Folsom (End of Men, #1)(48)

I kiss her hard when I leave for the party. She’s lying on her back on the sofa, one leg stretched out in front of her, the other trailing the floor, reading a book. There is something about the casual way she occupies this space that gives me a rush of longing so intense I have to look away. What would it be like to always walk into a room and see her? I find such comfort at the sight of her long hair, half straight and half wavy like God couldn’t decide which to give her so he mixed it up. She’s wearing one of my shirts and it falls off her right shoulder, giving me access to her skin. I kiss her there, and then on her neck. When she leans into me moaning, I head for the door before I can make myself late. It’s a relief that she doesn’t want to go, not because I don’t want her with me, but because I think she’ll be safer if she keeps her face out of the news for a while. She’s full of things to say; I can see the opinions flashing across her eyes every time she looks at me. I can also see her bite them back, not wanting to be chastised for having them. In another world Gwen would be refreshing, in this world she is dangerous.

Protesters are lined on either side of the gate outside the compound and even more are outside of the Council of Affairs, where tonight’s party is being held. Pictures of our faces are on their posters: I see one of Marcus and flinch. How long until the public finds out about what’s happened to him and they start to panic? Would it aid Gwen’s cause or harm it? Their demands for a replacement could place Laticus in danger.

I remember the honor I felt, the adrenaline of being the most famous human in the Regions. But the elation hadn’t lasted. Year after year of meaningless interactions have left me dry on the inside. At first it felt as if I were cracking, the lack of life and warmth, and then it felt like nothing at all. I was relieved for the comfortable numbness, which was better than the alternative. And then a wild-haired girl asked if she could try on my boots and a crack appeared.

I sigh deeply as we drive through the gate, the parting of metal. I count twice as many posters extolling Gwen and her ideas than posters of the End Men, her quotes slashed angrily across the white backgrounds, slapping anyone in the face who dares to look. A truth of marker and poster board. There could be a torrential downpour destroying every single one of those signs, turning them into pulp, and her words would still live inside of the people who hold them. Words are a powerful weapon and they never die.

The party is held on a rooftop. The open air encourages some life in me, a change from the stifling bedrooms. I smile when I should, get groped, and try to be on my best behavior. Several times throughout the night, I catch Petite watching me. I’m about to excuse myself from a group that’s been discussing the weather for fifteen minutes, a topic so banal I want to whip out my dick just to see what happens, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and see Diana standing behind me, wrapped in peach silk. It’s the first time I’ve noticed a resemblance between her and Gwen. She smiles faintly and motions that we need to talk.

I excuse myself and follow her to a quiet corner. Crisis averted, dick tucked safely in my pants.

“Gwen says she’s feeling fine, but I wasn’t sure if I could trust her to tell me the truth,” she says. “And that article she posted—Folsom…” She shakes her head, her eyes cloudy with concern.

I grit my teeth. “She doesn’t quite comprehend the magnitude of what she’s doing. Talk to her, Diana. She’s not listening to me.”

“She’s staying at the compound with you. When the media finds out, they’re going to—” She never finishes her sentence because we’re interrupted by Governor Petite.

“May I request that you speak a few words tonight? To reassure the people after some of the rumors circulating.”

“What rumors are those?” I’m baiting her, but the look on her face, the self-righteous air…I need to get away from her.

Her lips pull into a tight line and she glances at Diana. “I’m afraid Gwen has stirred some negative feelings toward the End Men with her recent writings. The Society has requested that you ease their minds. Reassure them that you believe in the cause.”

Did they now?

“No.”

Her head draws back as if I’ve slapped her.

“No?” she repeats. “Must I remind you that this is your job and—”

I cut her off. “If the Society wants something said, they can say it themselves.”

I can feel Diana stir beside me. Her daughter’s reputation and safety at risk, I wonder briefly if she will say something to defend her, but in the end, there is only silence. She’s a coward, I realize. Just like everyone else.

“Folsom, don’t you think it’s in your very best interest to comply?” Petite tries to reason with me.

I smile stiffly. “I am here!” I spread my arms. Drink still in hand, several people pause in their conversations to look over at us. “Complying…” I give her a little bow before I disappear into the crowd, one thought repeating itself: I have to go home. To Gwen.





TWENTY-FOUR





GWEN


I tell myself to stay off of the Silverbook, but I’m getting dinged nonstop with notifications. When Folsom has been gone for close to two hours, I cave and open it up, reading some of them.

Thank you for sharing the truth with us. I knew there was something suspect about the way these men were kept isolated from the rest of us.