in a long time. How long has it been since I've been here? I don't know. How long since I last ate? I don't know. How long since someone asked me a question? I don't know.

Do they even know I'm still alive? Did they get what they wanted without my assistance? It could be months, or years, or decades. Everything hurts, and I wonder if there's a reason for me to still be alive. Maybe I've already served my purpose on this earth in letting Lena escape. Maybe she's mourned me and long forgotten me and she's living a new life and has a new family and she's as happy as can be.

As much as I want that for her, I'm causing myself more pain. And I hate myself for being selfish, even when I've already cast my life away.

I love you, Lena. I tell myself that, and I speak it aloud, my voice a hoarse version of its former sound. I don't recognize it. I'm already fading away.

Let these bastards take my body and destroy it. I always thought I knew what hate was, seeing my father's grave in this place, and even seeing Lena's mother, with the way she wrote the word "love" on the wall repeatedly. I thought I hated them then. But I never did. I was merely disgusted at them, for who they became, which was soulless. But they're more than soulless to me now, and I truly do hate them. I hate them for what they've done to me. To us. They've turned us against each other. They've killed, they've maimed, they've played with our minds in more ways than one.

I hate them for separating Lena from me, as if I were a disease, as if I were no better than a cockroach on a wall. I no longer want to play their games.

I hurt inside. I know what I'm saying, but what can I do here? Lena is safe. Lena is safe. Lena is safe. She has to be, because I'm too tired to fight anymore.

I love you, Lena. I'm sorry.

CHAPTER 1

She looked just how I had imagined her to look. She looked exactly the same as I had left her, the same dark hair, the same brown eyes, the same shape of her face, her neck, her shoulders, the inward curve of her waist, the small outward curve of her hips… her everything. She was the same.

And yet, she wasn't. She isn't.

I had forgotten that I let her go. I had forgotten that I wanted her to be happy.

When you think you're going to die, all you want is for the ones you love to find happiness again. And love.

But I didn't die.

And I stood there like a fool, staring at her and him. What did I say? I barely remember, but I know it was harsh and hurtful and full of anger. I know, because I saw it in her eyes. I didn't take it back. I was hurt and I was angry. I still am. So, I wanted her to hurt, too. I still do.

Obviously, I am not the same person I was either.

All the things I never doubted before, I doubt now. Did she ever love me? Does she love him? That guy that she helped escape, that she saved, from becoming a Cured. Did she show him all that she showed me, told me?

I need to stop thinking about this. But I don't know how. The only reason I was able to escape was because I was so desperate to find her. To make sure she was alright and that she was safe. I wanted to thank her with everything that I had. To show her with my lips on hers, with my hands touching her, holding her, and never letting her go.

I close my eyes and the image of her and the guy named Julian embracing and kissing each other burns into the back of my eyes, and I have to open them again. It does no good, because the image is still there. I can't escape it. I feel as if something in my throat refuses to go down. My heart pounds in my chest as if I've been running for miles and miles and miles, and I had been only the day before. My legs feel heavy like lead.

I feel more lost than when I had no idea of where Lena would be, or how to even start. I no longer belong here. But a part of me, a big part of me, doesn't want to leave at all. No matter how out of place I am. No matter how angry I am at Lena. I want to stay, and knowing that fact makes me angrier. Because what kind of idiot would want to stay and see the girl he loves love someone else?

Apparently, that title belongs to me.

"You can blame me if you want."

I turn to see the black-haired woman standing against the door entrance of the small room that I've sequestered myself into. I think her name is Raven, but I don't remember her last name, or if she even said what it is.

"What?" My words sound more tired than harsh now.

"You know how it is, don't you? We lose people all the time out here, and yet, we still have to find a way to move forward. To carry on. Not to dwell on the people that we lost." I notice Raven's voice sounds a little scratchy at that last part, but I don't look at her.

I'm not sure what to say, but considering the tension in my jaw and the heat I feel in my face and even the pound, pound, pounding of my heart beating harder and faster, I realize that it's best not to say anything right at that moment. I could blame her, but not as much as I blame Lena, and certainly not as much as I blame myself for the chain of events that have lead up to this point.

But she also came back with Lena just moments ago. I kept to myself when I first arrived there. I was exhausted, but when I didn't see Lena among them, I wasn't sure if Raven had stolen Lena's pendant or had found it. Either way, I didn't want to tell them anything until I was sure. They were decent enough, though, allowing me to sleep on one of the beds until it was time for them to leave. I slept. And when I woke up before the sun even hit the horizon, that's when everything was made clear.

Raven and Tack, another one of the group, were gone. Someone had said they were missing another. They were missing Lena.

One person suggested leaving without them and heading north as they had apparently planned. But no one else budged. I wanted to find Lena, but most of the group was certain that Raven would come back, so I waited with them.

Now I'm staring back at Raven, who brought Lena back to me, and I'm seething. She probably has experienced loss herself. No one is immune to suffering in the Wilds. But does she know where I've been? Did Lena tell her about me? Does she know how many nights I've spent thinking about Lena, wishing that I could hold her again, praying that I could just see her face or just even hear her voice? No. Raven doesn't know. And I won't tell her.

"I'm not dead," I spit out at her. and surprise even myself by how scary my voice sounds at that moment.

"Well, you might as well have been," Raven retorts back, unflinching from my response. I feel my face heat up in anger, and I fight the urge to yell back at her, or do something stupid like slamming the door on her face. Instead, I just glare at her. I know I look hideous, not just by my scar or the how dirty I look, but also just by the mere rage that burns through the frown of my mouth and the narrowness of my eyes. Lena had seen that and she had flinched – no, not flinched. She jumped, more out of fear than of surprise. I know I'm giving the same look to Raven right now. But Raven doesn't even bat an eye. Five silent seconds later, Tack appears out of my peripheral, standing next to her.

"What's going on?" he asks. Raven finally breaks when the guy taps her on the arm, her eyes blink and she sighs. I don't notice until that moment that she looks tired. Beyond tired, really, and I suddenly feel bad for her. I have no reason to be angry at them. They aren't Cureds. They live out here in the Wilds, just like I do. And they took care of Lena, too.

"Just wanted to make sure the new guy here got enough rest," Raven says to him, then directs her attention to me. "We're leaving soon." Tack glances over at me for a brief moment, and I finally shift my eyes to look at him as well. My anger has subsided.

"Yeah, and we need to get the rest of the stuff packed. You coming?"

She gives him a nod. "I'll be there in a second."

When Tack leaves, she just says, "Everybody helps." She means for me to start packing up with them.

"So, what? That's it? No telling me to stay away from her? From them?" I say the last word with extra bitterness. Raven just sighs.

"Look, I don't know what you've been through or how you found Lena, but you're here and that's that. That's all I care to know. I'm not going to tell you to stay away from her." She pauses long enough for me to exhale twice.

"What?" I say with more patience than I had just a few minutes ago.

"We already have enemies. We don't need to create more in our group, that's all."

Despite my anger, despite this serious wrench in my attempt to finally be reunited with Lena the way I've wanted, the way I've imagined, for months, I know that Raven is ultimately right. If I'm to stay with them, I need to do my part. I had never forgotten about the Resistance. I have been a part of it for a few years, and I still am a part of it. More than ever.

So, I help. I move boxes and goods into the vans. I pack bags. I load up gear. And I ignore the girl I love.

A/N: This fic is unfinished at the moment, but much of it has been written already, and I will finish it.