The point is, they can’t find us.
We are safe.
The last thought makes me feel like a fraud.
“You need to let it go,” Zen urges gently. “Forget about everything that happened before. I’ll never let them take you back there.”
Before. Them. There.
They’ve become our code words for the things we don’t dare talk about.
That other life that Zen wants so desperately to forget.
That other place where I was held prisoner in a lab.
That other time when science has the ability to create perfect human beings out of air.
Before we came here.
I think we’re both terrified that if we actually utter the word Diotech aloud, they might hear us. Our voices will somehow reverberate through the very fabric of time, travel five hundred years into the future, and echo off the high, security-patrolled walls of the compound, giving away our location.
“Dwelling on it won’t do you any good,” he continues. “It’s in the past.”
I smile weakly. “Well, technically, it’s in the future.”
He bumps playfully against my shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
I do. It’s a past I’m supposed to have forgotten. A past that’s supposed to be erased from my memory. I have no actual recollection of Diotech, the biotechnology company that created me. My final request before we escaped was that every detail of my life there be completely wiped from my mind. All I have now are Zen’s accounts of the top-secret compound in the middle of the desert and a few abridged memories that he stole so that he could show me the truth about who I was.
But apparently that’s enough to populate nightmares.
“Do you miss it in the slightest?” I say, surprised by my own bluntness.
I can feel Zen’s body stiffen next to me and he stares straight ahead. “No.”
I should know by now not to ask questions like this. They always put Zen in an unpleasant mood. I made this mistake several times after we first arrived, when I tried to talk to him about anything related to Diotech—Dr. Rio, Dr. Alixter, Dr. Maxxer—and he simply shut down. Refused to speak. But now the question is already out. I can’t take it back. Plus, I want to know. I feel like I have to.
“But you left behind everything,” I argue. “Your family, your friends, your home. How can you say that you don’t miss it?”
“I had nothing there,” Zen replies, and the sudden sharpness in his voice stings. “Except a mother who cared more about her latest research project than her own family. And a father who left because of it. My friends were friends of convenience. Who else was I going to hang out with when I was never allowed to leave the compound? You weren’t the only one who felt like a prisoner there. So no, I don’t miss that at all.”
I can tell immediately that I’ve gone too far. I’ve upset him. And that’s the last thing I wanted to do. But this is also the most information I’ve ever gotten about Zen’s parents. He never speaks of them. Ever. Which only makes me want to press further, but the rigidness of his face warns me that it would be unwise.
“Sorry,” I offer softly.
Out of the corner of my vision I see his jawline relax and he finally turns to look at me. “No, I’m sorry.”
It’s a genuine apology. I can tell by the way it reaches his eyes.
He rises to his feet, struggling slightly, as though the action requires more effort than it should. Then he brushes the damp dirt from the back of his breeches and holds out a hand for me to take. “C’mon, Cinnamon. Everyone will be up soon. You should get dressed.”
His use of the nickname Cinnamon makes me chuckle, effectively lightening the mood. It’s a popular term of endearment in this time period that we picked up from the husband and wife who own the farmhouse where we’ve been living.
I take his hand and he pulls me to my feet. But he doesn’t let go once I’m standing. He keeps pulling me toward him until our faces are a mere fraction of an inch apart. “It’ll get easier,” he whispers, bringing the conversation back to the reason I came out here in the first place. “Try to forget.” He places his hands on the sides of my face and softly touches his lips to mine.
The taste of him erases everything else. The way it always does. And just for that moment, there is no there, there is no them, there is no before. There is only us. There is only now.
But I know eventually the moment will end. Because that’s what moments do. And sooner or later, I will be doubled over the side of that bed again, fighting for air. Because even though I have no real memory of the former life that haunts me, I still can’t do what he wants me to do.