The Sky is Everywhere

Chapter Fifteen

Panic seizes my chest in an iron grip, making it hard to breathe.

I cannot get caught here.

Under any other circumstance, I'd only be worried about the threat of Isolation, but that punishment will be nothing compared to the fact that the Handlers will start to keep a much closer eye on me if I'm found snooping in Records, especially since they'll then check in with Nurse Barrett and find out that I drugged her.

If the Handlers start watching me, there will be no more sneaking off to my blind spot down by the fence.

There will be no more Roan.

Frantically, I cast about the room, but there's only one place to hide.

As the door-handle turns, I shut the file and push it back into the stack, and then I duck under the desk, wedging myself as far back into the small space as I can.

If someone is just coming in for a file, or any other kind of documentation, then I stand a good chance of not being seen. The light isn't great in this little room, and the space beneath the desk is a pool of shadow. But if someone sits at the desk . . . the moment they pull the chair up and try and get their legs under here, they'll find me.

My heart is frantic, a trapped bird hurling itself against a window, over and over again, and I try to concentrate on taking slow, silent breaths.

The door opens.

". . . hope you understand that I'm taking a big risk here," a voice says.

It's Fletcher.

I press myself even harder against the back of the desk.

"I know, I just . . . thought it would be fun," says another voice, and my pulse stutters.

That's Cole.

What is she doing here?

What's going on?

Then I hear the sound of kissing, and things grimly click into place.

Fletcher and Cole.

Fletcher and Cole.

This is . . . this is wrong.

Relationships are not encouraged among Seconds, but they are absolutely forbidden between Handlers and Seconds for obvious reasons. Handlers are here to train and teach and monitor and take care of us.

The desk jolts slightly as if someone has hit it, and someone – I think it's Cole – gives a faint moan.

"You like that?" Fletcher says.

I've never had much love for the man, but something about his voice right then makes me shudder. It feels like oil sliding over my skin.

"Y-yes," Cole whimpers.

"You want more?"

She doesn't answer, but I guess she nods or something, because then he says, "You know what to do."

There's the faint jingle of a belt buckle and then a zipper sliding down.

I close my eyes.

I don't want to be here.

I don't want to be hearing any of this.

I want to plug my ears with my fingers, but I'm afraid to move, even for that.

Seconds are taught about sex from the moment we hit puberty, at the same time that we are put on mandatory birth control, so even though I've never had sex, or anything close, I know what's happening on the other side of that desk.