The Deathless Trilogy

2.4. The Boy with Sunshine Eyes

He sits hunched over with his hands together on his knees, which have stopped shaking at the sight of me. He's wearing fancy clothes I've never seen him in before: a shiny navy blue suit, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a white button down beneath it, and a loose gold tie hanging between his thighs. His sunshine eyes smile at me first.

He springs to his feet, and I drop Frankenstein on the table by the door. Neither of us say a word. I'm angry and confused, but as much as I want to yell at him, all I can think to say to break the silence is, "We were born for each other."

His eyes fill with tears, and he sighs in relief, despite the accusatory tone in my voice. We were born for each other, so where were you? I want to say.

"You saved my life," he says. "You saved all of us at the bunker." He steps closer, and lifts his strong, tan hands to my face. His thumbs brush lightly over my skin, which still stings with sensitivity. But I don't stop him. I've waited months to feel his touch again, even if I'm angry.

"You're burned. How do you feel? I can get you more ointment if it hurts."

He turns to head into the adjoining bathroom before I can answer. "I'm fine," I say, and he spins back to face me. His eyes are wide with sadness and guilt, like they always are after one of our fights. But this time there's something else there too. Fear.

"I can't believe you're actually here," he says, and the word 'actually' sparks my anxiety.

"Show me your arms."

He must know what I'm looking for, because he lifts his sleeves and shows me the empty place on his arms where a control pad would be if he were implanted. But his honey brown skin is as it always has been: smooth and clear. I run my hands over his forearms, aching to kiss him again, like I did in the bunker. But I snap out of my daze. I need answers.

"Do you have any idea where they were keeping me?" I ask him. I do my best not to let my voice tremble with anger.

His nostrils flare as he nods. "I'm... I'm sorry didn't get you. I couldn't."

"I'm mad at you," I say, trying my best to fight off the urge to just wrap him in my arms and forgive him. But that would be too easy. He is one of the leaders here, isn't he? He has some explaining to do.

"Why couldn't you get me?" I ask.

"I woke up this morning from the knock out gas. I never meant for you to be in there for three days."

"Three days?" It felt like weeks.

He takes my hand and leads me to sit on the bed. I want to slap him away and yell at him, but our fingers fit so perfectly together, it feels like a crime to untangle them now.

I sit beside him on the gold and cream bed, and finally take a moment to breathe in the room. Burgundy carpet flows beneath my feet, and the color creeps up onto the walls, outlined in cream and gold trim. A crystal chandelier hangs over us with sculpted shards of crystal, like daggers suspended from the fixture's gold arms. The walls are lit with faux golden torches, whose light burns like fire against the red walls.

It's a room of beautiful death.

"We have to get out of here," I say. "How are you one of the leaders?"

He shakes his head. "They need me."

"Well too bad, we're leaving."

"We can't."