Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(30)
Maybe my shopping trip with Taylor won’t be wasted tomorrow. It’s hard to admit, but there is a part of me that appreciates the trappings of my new life. Guilt washes over me, just like it does anytime I’m tempted to enjoy any part of this imprisonment. I tell myself it’s part of my makeup, a trait built in by the Creator. Raven Rogen likes nice things; therefore, so do I. But I am not entirely certain of the fact. Up until now, I haven’t admitted it to anyone, not fully—least of all myself.
But now, I let my imagination wander as it concocts an image of a dazzling, glittery dress that clings perfectly to my figure, comfortable and elegant and beautiful. I imagine my hair pinned up high on my head, without a care of my tattoo and who might see it. For a moment, I pretend I can do whatever I want with my body. I pretend I can pick whoever I want to accompany me.
Linc would see the dress and stand speechless, all of his unspoken compliments in his eyes. When he spoke, it would be to tell me how beautiful I look. How I was truly his angel brought to life. We would go the party and dance, him in a tuxedo and me in my perfect dress. And no one would threaten to harm us for dancing or laughing or touching. We would be free. Even if only for that night.
I imagine the faces of my friends surrounding us. Ida, Lonnie, Obadiah, Morton, Anna, all of them wearing beautiful clothes. Smiling and laughing and dancing. All of us free.
The Creator gone. Never to return.
The picture of Titus, even destroyed, is fleeting, but those few seconds are all it takes. The impossibility of my desire is too much. It comes crashing down around me like a wave capsizing a ship. Just like that, my dream is swallowed up by an ocean of impossibility, the remnants splintered into pieces.
I curl into a tighter ball, slipping under the covers with the lamp still on. I don’t care about sleep so much as escape. For me. For them.
Daniel.
Thoughts of leaving always bring me back to him, locked away with his secrets and what’s left of my promise to free him. My chin juts. Despite all he’s done—maybe even because of it—I can’t leave without him. Linc won’t understand. Obadiah will help if I ask, but I don’t know any of the right questions. As always, thoughts of the impossibilities frustrate me and I hit a wall. My brain shuts down. There is nowhere else to go. Nothing I’ve been taught or given has equipped me for subterfuge.
My eyes burn so I shut them, refusing to shed a single tear. And because it is the only possible thing from my dream, I promise myself that tomorrow, I will find that dress. I will.
Chapter Ten
Maria wakes me early the next morning with a gentle shake and a murmur of foreign words. She rolls a cart of food and juice over to the chair across the room and clatters the plates until I rouse. I rub my sleepy eyes and try to keep my mind blank for as long as possible. Thoughts from yesterday, of Melanie, of marks and tattoos, of Authentics and Imitations blending together threaten but I shove them away and concentrate on the smell of eggs and coffee.
“Good morning,” Maria says. She is not overly friendly but she at least speaks to me now. I thought something might change after our conversation weeks ago, when I’d spoken kindly of her daughter, but she’d remained distant yet cordial. Speaking only when necessary. I can’t blame her. One conversation isn’t nearly enough to erase the fear that goes along with being employed by someone like Titus. And we are never truly alone with our words.
“Good morning,” I return, sitting primly at the edge of the chair and placing the napkin in my lap like she taught me. “It smells wonderful,” I add.
Maria gives me a slanted look and I stop talking and eat. The eggs are salty and the coffee is hot. Despite having experienced a meal like this every day for weeks now, I savor every bite, relishing the richness of the ingredients before me. I think of the sparse supply of bacon sometimes available in Twig City, and what Lonnie is willing to do for an extra piece. A pang accompanies the memory of our last breakfast together. I wish I’d comforted Ida more, hugged them tighter.
“Mr. Rogen left instructions for you to dress for the track today,” Maria says, fishing a tank top out of my dresser and laying it across my newly made bedcovers. She produces a pair of stretchy shorts from another drawer and adds it to the pile of clothes laid out.
I keep silent, not wanting to be overly kind but unwilling to be discourteous. I finish eating and set my utensils aside as Maria collects the dishes and stacks them neatly on the cart.
I change into the clothes Maria provided, double-knotting my laces before letting her tie my hair into a high ponytail. When she’s finished, Maria’s finger brushes over my tattoo. I pretend not to notice. She’s never mentioned it and I’ve never asked, unsure what Titus has told her. I assume the last Raven had a tattoo in the same place, which at the very least makes mine familiar territory.
“Someone will be here to escort you shortly,” Maria says as she leaves.
The prospect of a run raises my spirits. It allows me to escape in a way that I can’t experience otherwise. Running opens up my muscles, allows me to push myself and extend my limits. Something I am discouraged from any other time.
I wonder briefly if I’ll see Linc today as a knock sounds on my door. “Come in.”
Alton walks in, a voice droning out of the two-way radio strapped to his hip. He reaches down and mutes it. “Are you ready for your workout, Miss Rogen?” His words are clipped and sharp. He doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual.