Reverie - Part II
A three-part novella about dream and memory
WARNING: Reverie includes themes of trauma, physical injury (limb and eye loss), postpartum psychosis, and a traumatic birth scene involving infant loss. If you’re in a tender place, please take care while reading.
Part II
June wore an extra jacket to work as the Kol sun set over South Gate. It was never cold inside 512, especially in well-ventilated areas, but the extra bulk gave her, perhaps misguidedly, a sense of safety.
On the landing three levels above South Gate, she stopped to catch her breath and turned her face to the wall to avoid others on the stairwell. Her gaze landed on a large poster.
Most people in 512 spoke Common, but Null was the preferred language. She’d learned to speak it fluently after a year, but she still couldn’t read or write it. This poster was in Common, meant for citizens or Ex-Citizens. The background was black, the words white. Above them stood a minimalistic figure with one arm.
Dumping not allowed.
On a normal day, it wouldn’t have bothered her. She could usually shake off being called Edon’s trash. But it wasn’t a normal day. She couldn’t stop thinking about pizza. About Jek. About the way he’d looked at her, like he saw past the dirt, like she wasn’t trash at all.
He’d been so unfiltered. So direct. It rattled her. She didn’t like how he pointed out things she tried to keep hidden. The conversation replayed over and over in her mind, and she picked it apart, wondering if she’d said too much. He must have thought she was ungrateful to her parents, a silly girl with a crush on a boy, trying to impress him with a song.
She shouldn’t have let herself imagine it was a date. That he was a suitor. That she was a different version of June. That version should have stayed comatose.
Jek had unwrapped her with his eyes. Not her clothes, but her soul. He didn’t just want to know how she’d ended up Ex-Cited. He wanted to know her. It had been too easy to talk to him.
What if she hadn’t pushed him away? What if she’d gone to the Library? But Frank had said all the right things, and look where that had gotten her.
The electric candle factory didn’t officially hire Ex-Cits, and it said so on the front doors in Common. But Maven had connections. As long as the owners weren’t coming by, she and others could work in the back.
She signed in and took her place beside Sena, a woman with auburn hair and one green eye. They smiled in greeting but didn’t speak until the shift whistle blew. The conveyor belt whirred, and small electric candles slid toward them. They flipped the switches, checked for cracks and bubbles, tossed out the defective ones, and pocketed the ones that worked but looked imperfect.
She longed for real candles, wax and wick, flame and smoke. She wondered if her mother still made them, if she’d be ashamed to see her daughter inspecting fake ones under flickering factory lights. June imagined her parents didn’t speak her name anymore. They probably told people she’d died in a tragic accident. Maybe they told each other she never existed.
“Have you heard of a place called the Library?” she asked Sena, glancing toward the manager’s office. He sat reclined, feet on the desk, watching a show on his tablet.
“No,” Sena said, yawning. She nearly missed a candle.
“I met someone.”
Sena gave her a look, something between pity and surprise.
“He said they have free food. Clothing. Medical.”
Sena frowned. “Nothing’s free.”
True enough. The factory light caught in Sena’s eye. For the first time, June wanted to ask where she’d come from. But it was an unspoken rule among Ex-Cits.
“No crusting chit-chat!” the manager shouted, though no one had been talking loudly. Sena rolled her eye and looked down. They returned to testing candle after candle until the line shifted to packaging.
When the shift ended, June took her pay in New Krone and made her way back down toward South Gate. The Kol sun was rising now, casting reddish-gold light across the market crowds gathering near the elevator.
She bought two sandwiches and tucked them into her jacket pocket. One was meant as payment for the Reverie. On a normal day, she would have gone straight to Maven. But this wasn’t a normal day.
A head and a half taller than the crowd, Jek stood out immediately. He was looking down at something in his hands as he slipped into a bodega.
She froze, then ducked into the shadow of a wall beside a dentist’s office. She touched the sandwiches in her pocket, her heart pounding. What was she doing? Would he even want to see her after she’d told him to leave her alone?
She watched the stream of people move past, some heading to work, others browsing stalls. No one gave her a second glance. Better that way. She almost walked away.
Then he stepped out of the bodega, a plastic bag slung from his elbow, a drink in one hand.
“Jek,” she said.
He didn’t hear her. Her voice never carried when she needed it to. She gathered the last of her courage and caught up, bumping his arm.
He turned, startled, then smiled, wide and warm, scattering her fear like dust.
“Goldie,” he said. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
She felt herself blush and hated how easily embarrassment found her. Someone grumbled behind them for blocking foot traffic.
“Where are you headed?” he asked, stepping closer to make room and leaning an ear toward her voice.
“Just got off work,” she said, trying to sound louder, clearer. “Are you hungry?”
“Pretty much always.”
She tilted her head and extended her arm, half-playful, as if offering to escort him. His eyebrows lifted, but he hooked his arm through hers and let her lead the way. They passed through the city gates under the great metal arch. The noise of the market dulled as they stepped outside, between the city and the boundary of the artificial atmosphere.
“Looks like a storm’s rolling in,” Jek said.
She sat with her back against a wall, gazing at the massive cloud building on the horizon. The sky was the color of rust.
To see the wind and dust raging silently against 512’s invisible barrier was both amazing and terrifying. It made her feel like she was living under a glass bowl.
Jek lowered himself beside her. “Wonder how long this one’ll last.”
The longest one she’d seen had lasted three Kol weeks. During that time, the city dimmed, and South Gate grew grimmer.
“Not a fan?” he asked.
She realized she’d been frowning out at the cloud too long. “Just not used to it yet,” she said. “But I bet you are.”
He shrugged. “I kind of like ’em. Grow up with something and it feels normal.”
“What’s 467 like?” she asked, pulling out the sandwiches.
“It’s more organized. Not much underground, just trains and maintenance. Streets are wide enough for vehicles. There’s a big skyscraper in the center, military base.” He eyed the sandwich she offered.
“It’s not poisoned,” she said.
He wiped his hands on his pants. “I don’t want to take your food.”
“It’s extra,” she said, setting it beside him. “And still hot.”
He cleared his throat, then picked it up.
“What do you do for work?” he asked, unwrapping it.
She laid hers in her lap and peeled it open. “Night shift at a chandelier.”
“A what?”
“A factory. Makes electric candles.”
“Huh. So what exactly do you do?”
“Inspect and package them.”
“And you like it?”
She thought. “Not particularly. But there’s not much an Ex-Cit can do. What do you do? At the library.”
“Facilities Maintenance Specialist,” he said, mock-formal.
“Like… custodian?”
“And—” he held up a finger, “Security Enforcement Specialist.”
She laughed. “You like it?”
He nodded enthusiastically, mid-bite. “Oh for sure. I love it. Very fulfilling.”
She chewed slowly. Custodial work, fulfilling?
“We’re looking for a teacher,” he said after a pause. “Vivian, the woman who runs the place, wants to start a school.”
He was pitching it.
“I can’t read or write in Null. I’m not qualified.”
“Teaching’s the best way to learn, right?”
She side-eyed him.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
“A year. A Kol year.” Almost two Edon years. Her daughter wouldn’t be a baby anymore. She’d be walking, talking.
“You speak it fluently already,” he said, pulling her back. “You’re a fast learner.”
She snorted. “I don’t think the underclass want me teaching their kids.”
“Why not?”
She turned her face fully toward him, letting him see the full view of her missing eye. He raised his brows as if to say, That’s it? She shook her head and went back to her sandwich.
“So why’d you go to Vasilika?” he asked.
She’d thought it was obvious. “For school.”
“No, I mean, you said you didn’t want to. So why go?”
Her turn, she thought. He’d already given her something vulnerable. But there was danger in this line of thinking, like fire. Desperate for the warmth, she drew closer to the flames.
“I was afraid,” she admitted.
“Of what?” His gaze didn’t flinch.
She swallowed. “Of disappointing my parents.”
He let out a slow breath.
“And I fell in love.”
“The boy from the party?” he asked.
She nodded.
“He turn out to be a jerk?”
She shook her head. “No, Frank was good.”
It was me.
Jek waited, expecting more.
“He’s probably still in Vasilika. Working on his political career.”
And raising our daughter.
She stared at her sandwich, appetite gone.
“What about your family? What do your sisters do?”
“Melanie and Zinnia. They run the daycare my mom and I started. I go back for New Year’s, and they’ve visited once, but… this isn’t the safest destination.”
She nodded.
“What brought you here?” she said, picking at the bread.
“I, uh—” His ears flushed. “Well, it’s kind of a long story. But I was going to be discharged because of my… problem with handling blood. They gave me a few months to fix it, stationed me here at the embassy. Met Vivian. And stayed.”
That didn’t sound like the whole story.
“What do you mean, fix it?”
“Exposure therapy.” He grimaced and crunched up the wrapper into a ball.
“You mean…”
He nodded. “Yeah. It kind of backfired. I found myself on the floor a lot.”
“And you met Vivian how?”
He crossed his arms, rocked slightly. “I… tried to murder her?”
“What?”
He glanced at her, face tight. “It was a misunderstanding. I was a different man then. And we’re good now. She’s family.”
“I’d like to hear that story someday.”
“I get to hear the rest of yours first,” he said, warmth returning.
“Nah,” she said. “It’s a terrible one. I could make one up, if you like.”
“No way. I told you mine. No faking it now.”
She bit the inside of her cheek.
“Oh,” he said, grabbing his bag. “Almost forgot.” He rummaged, then pulled something out and held it toward her.
A shell, peach pink, sharp on the outside, iridescent within. She gasped.
“I think it’s real,” he said. “Guy said it was from Edon.”
She stared at it. It shimmered like a memory.
“It’s for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw it, thought of you. At the ocean.”
It was the most valuable gift anyone had ever given her.
“It’s too much,” she said, voice tight.
“It’s yours.” He held it out again.
She picked it up, weightless in her palm. The size of a fingernail.
“It’s… beautiful.”
“Just like you,” he said easily, like it was a simple truth. And suddenly, she could imagine it.
Pretend it was three years ago. She was June Aurelia Mills. Not broken. Not an Ex-Cit. She was young, lovely, and full of music. Jek was a handsome suitor, and maybe this was their first or second date.
“You’re a little old for me, aren’t you?” she said.
A twinkle lit his eye. “How old do you think I am?”
“Thirty?”
“Nope.”
“Thirty-five?”
He clutched his chest dramatically. “I’m twenty-seven.”
She looked closer and saw him anew. A young man in an oversized body. Like the shell: sharp on the outside; iridescent on the inside.
“Dad spent a chunk of his savings on mods when he found out he was getting a son. He wanted me to look… like this.” Jek shifted. “I could grow a beard at fourteen.”
She shifted, secretly thinking his father hadn’t made bad choices.
“That’s still five years older than me.”
“Like I said. I’m not asking for anything.”
And she believed him.
She stood, watching a dust devil claw at the sky, rising like a column between earth and storm.
“I have to get back,” she said.
“I’ll walk you.” No longer smiling, he brushed the dirt from his clothes. She didn’t have the heart to tell him no. She wanted a little more of his warmth, just a little longer.
“Would you consider the teaching job?” he asked as they stepped through the arch into the markets. “Pay includes food, housing, medical.”
“I can’t,” she said. It didn’t include a Reverie.
“Vivian is great. And the others—Penn, Havish. And volunteers from all over.”
“I said I can’t.” Her voice cut sharper this time. She didn’t want to be around underclass or citizens, no matter how decent they seemed.
She felt his frustration simmer as they pushed through the crowd. He said nothing, but held her hand as they turned into the alcove, toward the stairs that led underground.
“Jek,” she said, watching him squeeze between the bars with difficulty. “What are you doing?”
He paused. “Walking you home?”
She winced at the word home. She held out the shell. “What’s this for?”
“It’s a gift.” He pushed deeper into the dark.
“But why? Why are you doing this? Where is this going?”
He let out a deep breath. “I don’t know if I have an answer to that.”
She turned away.
“Because,” he said, catching her arm gently, “it’s also up to you.”
They walked in silence. The tunnels smelled stronger today, mold and old metal. He didn’t belong here. She did.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I just… don’t.”
“Goldie, I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. But could you at least give me a real reason?”
“I’m broken,” she said, stopping. “I’m already... I’m used up, okay? The good part of my life is over. I don’t have anything left to give.”
“I don’t believe that.”
She heard him step closer. She shuffled backward.
“Well, I do.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if the best is yet to come?”
A new voice pierced the dark. “Is this guy bothering you?”
She sucked in a breath. Her body went cold. How could she have forgotten?
“Who’s asking?” Jek said, his voice booming through the tunnel.
Her heart kicked like a trapped bird.
“I am,” Maven replied, matching Jek’s tone. A flashlight clicked on.
Jek stepped in front of her. His frame seemed to grow larger. June felt awe rise, quickly replaced by dread.
Maven didn’t back down, but he shifted. He glanced back at the deeper tunnel behind him.
“We don’t like visitors here,” he said. “So if you’re done slumming it to feel better about yourself, I’d kindly ask you to leave.”
Jek turned to look at her. “Come with me.” It wasn’t a command; it was a plea.
Footsteps echoed behind Maven. Metal scraped concrete. A harsh laugh. Luka appeared, carrying a rusting blade. Her husband, Thorne, gripped a crowbar like a bat. They looked to Maven.
Jek’s fists clenched. Three against one.
She pulled on his arm. “Just go.”
“No.”
“Jek, please. They’re friends,” her voice shook. “I want you to leave. Please.” She pressed the shell into his hand. “You said you’d leave if I asked.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but his shoulders dropped.
Maven smiled. “You heard the little lady. Get.”
Jek stood for three full breaths before placing the shell back in her palm. “It’s yours.” Then he turned.
“Let him go,” June said as loud as she could make her voice. “He won’t come back. I promise.”
Thorne laughed again, nervously, and Luka smacked his shoulder. When Jek’s footsteps faded, Maven stepped close.
“I warned you not to bring him back here.”
She saw his hand a moment before it struck her. Another blow. Then another. Explosions in her skull.
When it stopped, she found herself curled on the ground, soaked through from a puddle. Hair stuck to her face. Maven picked her up. Her knees buckled.
“Now,” he said, adjusting her jacket like nothing had happened. He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Who keeps you safe?”
“You do.” Her voice trembled.
“Who gives you good dreams?”
“You do.”
“Good girl.”
Luka said nothing as she walked June back to her camp, one slow step at a time. She helped her gather her clothes, helped her lie down on her pallet.
Her face felt hot and swollen, pulsing with every heartbeat. Her stomach writhed like it was full of snakes. Luka stayed until she fell asleep.
-
The gentle rocking of the train was enough. A stream of foul-tasting liquid surged up her throat. She heaved into a bag just in time—crackers, ginger candy, lemon tea, all of it gone. Bile burned as she fumbled through her purse for napkins and tied the emesis bag tight.
Across from her, an old woman stared in horror. June opened her jacket subtly. The woman’s gaze dropped to her belly, then back up. Horror softened to sympathy.
“How far along are you?” she smiled, pleased that June was throwing up in public.
That’s what they said: a good sign. Was it still good when it happened ten times a day? When her clothes sagged, her lips cracked, and food only existed in dreams? When she couldn’t get out of bed to practice for her graduation performance?
“Eight months,” June said.
“Eight?” Thin eyebrows rose in rebuke. “You don’t look eight months. You need to gain at least thirty pounds or your baby won’t be healthy.”
June nodded, swallowing her irritation one sip at a time from her water bottle.
“I was sick with my first,” the woman continued. “Never allowed myself to vomit, but felt horrible for weeks. Have you tried eating crackers first thing in the morning?”
“I’ll try that,” June said with a polite smile, then closed her eyes, feigning sleep.
Pregnancy had its perks, but they were superficial ones. People held doors, offered seats, and said she was glowing. They commented on her body, gave her advice she didn’t ask for, and treated her like a child.
The only thing worse than constant nausea was how little people understood it—not even doctors. Birth was the only cure. Welcome to pregnancy. It’s only nine months. Try peppermint. Try ginger. Try not to think about it. Mind over matter.
A few minutes passed. June cracked one eye open. The woman was staring out the window. She flipped her hand over to power on her device. A virtual keyboard appeared, and she tapped notes silently on her thighs.
When she’d found out she was pregnant, she’d requested fast-track graduation, an early final to finish school before the baby. Frank’s parents had opposed the elopement, terrified she’d derail his future. But Frank had kept his promise: he’d chosen her. Her own parents had been shocked but supportive.
Her final performance was today. A panel of guest adjudicators. A spotlighted stage at the Vasilika School of Performing Arts. Frank would be there, taking a precious hour off work. Her parents, too. She couldn’t fail them.
She popped a peppermint in her mouth as the train screeched to a stop. The old woman stood first and gestured politely for June to go ahead. June heaved herself up and limped down the aisle. Did she mention the aching pelvis?
“You’re not heading to the School of Performing Arts, are you?” the woman called behind her. June breathed through her mouth to block the station smell.
“I am.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
Sunlight on the snow blinded her. The sharp air stung her face.
June felt obligated to comment on the unusually cold winter, but she was too tired to hold a conversation and starting to feel nervous.
“I saw you practicing on the train,” the woman said, stepping around a patch of ice. “Are you performing?”
“I am.”
“Well then, good luck.”
It wasn’t luck she needed. She’d spent her life staring out windows instead of practicing, making her own songs instead of learning the classics. She didn’t have the drive to succeed, not really. Getting pregnant had only made her worst flaw more visible. She didn’t need luck. She needed the universe to bend.
June settled herself at the piano in a circle of stage lights. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She risked a glance at the audience. Frank was there, smiling that beautiful smile. Warmth bloomed in her chest. Her parents, too, faces alight, eyes burning with pride. And then she saw the adjudicators. In the center sat the woman from the train. Lips pursed. Brows high. June’s mouth watered. One second later, she vomited all over the piano.
-
The day after Maven hit her, she skipped work. The headache raged on, and nausea curled in her gut. She dozed off and on, her dreams dark, her memories darker.
Eventually, she noticed a sharp ache in her hand. When she opened her fist, she found the little shell still there, pressed so hard into her skin that it left tiny welts. Guilt swelled in her throat.
This was the most precious thing she’d held since her daughter. A gift too extraordinary to keep. She hauled herself upright and forced herself to stand, closing her fist around it again.
She needed the Reverie. She needed to turn her memories into a dream.
Maven was hunched over a pile of what looked like junk when she stepped into the orange glow of his camp. She waited a full minute before he noticed her. When he finally looked up, his eye traveled slowly over her.
“You here for a dream, sweetheart?”
She nodded.
“What do you have for me?”
She held her hand out. The shell gleamed like a pearl in the low light.
Maven picked his way over, and she felt her pulse quicken. He’d never hit her before. She didn’t know if he would again. He peered at the shell, then up at her, his eye widening.
“Where’d you find such a pretty treasure?”
She swallowed her guilt as he plucked it from her hand and held it up to the light. Then he slipped it into his pocket.
“You’ll have to wait. Someone’s in there.”
She sank down against the wall of equations, numbers scrawled like incantations across the concrete. Maven resumed his rummaging.
He didn’t seem unstable. He never had. He talked too much about his theories, sure. But he wasn’t violent. Not usually. As long as she didn’t cross him again, she’d probably be okay.
He was the only one she knew with a Reverie. He’d never told her where he got it or how it worked exactly. All she knew was that it had been invented for Memory Revision patients—people with gaps where the pain had been cut away. The Reverie helped fill those gaps with something beautiful. Something better. She didn’t have any gaps, but it still worked.
When her turn came, Maven helped her inside the tent, fitted the nodes to her temples, and zipped the flap shut. The sleeping bag was still warm from the last dreamer. It smelled of candle wax.
She lay back and let the hum of the machine pull her under.
-
She was on her back. Bright lights bored into her skull. Her head throbbed. She was hot, so hot. Frank was at her side, pale and sweating. He looked down at her, panic etched into his face. Pressure tore through her from inside. Phantom limb pain? No. It was coming from the center of her.
A contraction. It wracked her, nearly as brutal as the pain in her missing arm. When it passed, she looked down. Her legs were bare, a doctor between them, shaking his head. His lips moved, forming words she couldn’t hear.
She turned to Frank, tried asking him what was happening, but her voice wouldn’t come. His lips moved too, gentle, familiar, and urgent. Still nothing. The world was silent in her ears, like pressure under water.
He kissed her brow, wiped sweat from her skin. Another contraction rolled in. It started in her back and squeezed forward until her whole body was clenched, wrung out. She could feel the scream in her throat, but she was trapped in silence.
She wanted out. She didn’t want to remember this part. This pain. This stretching.
Something was wrong. The Reverie wasn’t working right. She was supposed to be comforted, eased into a fantasy, not dragged into this. She tried to wake up. She tried to will her way out. But the dream held her down. The only way out was through.
She gritted her teeth through two more contractions, pushing into the pain until the world blurred.
It was almost over; it had to be nearly the end. Then she could see her baby again. While she panted in the in-between, the doctor caught her eye. He was speaking urgently, something flashing silver in his hand—scissors? She shook her head. She didn’t understand.
A nurse appeared and pinned her legs. Pain like lightning tore through her, and she screamed into silence. It intensified, like she was being ripped apart from the inside out, until it spilled out of her. And onto her chest.
A baby, hot and slick, face squished and blue. Her hands rose shakily to meet her daughter again. It was like holding her own heart outside her body.
Frank was crying. Weeping. Bent over her like he’d been punched in the stomach. Something was wrong. Perfect eyes stayed closed. The skin was dusky, not pink. Too still.
The nurse lifted her heart away and carried the baby to the far side of the room. The doctors closed in, blocking her view. She tried to sit up, but hands held her down.
“Hey! WAKE UP!”
She thrashed, her whole body fighting against them.
“Wake up!” they yelled in her face, shaking her violently.
She found Maven crouched over her, pale and sweaty, the Reverie’s nodes dangling from his fingers.
“What the crust?”
She stared, heart racing.
“You were screaming. Wouldn’t wake up.”
She scrambled out of the sleeping bag and retched onto the tunnel floor.
“Aw, come on,” he groaned. “Not on the tent.”
She staggered off, dry-heaving twice more before crawling into her own camp. It wasn’t real. Not like that. Yes, the real birth had been hard, but not like that. That tearing pain, the deafening silence, the blue baby. None of that had happened. It was just the Reverie malfunctioning. That was the only comfort she had as she lay down and forced herself to breathe.
She tried to remember the truth. The quiet cramping at midnight. Lying in bed, wondering if this was the real thing or not. The pop and gush. The way the pain had built until she wondered if she really wouldn’t survive after all.
-
“Goldie?” I brought food.”
The name came like a breeze through the tunnel.
“Jek?”
She didn’t believe it. He kept coming back, as if fear and rejection didn’t apply to him.
“Hope I’m not intruding.”
“You’ve got to stop doing this,” she croaked. She tried to avoid the pressure in her skull by lying very still.
“Not hungry?”
“Please go, before they hear you.”
“They can go pound sand. I brought a gun.”
She flinched. Her thoughts were sluggish. No one should die because of her.
“You said you’d leave me alone.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to regret that. I’d like to formally take it back. I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.”
“I am okay.”
A pause.
“Can I come in?”
“Not much room.”
“Can you come out?”
“If I do, will you leave?”
“Depends.”
She groaned and sat up, dizzy. She pulled a cracked electric candle from her jacket and clicked it on. The dim light sputtered as she pushed the flap aside.
When he saw her, Jek recoiled, sitting down as if all his strength had left him. He glanced at her again, then pointedly looked away.
“Jek?”
His breath came shallow, his eyes closed. “Just give me a minute.”
She looked down at herself. Blood had dried on her shirt and hand. She hadn’t even noticed.
Inside the tent, she dug through her things. No wipes; she’d given them to Maven for a dream. She poured water onto an old shirt and dabbed at her face.
“Did that guy do that to you?” Jek’s voice was strained.
She pulled on a hoodie and stepped out. He’d put the tunnel wall behind his back, still slumped, eyes closed, breathing in and out slowly.
“You okay?” she asked.
He slowly shook his head. “I should be asking you that. I’m crusting useless.”
“Want some water?”
“I am not taking your water.”
“I have two more,” she lied.
He opened his eyes, took the offered bottle, and drained it in one go. “This is ridiculous.” He rested his head against the wall.
“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not like you can control it.” She eased herself down beside him.
He cracked an eye. “I meant you living down here.”
She sighed.
“Your life is worth more than this.”
“I’m okay. I promise. I've got work, food—”
“A guy who hits you.”
“He’s never done it before.”
“He did it because of me?” Jek said. He sat up like someone had stuck a pin in him.
“I shouldn’t have let you walk me home.”
“No. That’s not on you.”
He reached out to pull back her hood. She let him.
“We have a doctor—”
“I’ve seen doctors.” She jerked away. “They made everything worse.”
“Penn’s different.”
“You don’t get it,” she snapped.
“Then tell me,” he said, voice steady. “Help me understand.”
June hugged her knees to her chest. She couldn’t say it out loud. She couldn’t tell him that she needed the Reverie like she needed air. That she was a failure. That she couldn’t keep reality separate from a mix of memory and imagination. This was where the broken things belonged.
“If you won’t come with me,” Jek said, “then I’ll stay here with you.”
“I don’t think Maven would like having you around,” she joked.
“Maven can fuck off.”
She looked at him. He wasn’t joking. She leaned her head back and closed her eye, hoping the spinning would stop. They sat in silence.
“Are we expanding camp?” Jek asked quietly. “Or will you come with me to the Library?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t know how.
“Please,” he said, his voice cracking. “I know you don’t need help. But I need to know you’re okay.”
Frank had promised to protect her. He’d promised to love her. But when she’d become a burden, when she was no longer an asset, when she’d lost her value, he had tossed her back in the ocean. And so had her parents.
But Jek didn’t leave. She had nothing to offer him: no future, no safety, no beauty. And still, he stayed.
She floated for a time and dreamed of infinite stars. She let the tide carry her gently out to sea. The ocean held her as pinpricks of white danced across her vision.
-
June woke with a violent jolt, clutching the baby to her chest. No—not the baby. A pillow. Her body shook so hard it felt like tectonic tremors. Doom sat on her like a weighted blanket.
A shadow darted at the edge of her vision. She turned. Nothing there.
She heard the sound that had woken her: a tiny, grunting rustle. The baby.
The clock read one hour since the last feed, thirty minutes since she’d fallen asleep.
She’d never been so consumed by time. Seconds held the weight of breath, minutes slid with each suckle, hours dripped with the rhythm of tears. Days dragged heavy up the stairs. Nights were quick but cruel. Weeks skipped like an irregular heartbeat.
The baby began to cry. Next to her in the dark, Frank snored. She hated him.
She didn’t hate him. The way he had looked at her, weeping over their slippery daughter, had been the best feeling in the world. But now he slept through everything. He left for work with a smile, while she unraveled.
She threw the pillow off the bed; it was soaked with sweat and milk. Achy, hungry, thirsty, she was both hot and cold. She settled into the armchair with a glass of water and the baby. Her body felt squishy, like all her organs were sliding around inside. Still, she marveled at the tiny, soft feet.
Then the baby wouldn’t latch, and June joined her cries. She wanted someone to pick her up, to hold her.
“Let me help,” her mother whispered from the doorway, a bottle in hand.
June wanted to say yes. She wanted to hand over the baby and sleep for a week.
But every time she did, she started seeing shadows. What if her mother dropped her? What if she threw her out the window? What if she drove to the edge of town and left her in a box?
June knew that even if the baby didn’t survive the fall, she’d still wake up in twenty minutes, crying to be fed.
-
The ocean rocked her beyond sight of land, black waves lifting and lowering. The wind picked up, rhythmic like the in and out of a giant’s breath. Whitecaps crested and crashed in an andante tempo.
Jek’s voice filtered in. Distorted. Angry. Or scared. His breathing matched the sea.
“…talking and then just passed out. I couldn’t wake her… I don’t know. He must have hit her fifteen, twenty hours ago… I don’t know. She seemed a little out of it… I don’t crusting know, Penn. I told you. I found her with her face bashed in. She wouldn’t tell me what happened.”
She felt pressure behind her knees and shoulders. She was being carried. Jek, not the ocean. She fought to right herself, to wake.
“Oh thank God. She’s conscious,” Jek said, his voice clearer. “I gotta go. Be there in ten.” Then to her: “Hey, Goldie. You passed out. I think something’s wrong with your head. I’m taking you to the Library.”
She struggled to orient herself. Jek’s arms tightened to steady her.
“Wait,” she panted, trying to sit up.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “When you’re better, you can come back if you want.”
“Maven,” she said. The hard object digging into her hip. The gun under Jek’s shirt. “Promise you won’t shoot him.”
A beat. “Alright. As long as he doesn’t cause trouble.”
“Just let me talk to him. Please.”
The shadows moved with them, staying just out of sight. When they reached Maven’s camp, the lantern cast a harsh glow over the tunnel. Jek slowed.
“Told you not to come back,” Maven said. “Now I have to go and get nasty.”
“Move,” Jek said. “Or I’ll move you.”
“Don’t think I will.”
Jek dropped her legs and reached for his waistband. She twisted, catching his hand behind her.
“No,” she said. “We’re leaving. We won’t bother you anymore.”
“Said that last time. But oh, look. Back again.”
“It’s real this time,” she said.
“How am I supposed to believe that?” Maven’s voice dropped. “Don’t think I want to let my little canary go.”
Canary. Her stomach twisted. His pet.
“I don’t belong to you,” she said. “And Jek has a gun.”
She released Jek’s arm. Instantly, he stepped in front of her, drawing. Maven sat back down on his bucket, shaking his head and raising his hand in surrender. He looked as withered as an old apple core.
“Could have led with that,” he muttered. “You’re really going with him? After all I’ve done?”
He had helped her. Guarded the tunnels. Kept her alive. But he’d also taken. And hurt her.
“You’ve done enough,” she said, and nodded to Jek. She was ready.
With every step away from the tunnels, her courage shrank. The world outside was too sharp, too bright, and too loud. The markets scraped at her until she was wiping sweat from her face, her breathing ragged.
“Let me rest,” she said when they reached a dark stairwell. She leaned her forehead against the cool wall. Blacker-than-black shadows melted down the wall.
“Can I carry you?” Jek asked.
“That’s okay,” she said, steadying herself. “Just… give me a minute.”
“Goldie,” he said softly. “Please let me help.”
She nodded. He picked her up. She barely made it two steps before twisting out of his arms to vomit. He brushed her hair back from her face. The pain carved into her temples. The shadows bloomed, began to move in time with the music. They played Sonata No. 42 in D Minor.
You write really great dialogue!