"You can't hate the roots of a tree and not hate the tree."
- Malcolm X
Chapter One
We are the Eden
Date: 25th June, 5247
Time:10:43 a.m.
Place: Nerian Colony, approximately1, 5 light-years from Earth
In the midst of a blood-drenched battlefield, I stand alone, wielding nothing but a broken pipe I had picked up somewhere along the road. The scattered remains of my fellow soldiers lay around me, amongst those of the enemies we'd managed to conquer. Earlier, I had still been able to tell one from the other; now I can no longer do that.
With the back of my dirt-streaked hand, I wipe away the blood and sweat on my forehead, ready to push forward.
"Gray!"
At the sound of my name, I swing around, brandishing the steel pipe like a sword, ready to strike if the need arises.
But, as it turns out, my makeshift weapon isn't needed: The person who'd called my name is on my side; a fellow soldier.
He catches up to me easily. His charcoal-black hair is streaked with different shades of red and brown; blood and ash.
His left eye is swollen shut and turning off-putting shades of blue and green and purple.
But even beaten-up, bloody and shot to Hell and back, I still recognize his beautiful face. "Fallon," I whisper, dropping the bent pipe and reaching for him.
The blueness of his unswollen eye is so vivid in the darkness that it reminds me of the lake behind my old primary school where we use to swim when we were children.
Fallen cradles my face between his scarred, calloused palms and kisses me aggressively, refusing to let go until I cry out.
"Did I hurt you?" Fallon asks, worry colouring his familiar voice. He inspects every inch of me for some form of injury before reluctantly letting go and taking a very small step back.
I laugh, which turns into coughing. The air around me is toxic, and it makes breathing difficult. "No, not at all. I just couldn't breathe." I look around me, at the burning buildings; the bodies on the ground; the sky black with ash. "Not that it's any easier now," I add with a sad smile.
Fallon looks at the ground sheepishly, a ghostly smile playing at his lips. "Sorry." He takes another hesitant step back. "Where's your Gen?"
I shake my head. "I was ambushed by Edens earlier," I answer, hugging myself to keep the biting old at bay. "I ejected seconds before they managed to overwhelm and destroy me."
Fallon nods slowly. "Same here." For the first time since finding me, he notices the steel pipe I had dropped moments ago. He smiles. "Were you going to fight the entire Eden-military with nothing but a pipe?"
His comment makes me laugh, even in the worst of conditions. I bend down to pick it up again. "Of course. How else was I supposed to protect myself?" My voice grows serious, and my smile disappears. "And I—I wasn't sure if you were . . ." I trail off hesitantly. I don't want to say the word out loud.
"If I were still alive?" Fallon finishes for me.
I nod; a single tear escaping from the corner of my eye.
"What would you have done if I had died," he asks shyly, not looking at me.
"I would've kept moving," I say quietly, hating myself. But as brutal as it sounds, I wouldn't have had another choice. I've come this far—giving up now would be an act of cowardice. And I am not a coward.
"I understand," Fallon says, weaving his fingers through mine. "That's what I would've wanted."
I bite back the tears threatening to spill. "Let's go," I say quickly, tightening my grip on his calloused, familiar fingers. "Before the Edens send reinforcements."
Swallowing past the fear in my throat, I take a cautious step forward and narrowly avoid stepping on a dead soldier's palm. Fallon follows my lead, clutching my hand so tightly that I can feel my fingers turning white.
We make it about halfway to the other side of the dilapidated town when a building to our left explodes suddenly, sending the two of us flying in different directions.
Fallon's name is the last thing that escapes from my lips before everything goes completely dark.
"Ms Carstairs, I am speaking to you!"
My eyes shoot open instantaneously and I find my teacher, Mr Keller, leaning over my desk with a sour expression on his face. "I do not know who this 'Fallon'-person you are referring to is, Ms Carstairs, but I can assure you that he will not pass your History-final for you. Now pay attention, or I'll fail you."
My classmates begin to laugh, finding her embarrassment amusing like always.
I mumble a half-hearted apology, more out of habit than anything else, feeling my face turn as red as my hair.
"I expect better from the daughter of Chief Commander Carstairs," Mr Keller says, returning to his desk at the front of the steel-and-chrome classroom.
"With all due respect, Mr Keller," I say, my eyes downcast. "But this is Neutral territory. My father's military-status means nothing here."
"Be quiet, Ms Carstairs," Mr Keller warns. "Nerian may be Neutral, but that doesn't mean its citizens are ignorant of the world. We all remember what happened to Effas."
I have nothing to say to his answer; nothing of substantial value anyway.
"Now, where was I? Oh yes! Imperialism." He takes a deep breath, and only for a moment, I allow myself to drift again:
Why had Fallon—a boy I haven't seen in three years—been in my dream? I can't even really remember what his face looks like; the exact shade his black hair use to be; the shape his beautiful blue eyes held. I remember almost nothing of my once-upon-a-time best-friend. Only his name and the sound of his voice.
"Ms Carstairs, pay attention."
I wake with a start, unaware that I had allowed myself to zone out so completely again. Another round of laughter travels through the classroom, and, not for the first time this week, I wish I can just crawl into a hole and disappear.
"Stand up," he orders harshly, running a hand through his thinning black hair. "I hope you've been studying, because I want you to give the class a summarized lecture on the history of the Colonies."
I sigh inwardly. Good job, Grayson. "From when, Sir?"
"Start from 5123, the Charles Dawn Decade."
Taking a deep breath, I gather my scattered thoughts and try to recall everything Mr Keller has taught me over the three years I've been unfortunate enough to be in his History class. "On the 27th of June, 5123, it was discovered that a geneticist called Charles Dawn, had found a way to manipulate a person's genes—to enhance them in order to create a sort of 'super-human'. It was also discovered that he had tested these theories of his on other humans.
"The Grimay-government was furious, and immediately sentenced Dawn to death. His execution took place on the 30th of June that same year, and his laboratory was burned to the ground a day after."
"Continue, please, Ms Carstairs," Mr Keller says when I don't speak for a few moments.
"Grimay's police-unit tracked down Dawn's test-subjects, killing them one by one, but the system they used was inefficient, so some of the subjects managed to escape the Colony in order to build their own home—a Colony called Dawks.
"The Enhanced—as the Ruling Government called them—grew in numbers and power—by5130 they had built five of their own Colonies and were powerful to the point of unbeatable. They called themselves the Radicals."
Mr Keller is pacing now, listening intently as I do his job for him. "Was this the end of the Charles Dawn Decade, Ms Carstairs?"
"No, Sir," I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. "The end of the Charles Dawn Decade was when the Radicals attacked and destroyed Effas on the 14th of February, 5133.
"Previous generations called this particular day 'Valentine's day'—a special day set out to celebrate love and the people you hold dear—but after the attack, it was renamed 'the Day of Blood', other wisely known as Aka Shi."
I look at Mr Keller, asking him silently if he wants me to continue. He nods, and for the first time ever, I don't get the feeling that he hates me. I can feel my classmates looking at me, their gazes burning holes into my skin.
I feel absolutely warm all over.
"After Effas was destroyed, the Ruling Government decided that they needed to retaliate. They formed their own military, and from henceforth, they called those who still had pure bloodlines, Edens.
"They built Eden-only Colonies, wherein the soldiers of the military and their families could live, and announced that the Originals would become Neutral-territory, where those who did not want to become involved in yet another war could in peace."
I know the Charles Dawn Decade like the back of my hand, but everything after that is still a little fuzzy. I've studied the history of the Colonies many times before, but the smallest of details almost manage to elude my somehow.
"The Edens declared war and struck Dawks—where the RFA-military's headquarters is located—where they managed to destroy half the Colony.
"This to and fro struggling is now referred to as the Cosmic War—Edens against Radicals in an unending battle for power. The Radicals, however, were stronger and faster and smarter, and thusly they always had the upper hand. Due to this, the Edens once again made use of Gen-technology—the same NanoRobotic-technology Adrianna LeeBritannia had used on Earth to win against her father's Imperial Army—to even the playing field."
Adrianna LeeBritannia and all her followers are now seen as heroes, but they are the very reason we can no longer live on Earth. The NanoRobotic-technology they had used to fight had polluted the air to such an extent that it was no longer safe for human life.
I want to add this to my lecture, but I know I can't. Saying something like this will get me kicked out of school.
"I have a question for you, Ms Carstairs," Mr Keller interrupts, his voice making it blatantly clear that he only tolerates me because of who my father is. "If Radicals and Edens can live in harmony here in the Neutral Colonies, why can't they do it outside as well?"
"The main reason for war will never change," I answer, recalling a program I had watched a few months ago about the modern warfare. "No matter if it's on Earth or here in space. People are never satisfied. Power and money have encouraged violent act through many generations, and that won't soon pass. If the RFA thinks itself a step behind the Eden-military, they will only fight harder to win, and vice versa." I look at my teacher with mutual distain. "To win a war, you must think like your opponent, and always be three steps ahead."
"Interesting, but you still haven't really answered my question: Why can some Radicals live in peace with Edens when others cannot?"
It takes all of my will-power not to scream at him for being a biased asshole right then. I can't blame Mr Keller for what he is, but saying something like that is just inappropriate.
He basically just insinuated that all of this is the fault of the Radicals, which is how this entire freaking problem started in the first place.
"Because people are different," I answer simply. "In every civilization, there are people who cling to the idea of peace, but there are also those who love the adrenaline of battle; and unfortunately, those who remain noble at heart are outnumbered by those to crave to kill."
For a moment, Mr Keller only stares at me, unsure of how to react. But his smile then returns and I can't help but feel proud of myself.
"Well said, Ms Carstairs. Good job."
The bell rings suddenly, loud and welcome, and I sit down with a sigh of relief, slowing packing up everything I've managed to spread out on my table over the short forty-five minutes of class—a silver tablet containing my schoolwork, an old spiral-bound notebook (which most Colonies don't even sell anymore), and a pencil as long as my pinkie (also no longer sold).
I leave the classroom with the words, That's what I would've wanted, echoing in the back of my head.
Something about the concept of Imperialism—the method used to distinguish one person from another—has always bothered me.
No, scratch that. Something about classifying race has always bothered me. Racism is what they used to call it, but the term was banned after the Rise—not that it does anyone any good. Imperialism is the same thing just with a different name, and against a different set of people.
Why do people need to be classified anyway? Why can't everyone just be equal and live like we do here in the Neutral Colonies? Why can't we just share everything? Why can't we just be satisfied for a change?
Sadly, I already know the single to all those questions: If everyone is equal, no-one will be left to do to the 'dirty work'; there will be no lower-class.
The truth is: Even though the Original Colonies claim not to be involved in the Cosmic War, they are more involved than anyone.
I know this, being the daughter of Chief Commander Carstairs, but I never tell anyone; it doesn't seem right to make other people worry.
On the surface, fighting is prohibited in the Original Colonies. The citizens who choose to live here are asked to sign multiple documents agreeing to these terms.
The Eden-military calls the inhabitants of the three remaining Neutral Colonies the Nowheres; the RFA calls them stupid.
Nerian, where I live, is a prime example of the perfect home. The Colony, like all others, is gated and protected by the Shield—an invisible umbrella-like thing that protects the citizens from harm. The Shield keeps anyone who is considered dangerous or unwelcome, out. It also ensures that no laws are ever broken.
My understanding of the original ideals of Cosmic Society is this: Radicals aren't supposed to be seen as the 'superior race'. Yes, they are stronger, faster, smarter, but that doesn't meant that they aren't human. Both sides want the same thing; they just don't know how to get it without slaughtering one another.
Edens claim themselves to be more discouraging towards juvenile behaviour, something which has now fallen to falsehood, and Radicals are rumoured to be more aggressive because of their manipulated genes.
When it was first discovered that some of the Enhanced humans had escaped the massacre, the Ruling Government had wanted to strike a deal: Life in return for soldiers.
The Radicals had declined this offer, pointing out that they were not objects to be used and thrown away.
In school, they are supposed to teach us about the Cosmic War and its participants objectively. That almost never happens anymore.
We—the Eden-born students—are taught to believe that the Radicals are dangerous and reckless and unpredictable. We are taught to stay away from them, to be weary of them, and to never trust them.
They, in return, are taught exactly the same things, just the other way around.
This system keeps the two sides away from each other, and as cruel as it is, it maintains the peace.
I find the concept of hating someone you've never met before absolutely ridiculous, of course, but what can I do about it?
With a resigned and tired sigh, I unlock the front door of my house and step over the threshold, entering the marbled foyer.
My father, Chief Commander Carstairs of the Eden-military, had built this house for me and my mother here in Nerian a few years ago so that we can be safe from the war while he's off doing God knows what.
And even though Nerian is one the safest Colonies to live in, my father had still made sure to construct the house with an impenetrable basement and bulletproof walls, doors and windows.
Our top-of-the-range alarm-system had even been upgraded last year. It's automatic now.
Within in the safest Colony in the universe, my house is the safest location to be at. It is point Alpha.
"Grayson, dear, is that you?" my mother calls down the hall from the kitchen.
Maria Carstairs is a homebody who loves cooking. Whenever I'm at school, Maria spends hours on end baking anything that can rot your teeth; when I'm home, Maris hovers over my like only a loving mother can.
"Yes, it's me!" I call back, heading for the stairs before my mother can gather enough time to put down whatever it is she's baking today.
"Come here quickly, would you?"
With a sigh, I leave my heavy, synthetic-leather schoolbag on the staircase and make my way to the kitchen, unsure of why my mother would want to see me in the middle of the day. Usually she waits until dinner, or at least until after I've finished my homework, if she has something important to talk to me about.
I find my mother in front of the stove, cleaning the top with a purple rag and something that smells strongly of iron and lavender.
I don't know why she bothers; all the appliances in our house clean themselves, so there is no need for her to do it as well.
Maria's posture is straight, abnormally so, and she doesn't look at me as I sit down by the counter where we usually eat dinner.
Meme and Mute bound into the room, Mute balanced precariously on Meme's brown shoulder.
All animals in the Colonies are robotic, because they are easier to control. Meme is the monkey that my mother had given me for my birthday two years ago, and Mute is a hummingbird that had belonged to Fallon before he disappeared.
I pick Meme up and place him on my lap, rubbing between his years.
My mother stops cleaning, then, but she still doesn't turn around to face me. It's almost as if she has to take a minute together her thoughts.
"Is there something you wanted to talk about?" I ask finally, unable to bare the quietness any longer. My mother is a chatty person; silence from her means trouble.
"Your History teacher called," she says with a tight voice. "He said you fell asleep in class today. Twice."
I don't say anything.
"Do you understand how serious this is, Gray? Getting a call from you school reflects poorly on your father, and he can't have that kind of negative press right now. Not with the Radicals doing everything they can to discredit him."
"My education is hardly of any relevance to his image," I mutter, a little too loudly.
Maria's gaze is sharp. "Grayson! You don't seriously think that, do you? Everything we do reflect on your father's 'image'. If the Radicals can convince the Edens—or even us here in Neutral-territory—that the leader of the Eden-military is abusive towards his family, what do you think will happen?"
I don't answer.
Mute attempts to tweet, but nothing comes out. She hasn't been able to make a sound since the day Fallon left.
"Gray, please tell me you understand how serious this is."
"I understand," I say to the floor. I don't like it when my mother is angry with me, especially when her anger is justified.
She sighs. "Will you tell me why you are falling asleep in class? Or should I draw my own conclusion?"
Meme jumps onto the counter, sitting down between my mother and me.
"And what would this 'conclusion' be?" I ask, trying to keep the venom out of my voice. I know she means well, and that she's only trying to help, but I don't need it. I can make my own decisions. What does it matter if I dream a little class anyway?
"I think you're spending too much time with those older friends of yours; and not enough in front of your schoolwork or in bed." Maria turns around and looks at me for the first time since I got home.
I scoff. "Firstly, can I just mention how completely ridiculous your 'conclusion' is?" When Maria doesn't say anything in return, I throw my hands into the air and groan out of frustration. "For God's sake, Mom, I'm in the Top Ten of my Year, and I get at least seven hours of sleep every night."
"Then why are you falling asleep in class, Grayson?! I just don't understand." She sits down in the chair on the other side of the island.
I flinch at the use of her tone. It's not sharp, which is the problem. I can handle sharp. Quiet is the one I'm afraid of.
Maria's features soften slightly, and she reaches out to rub Meme's ear. His tail was excitedly. "Help me understand, please."
Something falls into place, then, and it takes every bit of my will-power not to start laughing. She isn't doing this because she thinks something is wrong with me, she's doing it because my father thinks there's something wrong with me.
With my father away all the time, disciplining me falls on her shoulders.
"I didn't fall asleep in class," I say as answer, my tone softening now that I know that it isn't really my mom speaking. "I just zone out sometimes and start daydreaming. It's not because my older friends are bad influences—they aren't—or because of a lack of sleep. I'm fine, Mom, seriously."
With a sigh, the anger dissipates from Maria's face completely, and just like that, her usual bright smile is back in its place. "Your father thought it would do you good if I sat you down and had a serious talk with you, Gray; I wasn't trying to come off as angry."
I stand up and give my mother a hug. "It's okay. I'll talk to Mr Keller about some extra credit assignments if you think that will help."
Maria pulls away and looks at me. "It certainly won't make things worse. You don't mind, do you? I know you're very busy already."
"If it keeps Dad off your back, then n, I don't mind. I can make time."
She lets out a sigh of relief. "You are the best daughter in the world, and I love you." She reaches out and pulls a plate of cookies off the counter, handing one to Meme and another to me. "I love you, too."
"We have eyes on the girl," a hired soldier with sun-burned skin—artificial, of course, since everything in the Colonies is only illusions—informs the woman sitting in a wrought-iron chair a few feet away. "Are we to kill her?"
She looks at the soldier over the rim of her glasses, which she doesn't need, technically speaking, being a Radical and all, but they make her look a little more mature. "No. Just keep tabs on her. Tell me what she's doing, where she's going, who visits her; everything."
"Will do, Ma'am." He salutes and walks away, joining the rest of the hired team on the edge of the roof.
With the soldier gone, the woman picks up the silver tablet lying on the old-fashioned wrought-iron table beside her and turns it on. The screen comes to life abruptly, and she hurriedly opens the digital-folder containing all the information she needs to familiarize herself with. She starts reading:
Grayson Carstairs:
· Red hair, approximately 66cm in length
· Blue-green eyes, hazelnut-shaped
· Pale skin
· Eden-born, 10th August, 5263
· Third Year at Graythorn Academy (sixteen)
· Subjects: Advanced English, standard art, Fourth Year music, standard History, advanced French, advanced Latin, Fifth Year Algebra, advanced computer sciences
· Friends and relationships: Tatiana Monroe, Third Year; Hayes Patterson, Fifth Year; Callie Reymont, Fourth year; Leon Reymont, Fourth Year; Maria Carstairs, mother; Michael Carstairs, father
After school schedule:
· Monday: Piano (15;15 – 16:00), summer tennis (17:00 – 18:00)
· Tuesday: AV-club (15:15 – 16:00), singing class (16:45 – 17:30)
· Wednesday: Piano (15:15 – 16:00), choir practice (19:00 – 21:00)
· Thursday: Summer tennis (15:00 – 16:00), singing class (16:30 – 17:15)
· Friday: Choir practice (15:00 – 15:45), photography-club (16:00 – 17:00)
This girl is an utter bore, the lady thinks to herself, why is the Anarchist so infatuated with her?
To tell the truth, the woman is only jealous. She's jealous of the fact that this schoolgirl is getting all of the Anarchist's attention when she is the one deserving of it. She does all the work, makes all the plans, gathers all the information, but no matter what, he's attention is always on this girl.
I can't believe he has me playing babysitter.
Out of nowhere, a weathered, handsome face appears next to the woman, making her jump. "What exactly is it that he sees in her that's so interesting? This girl seems very plain."
She rolls her eyes. "Tell me about it." She locks the tablet and puts it back on the table. "Though she does seem a little unreal. Did you see the subject she's taking? They're way too advanced for a sixteen-year-old Eden-born."
"I read through them briefly." The man waves a hand around, telling the woman that he'd probably only paged through them once. "Impressive. But not really all that special."
"That's where you're wrong," the Anarchist says with a laugh, scaring both his co-conspirators. He walks to the edge of the roof with a straight back and muscular arms folded over his chest. Once he reaches a spot where the artificial-sun can no longer bother him, he turns and looks at them through too-long, red-brown hair. "Grayson Carstairs is the only daughter—excuse my misleading choice of words; she is the only child—of Michael Carstairs." His voice holds a bittersweet malice; his eyes a lust for revenge of some sort. "In other words, the young Ms Carstairs is a very valuable asset."
"Yes, I got as much," the woman says irritably, trying to keep her voice low, yet failing miserably. Her annoyance is clear as day. "But why? Why is she such a valuable asset?"
The reasons for the Anarchist's childlike insistence on finding this girl have been a close guarded secret of his, but the woman thinks it's high time he tells them what they are—she and the other man deserve some answers.
"It means," the Anarchist says, drawing the last word out as for as long as he can, "that, not only does her head contain more unknown secret than the RFA-military, but she is also one of the few people who holds the balance of the war on the tips of her musical fingers."
He elaborates when he sees the blank, uncomprehending looks on the faces of his colleagues:
"If Grayson is killed by invading Radicals, her father will do everything in his power to slaughter the RFA-military. That way, we can sit back while they destroy each other, and pick up the pieces when they're done."
The woman smiles, finally understanding. The smile doesn't last long, though. "Why use Michael Carstairs' daughter? Wouldn't killing one of the Radical-princesses have the same consequences?"
The Anarchist doesn't miss a beat. "The Radical-princesses have been in hiding for almost ten years. No-one can find them. And besides, toying with the Edens is much more fun."
The smile returns. "You really are evil, aren't you?"
The Anarchist shrugs. "Evil is only a matter of perspective," he says, making his way back to the door through which he had come. "Let's go." He's talking to the other man. "Keep watching her. If she leaves her house, let me know immediately." And now he's talking to the woman. "I want to know every possible detail about Grayson's life. And," he adds as a sort of afterthought, "don't get caught. Nerian's government is a bitch when it comes to illegal weapons in its Colony."
"Will do," the woman says, returning to her tablet.
She doesn't even see the two men leave, but she hears the door slide shut with a hiss of finality.
"Grayson, time for dinner!"
Putting down my pencil with a sigh, I push my Latin homework away and head downstairs.
Just as I enter the foyer, I hear the voice that has haunted my nightmares for months; a voice that makes me stop in my tracks and my blood run cold as ice water.
My father.
"You need to enlist more discipline in his house, Maria!" Michael says angrily. "Grayson knows she needs to be downstairs for dinner at exactly seven o'clock; that's how I taught her. If you keep reminding her what the rules of the house are, she'll never learn to remember them on her own!"
I hear something bang down on the counter then; a pan, or maybe my dad's head. I smile at the idea.
As quietly as I can, I creep down the hallway, halting just outside the kitchen. Meme and Mute stand across from me, on the other side of the open doorway, also listening intently. Meme's tail is wagging nervously.
"Oh for the love of God, Michael! This argument is absolutely ridiculous!" my mother retorts with a tight voice. "And as long as you're off on some faraway planet, doing only you know what, I'll raise my daughter as I see fit!"
My mother dislikes shouting; she says it's no way to treat your vocal-chords. And to hear Maria put Michael in his place like that, using only her voice, frightens me more than my father does.
"I built this house for you, Maria, remember that. While you live here, you abide by my rules."
Unable to bear their bickering any longer, I step across the threshold and into the kitchen, anger burning in my eyes. "Don't talk to her like that."
Maria's head snaps up, her face a mixture of shock and shame. "Gray, sweetheart, how much of that did you hear?"
"Enough to make my wish that he would just die aboard one of those Godforsaken Eden-warships of his and get it over with already."
My father turns to me with a look of provoked rage on his handsome face. "Excuse me?"
I cross my arms over my chest defiantly, attempting to hide my shaking fingers. I can't lose my nerve now.
Stand strong, Gray, I tell myself, do it for Mom.
"I wish the RFA would destroy all the Eden-warships already; maybe then we could live in peace." I don't regret the words after they leave my mouth.
Michael takes a dangerous step towards me, and every nerve inside me screams at me to get away. "Don't talk about things you know nothing about, Grayson."
"Gray, stop," Maria warns at the same time, forcing me to look away from my father. "I can handle this on my own, thank you."
"No," I say, because honesty, I don't think she can handle this on her own. "He can't just leave for months on end, then come home out of the blue and start changing things like he's been here the whole damn time!"
"Is that what you think? That I willingly leave you and your mother alone while there's a war going on outside?" Michael asks, nostrils flaring in anger.
I nod, mostly to assure myself that I'm doing the right thing by siding with my mother. "I think Nerian in a Neutral Colony—our government is perfectly capable of keeping the war outside where it belongs—and if you really wanted to keep us safe, you wouldn't come anywhere near here, because it's you they want." I take a deep breath, my resolve building with each passing second until it threatens to explode. "But you're too selfish to do that, aren't you? You need your family to tell you how amazing you are and how the Edens should be in control of everything." Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have the courage to say the things I'm saying now, but I'm already pissed at my father for making my mother be someone she isn't; him coming home always just ends up making me angrier. "But God help me, I will kill myself before I admit to any of that."
"Grayson!" Maria says sharply, clearly appalled.
Michael closes the distance between us easily, and before I even have enough time to react, he's slapped me. My head reels back under impact.
"Michael!" my mother shouts, sinking onto one of the nearby barstools and covering her mouth with her hand.
The conflict is obviously too much for her to handle.
"I've given you everything, Grayson!" Michael shouts into my face; spit flying off his lips in an angry shower. "And what do I get in return? An ungrateful daughter, that's what!"
"You've given me nothing," I retort sharply, careful not to raise my voice to a shout. I will not be the bad guy here. I will not allow this man to turn the situation around and make me seem like some ungrateful bitch. And I've come this far, there's no turning back now. "Only tears and nightmares."
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Meme and Mute cowering beneath a table.
Michael raises his hand a second time, and I cringe out of habit. But before he can strike, and prove my previous statement, Maria intervenes:
"That is enough! Both of you, stop it immediately!" she shouts, looking at the tiled floor. Her strawberry-blonde hair shields her face; shields her angry expression.
"Michael, don't you dare raise your hand to my daughter again, or you and I will have some problems to sort out; and Grayson, do not speak to your father like that."
Her voice is calm and controlled, but holds enough rage to bring the entire Colony to its knees.
Michael turns to her with a look of shock crossing his features, as if he can't believe that those words had just come from his wife's mouth; in a way, she had defended him. I, too, stand looking at my mother with unblinking eyes.
Maria continues: "We are not going to fight tonight. This is your first night home after three months away, Michael, and I want to have a nice family dinner, with my family. If neither of you have anything constructive to say to or about each other, you will not say anything at all. Am I understood?"
Reluctantly, I nod.
Michael's answer comes in the form of a grunt as he moves towards the head of the dining table; Meme and Mute scurry out from beneath it as fast as they can.
In an attempt to annoy him, I say, "That's where Mom sits."
My father glares at me with hateful eyes, but takes the seat across from my nevertheless. It occurs to me, then, for the first time that maybe he doesn't want to fight any more and I do.
I push the thought away. My father is evil; he is selfish.
The rest of the dinner is painful at best. No-one says anything, and my father spends his time brutally cutting his meat into uneven squares.
By the time Maria gives me permission to leave the table, I am left with the conviction that my father hates me.
Later that night, I pick up my tablet from the small table next to my bed and unlock it.
I had downloaded a romance novel—per recommendation of my best-friend, Tatiana—earlier this month that I hadn't had time to finish reading yet.
At first, I had found the book tedious, but I quite like it now. The chemistry between the two main characters, Tracey and Adam, interests me. I don't know much about love, and it seems to me as if Tracy and Adam do.
I find the folder I'm looking for on the home-screen and start reading:
Tracey stood on the edge of the platform, her hands resting on the green-painted railing. The platform offered a view of the waterfall, magnificent just as Adam had said it would be, as well as the mountains and the trees in the background.
The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in red and gold and orange. The sunset of Tracey's dreaMs
"Tracey!" she hear her name from below. "Look down!"
Cautiously, Tracey stepped closer to the edge of the platform. She knew she couldn't fall, the railing was too high, but it still made her nervous.
The deafening sound of wind and water filled her ears.
I look up, my heart pounding. Is Tracey going to fall? Will this be the end of their awesome love story? No, I can't be. Tatiana had promised that the novel didn't have a sad ending.
I read on:
When Tracey finally managed to scrape together enough courage, she looked down and, just for a moment, her heart stopped beating.
Then a smile broke out on her face.
Adam, with his perfect black hair and vivid green eyes, stood on a small island far below the platform. He had a bullhorn in his left and what looked like a grin on his face.
Next to him, packed neatly onto the sand, the words TRACEY, WILL YOU MARRY ME? were spelled out in white stones. Tracey wondered if people would be able to see the sentence from space, so big were the words.
"Nod if you say yes," Adam called over the bullhorn. "Walk away if you say no."
As a joke, Tracey pretended to push away from the railing. Adam's face fell immediately. She turned back to him, laughing, nodding and crying at the same time.
Adam looked relieved.
I turn the tablet off. I've read enough for one night.
I don't want to finish the book too quickly, because that means I'd have to find something else. I have no energy for that.
Sleep claims me the minute I order the light off.
