Creators(28)

“It deserved to die,” my father said softly. I wasn’t like most of the naturals, who would consider the death of any chosen one a good thing. Because I loved a chosen one. I couldn’t just write off his death because he was different. Just as James could not write off the death of my people because we were naturals. And while in the end I knew it was the deformed chosen one’s death or mine, and I would always choose life, it didn’t mean I would be happy about it.

“You learned a good lesson today, Tessie,” my father said, pulling my attention away from the body.

“A good lesson?” I scoffed. “This isn’t the piano! This isn’t the kind of lesson a parent should teach his child,” I spat.

“Isn’t it, though? Look at the world we are in. Isn’t this the best lesson I could ever teach you?”

I shook my head. “And what am I supposed to learn from this violence? This death?”

My dad placed both of his hands on my face. “You’re supposed to learn how much you want to live. You’re supposed to learn what you’ll have to accomplish in order to do so,” he replied, his voice cracking. “I wish it were different. This world. Us. But it is what it is, and it won’t ever change unless we change it. And that means doing things, ugly things.”

I reached up and pulled my father’s hands from my face. I swallowed back the emotions that crept up from within me as I saw the tears pool in his eyes. “What’s changed?” I asked, averting my eyes from his face. “You didn’t want me involved. You wanted me to sit back and follow your lead. Trust you.”

“I wanted to keep you safe. But I was foolish to think you’d sit back and let me. You’re a fighter—I can see that. Too much like me. So, if you’re going to fight, I’d rather be the one to teach you.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded. Despite everything, a part of me soared at hearing my father tell me that I was like him. That I was a fighter. Even though his bloody lesson was nowhere near that piano from my childhood, for a second, just a second, I felt like that little girl again.

“I wouldn’t have let the thing kill you. If you needed me, I would have saved you. But I knew you wouldn’t need me, and I needed you to know that, too.”

I should have been angry with him, but I wasn’t. I felt different as I walked with my father back to the community in silence. Like some fire had been lit inside of me. It didn’t burn me through like Henry’s fire, but, instead, it guided me. A light in the darkness.

A purpose. Was this the feeling my father searched for when he left?

“I’m sorry for not telling you about the letters,” he said when we reached the dining hall. “I know what it is to love like that,” he added quietly.

I raised an eyebrow. I hadn’t ever remembered seeing affection shared between my parents.

“Your mother wasn’t always the woman you knew. She was different before the world completely went to hell. She was a lot like—”

“Louisa,” I finished. “I know. They were always so close. You should go see her.” My father opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. “She needs you. I know things with us haven’t been easy since you’ve been back, but I’m still glad you’re here. She needs you, too,” I repeated.

My father took a deep breath, running a hand over his face. “I’ll go see her now. All right?”

I nodded. Everything, momentarily, was all right.

…

“If you’re not going to eat that, I’ll sure as hell take it,” Stephanie said to Henry, reaching over and grabbing a piece of meat off his plate with her fork.

“Who said I wasn’t going to eat it? You know what they say about people who assume things?” he asked. I looked up at Henry, expecting to find a scowl or at least a sense of stoniness, but he was grinning at Stephanie.

When I had spotted Henry and Stephanie sitting together at dinner, I didn’t think I would be interrupting something if I sat with them. My body was still tingling and jumpy from my encounter with the chosen one, and I had hoped listening to them prattle on would be enough to calm my nerves.

Stephanie laughed. It was much brighter, lighter than I had expected from someone like her. “You were batting it around like you had invented a new sport,” she said, reaching over again for a second piece.

Henry chuckled and pushed his plate in front of Stephanie. She grinned even wider. “And what exactly do they say about people who assume things?”

“That you make an ass out of you and me,” I spoke up, finishing their lame joke. For some reason their happiness was rubbing me the wrong way, and it wasn’t because of jealousy. As I shoveled the food into my mouth, the high I experienced after proving I could handle myself was fading. Something else was replacing it.