Unforgotten(102)

That would certainly be faster. A more efficient way to end my own suffering. And the suffering of everyone who I’ve hurt—and even killed.

But strangely, in that moment, there’s only one place I want to go.

There’s only one face I want to see. Only one person who could possibly understand what I’m feeling.

The problem is, I don’t know where he is.

But for some reason I have this perplexing nagging feeling that it doesn’t matter. That I don’t need to know. I’ve never actually tried transessing to a person before. It’s always been to a place or time.

However, right now I feel him calling to me. Not his voice. Not with words. But just … him.

I gently twist the broken chain three times around my wrist, securing the open heart-shaped charm under the wrap. Then I close my eyes and focus my attention on his face.

The tiniest drop of warmth spreads through my icy-cold body.

But right now, it’s enough.

When I open my eyes, I find myself in a cramped, dimly lit room. It’s a stark contrast to the massive command center I just left. There are no windows here. No sleek glass or crisp white furniture. No warm, blazing fireplace or glossy countertops.

All the extravagance is replaced with dirty metal and rusted pipes and paint peeling from a cold floor.

But one thing brightens the room more than any window. More than any fireplace. One piece of incomparable beauty sits alone in the dreariness, slumped on a hard metal bench.

Kaelen opens his eyes when he hears me approach. He smiles, somewhat dazedly, the effects of the Modifier starting to wear off.

I don’t allow myself to think. I don’t allow myself to feel or doubt or analyze or argue.

I bound forward.

In one step, I reach him.

In one breath, my lips are crushed against his.

In one stuttered, confused heartbeat, he’s kissing me back.

It’s impossible to know how he learned what to do. I have no doubt this was not one of the many instructional downloads he received before setting off on his mission. Perhaps it’s just something we’re born knowing. Or in our case, created knowing.

Because he does.

His mouth moves perfectly in sync with mine. Anticipating me, completing me. His hands find their way up my back, his fingertips urging me closer. I collapse into him. Press against him. Disappear inside him.

The intensity of the energy that passes between us is unlike anything I’ve ever known. Now. Or before. Or ever.

It’s the highest voltage. The strongest current. The brightest light. The fastest wind. The highest mountain. The deepest breath.

It’s raw and powerful and untamed.

And right now, it’s the only thing keeping me alive. It’s the electricity that fuels me. Like being plugged directly into the sun.

Kaelen breaks from my mouth long enough to gasp for breath and ask, “What is that?”

“You feel it, too?” I ask.

He nods earnestly.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

But I do know I want more.

We dive for each other again. Our mouths aching for each other. I reach for his shirt, yanking it up over his head. I have no idea why I’m doing it, I just know I have to touch his skin. And he has to touch mine.

We have to be closer. Closer than I’ve ever been to anything.

My sweater comes off next and in a blurred instant, we’re pressed back together. The feel of his bare chest against mine is indescribable. The previous sensation times a trillion.

My whole body is tingling. I want something. But I don’t know what.

It’s like my whole body is alert, waiting for it. Expecting it. Knowing it will not be satisfied until it gets it.

I haven’t felt this way since …

Since …

In a sickening flash, I see it. I remember.

That night in the woods. Our last night together. I was taken over by an unfamiliar urge. An unfamiliar need. When I asked Zen about it later, he tried to explain.

“Something that will bring us closer together. As close together as we can be.”

I pull back, disentangling myself from Kaelen, sitting up. He pants beside me, his face registering confusion.

“Why did you stop?” he asks.

I clutch my sweater in my hand and quickly slide it over my head. “I can’t do this.”

He doesn’t understand. I know that. “I’m sorry,” I tell him.

He sits up, reaches out, and touches my face. Tenderly. Kindly. There’s no trace of the boy I met in that bedroom two days ago.

The one powered by Alixter.

The one driven by a program.

This is someone else. Someone new. Someone buried deep inside. Who never knew how to get out.

Who never knew he could.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says softly.

I shake my head, willing the tears to stop. They don’t listen. He catches one on his fingertip and studies it carefully. As though he’s never seen one before.