This Shattered World
Page 78
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Flynn’s turned to the other side of the shuttle to see if there are more of the packs in the rest of the lockers. But I can’t stop looking at the one I opened. Months’ worth of food for a platoon.
Years, for two people.
“We could just go.” The words come out in a whisper, and as I say them, I find I can’t look up, can’t see Flynn’s face. I can’t bear to know his reaction.
Still, I can feel him turn toward me. I can feel the air move as he makes his way back. He ducks his head to try to see my face, but I still can’t look at him. No matter what he’s about to say, I don’t want to hear it. Hearing it will make what I’ve just said real.
“Never mind,” I say sharply. “I was just kidding.”
But I wasn’t.
“Jubilee.” He’s got one hand wrapped around a handle to steady himself, but the other reaches for me, his fingers tracing the outline of my face.
“Just drop it, Flynn. Forget it.”
He’s silent for a few seconds, speaking only with the weight of his eyes on me. I can feel my face flushing hot with shame, with guilt, under his gaze. “Where do you want to go?” he asks finally, a smile in his voice.
I glance at him and then away again. “What do you mean?”
“Where do we go? Anywhere in the galaxy. Where does Jubilee Chase want to live?”
This time I look at him longer, properly, scanning his face for some sign of what he’s thinking—some judgment, some hint of blame or guilt that I’m standing there, talking about leaving his people and mine, about abandoning our whole lives. About running away. But he only smiles at me, his fingers sliding from my cheek to twine around a floating lock of hair, making it spiral slowly in midair.
“Not Corinth,” I say finally, my voice emerging somewhat hoarsely. “Too busy, too many people. But not any place too new either. Maybe Patron, I liked it there. Haven’t been any rebellions for quite a while now.”
He grins, his smile easing away some of my horror at my own impulse. “As long as there’s a sky there, like this one, I’m game.”
“It’s not quite like this, the air gets in the way. But we could find ourselves a mountaintop where the air’s nice and thin, and it’d be awfully close.”
Flynn shifts, sliding his foot more firmly under the handle bracing him. “And what does Jubilee Chase want to do with her life, if she’s not hunting down rebel leaders and skinning them alive?”
“I don’t know. Something extremely boring. I could go to night school and learn dentistry.”
That makes him laugh, a quick burst of a chuckle that makes my own lips curve. “Oh, God no. No way could you be a dentist.”
“I could! I’d be a damn good dentist.”
“Lots of call for dentistry on deserted mountaintops, eh?” He’s watching my face, eyes tracing over my features like he’s trying to memorize them.
“Well, what about you? You could go be an accountant or a mechanic or something.” I try to gesture at him, but I end up unbalancing myself.
Flynn leans forward, wrapping his arm around me to steady me and him both. “Definitely not an accountant.” His voice is low, thoughtful. “Maybe a mechanic, though. I could be the one to keep the engine of our…What do you drive when you live on a mountain, anyway?”
I have absolutely no idea. The only time I was ever on a mountain was during basic, and I had to learn the bare essentials for snow combat. “Uh. Skis?”
“Well, I’d make sure the skis kept running smoothly, didn’t break down.”
His face is close to mine, his hand warm against my back through my shirt. Despite the smile on his lips, his gaze is so sad it feels like my heart is ripping in two, turning to ash as I look at him. He knows as well as I do that neither of us is leaving Avon alive if we touch down again. He’ll never see snow, and I’ll never teach him what skis are.
I want so badly to just turn off communications for good, to go dark, to let this shuttle drift until we get captured by the gravity of some distant star. I want to wrap my arms around him and let my feet come free from the handles and just let our bodies go. His eyes move to my lips, and I know he’s thinking the same thing; I can feel it in the way the air charges between us. I can almost taste him half an inch away, can feel the way the tiny hairs on my skin lift and reach for him like plants seeking the sunlight.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, fighting the impulse to just lean forward that fraction of an inch, to close the gap between us. All I can feel is the heat, the roaring in my ears, the tiny shifts of our bodies, the twitch of his fingers against my back, the way his breath catches and releases, catches and releases. I see his throat move as he swallows. His dark lashes sweep low, his eyes on my mouth. We hang there weightless, on the edge, each waiting for the other to pull us over. To succumb to the gravity between us and fall.
Then someone, one of us, moves just a little. I press my lips together and swallow. His eyes flick up, his jaw clenches. I let out a breath, and his arm loosens a fraction. Tiny shifts, imperceptible movements, as each of us steps back from the cliff, bit by bit, to a point where we can collapse, shaking, seeing in our minds’ eyes the leap we nearly took.
“Oh, Flynn.” I barely recognize my own voice—it’s soft, brokenhearted, full of a grief I can’t name. “I don’t know how to be anything other than what I am.”
His fingers curl around my shirt, crushing the fabric. He’s unwilling to let me go even after we agreed, silently, to turn our backs on the path not taken.
“And I don’t think you do either,” I add.
“I have to believe there’s a new way to be what we are.” His voice is weary, all humor gone. He’s sad, so sad—and I know it’s not all for me, and it only breaks my heart all the more to know that. He turns his head, and I can see the glow of Avon through the viewport gilding his nose, his artist’s mouth.
I pull in oxygen, reminding my lungs how to breathe. “We don’t even know each other, Flynn. Not really. Not outside of this.” My gesture indicates the shuttle, but he knows I mean all of it. “Maybe we wouldn’t even like each other if we weren’t fighting for our lives every second of every day.”
“Maybe someday we’ll get the chance to find out.” He eases back away from me, his hand sliding around as though his body is reluctant to part from mine. His fingers trail along my rib cage, the last thing to pull away.
Years, for two people.
“We could just go.” The words come out in a whisper, and as I say them, I find I can’t look up, can’t see Flynn’s face. I can’t bear to know his reaction.
Still, I can feel him turn toward me. I can feel the air move as he makes his way back. He ducks his head to try to see my face, but I still can’t look at him. No matter what he’s about to say, I don’t want to hear it. Hearing it will make what I’ve just said real.
“Never mind,” I say sharply. “I was just kidding.”
But I wasn’t.
“Jubilee.” He’s got one hand wrapped around a handle to steady himself, but the other reaches for me, his fingers tracing the outline of my face.
“Just drop it, Flynn. Forget it.”
He’s silent for a few seconds, speaking only with the weight of his eyes on me. I can feel my face flushing hot with shame, with guilt, under his gaze. “Where do you want to go?” he asks finally, a smile in his voice.
I glance at him and then away again. “What do you mean?”
“Where do we go? Anywhere in the galaxy. Where does Jubilee Chase want to live?”
This time I look at him longer, properly, scanning his face for some sign of what he’s thinking—some judgment, some hint of blame or guilt that I’m standing there, talking about leaving his people and mine, about abandoning our whole lives. About running away. But he only smiles at me, his fingers sliding from my cheek to twine around a floating lock of hair, making it spiral slowly in midair.
“Not Corinth,” I say finally, my voice emerging somewhat hoarsely. “Too busy, too many people. But not any place too new either. Maybe Patron, I liked it there. Haven’t been any rebellions for quite a while now.”
He grins, his smile easing away some of my horror at my own impulse. “As long as there’s a sky there, like this one, I’m game.”
“It’s not quite like this, the air gets in the way. But we could find ourselves a mountaintop where the air’s nice and thin, and it’d be awfully close.”
Flynn shifts, sliding his foot more firmly under the handle bracing him. “And what does Jubilee Chase want to do with her life, if she’s not hunting down rebel leaders and skinning them alive?”
“I don’t know. Something extremely boring. I could go to night school and learn dentistry.”
That makes him laugh, a quick burst of a chuckle that makes my own lips curve. “Oh, God no. No way could you be a dentist.”
“I could! I’d be a damn good dentist.”
“Lots of call for dentistry on deserted mountaintops, eh?” He’s watching my face, eyes tracing over my features like he’s trying to memorize them.
“Well, what about you? You could go be an accountant or a mechanic or something.” I try to gesture at him, but I end up unbalancing myself.
Flynn leans forward, wrapping his arm around me to steady me and him both. “Definitely not an accountant.” His voice is low, thoughtful. “Maybe a mechanic, though. I could be the one to keep the engine of our…What do you drive when you live on a mountain, anyway?”
I have absolutely no idea. The only time I was ever on a mountain was during basic, and I had to learn the bare essentials for snow combat. “Uh. Skis?”
“Well, I’d make sure the skis kept running smoothly, didn’t break down.”
His face is close to mine, his hand warm against my back through my shirt. Despite the smile on his lips, his gaze is so sad it feels like my heart is ripping in two, turning to ash as I look at him. He knows as well as I do that neither of us is leaving Avon alive if we touch down again. He’ll never see snow, and I’ll never teach him what skis are.
I want so badly to just turn off communications for good, to go dark, to let this shuttle drift until we get captured by the gravity of some distant star. I want to wrap my arms around him and let my feet come free from the handles and just let our bodies go. His eyes move to my lips, and I know he’s thinking the same thing; I can feel it in the way the air charges between us. I can almost taste him half an inch away, can feel the way the tiny hairs on my skin lift and reach for him like plants seeking the sunlight.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, fighting the impulse to just lean forward that fraction of an inch, to close the gap between us. All I can feel is the heat, the roaring in my ears, the tiny shifts of our bodies, the twitch of his fingers against my back, the way his breath catches and releases, catches and releases. I see his throat move as he swallows. His dark lashes sweep low, his eyes on my mouth. We hang there weightless, on the edge, each waiting for the other to pull us over. To succumb to the gravity between us and fall.
Then someone, one of us, moves just a little. I press my lips together and swallow. His eyes flick up, his jaw clenches. I let out a breath, and his arm loosens a fraction. Tiny shifts, imperceptible movements, as each of us steps back from the cliff, bit by bit, to a point where we can collapse, shaking, seeing in our minds’ eyes the leap we nearly took.
“Oh, Flynn.” I barely recognize my own voice—it’s soft, brokenhearted, full of a grief I can’t name. “I don’t know how to be anything other than what I am.”
His fingers curl around my shirt, crushing the fabric. He’s unwilling to let me go even after we agreed, silently, to turn our backs on the path not taken.
“And I don’t think you do either,” I add.
“I have to believe there’s a new way to be what we are.” His voice is weary, all humor gone. He’s sad, so sad—and I know it’s not all for me, and it only breaks my heart all the more to know that. He turns his head, and I can see the glow of Avon through the viewport gilding his nose, his artist’s mouth.
I pull in oxygen, reminding my lungs how to breathe. “We don’t even know each other, Flynn. Not really. Not outside of this.” My gesture indicates the shuttle, but he knows I mean all of it. “Maybe we wouldn’t even like each other if we weren’t fighting for our lives every second of every day.”
“Maybe someday we’ll get the chance to find out.” He eases back away from me, his hand sliding around as though his body is reluctant to part from mine. His fingers trail along my rib cage, the last thing to pull away.
