The V Girl: A coming of age story Page 4

  His body tells me I’m affecting him. He wants to reciprocate my touch. Still, he hasn’t agreed entirely. Discomfort and uncertainty creep up on me. I want him to need this as much as I do. I won’t continue if I don’t get his full consent. Rey’s expression is pained, revealing an internal battle with his conscience.

  I don’t know what he sees in my eyes, but his own eyes darken with desire. His face becomes a determined, lustful mask.

  I lower my voice to a whisper, my lips caressing his. “Don’t feel like you’d be stealing something.”

  Finally, he kisses me back. His lips are urgent, his arms tremulous against my skin. Rey ventures a hand to my waist and slides it up while the other hand grabs the nape of my neck, pulling me closer. The way his mouth and body explore mine tells me that Rey has surrendered. He gives himself to me with each deep, passionate kiss.

  Rey takes off his shirt, and I gasp. A surge of passion courses through me at the sight of his abs, scarred by his religious tattoo. He encloses me in a tight embrace, constricting my breasts against his bare chest, making my nipples hard and sensitive. Our moans are muffled by the sound of our mouths moving in harmony.

  Sparks shoot down my core as he places his hands on my legs. He moves them upward, caressing my thighs and revealing my underwear. He places me on a mattress like I’m a porcelain doll and covers me with his body. His hand trails down my side from my waist to my thighs.

  Beads of sweat cover Rey’s handsome face. His trembling hand caresses my hair and slides slowly from my shoulder to my chest before resting between my breasts. He slides down my shirt, exposing my left breast.

  His lips leave my mouth and brush against my collarbone. They travel to my neck, sucking gently. I’ve always tried to imagine what a man’s lips would feel like on my skin, but nothing could have prepared me for this wave of heat. It feels better than I’d imagined.

  My entire body becomes a live wire when he kisses a path down my neck to the point where my heart is beating at full speed. My back arches, and I find myself begging for more. More of his hands, more of his eager mouth.

  His hands find their way up my skirt to my underwear. My heart is beating so fast that it hurts. This is a side of Rey I hadn’t known. Primal, sexual Rey. Rey the man. Rey the lover.

  I take a look at our reflections in the mirror and pant. We’re half-naked, my legs wrapped around his waist. His mouth hovers above my breast, and I writhe in anticipation.

  I’m going to have sex, I think, feeling a mix of anxiety and triumph.

  Rey’s lips are about to cover my nipple when a crash startles us. Nothing to worry about. In the next room, chunks of the ceiling often crumble to the ground. We stare into each other’s eyes, saying nothing.

  Then it happens. Something I thought I was prepared to experience, but I’ve overestimated my strength of will: his rejection.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

  He doesn’t push me away, but it hurts all the same when he, still erect, plucks his shirt off the floor and leaves the gym in a hurry.

  Fighting the overwhelming feelings of humiliation and hurt, I button my shirt. He doesn’t want me. I’ve only made saying no that much harder for him.

  I was sure he’d say yes. There’s a general belief that men can’t think about anything else. Men need it all the time; men will jump at any opportunity. Why does Rey have to be the exception to the rule? This was supposed to be a blissful experience for both of us. His rebuff makes me feel so … cheap. So unworthy.

  I try to conserve at least a little dignity as I put on my cloak and leave the gym. I fear I’ve lost my only friend.

  Outside, I whistle for Poncho. It’s not curfew yet, but the dusty streets are almost deserted, and visibility is poor. My dog sees through the darkness, so I rely on him to guide me.

  I stop abruptly next to a broken lamp post. I can’t shake off the feeling that somebody’s watching me. Maybe I’m paranoid, but I prefer paranoia to the feeling of failure gnawing at me.

  How will I face the troops now? I don’t have enough time to meet anyone else before they arrive. I work long shifts at a clothing factory, after which I attend The Comanche Resistance training sessions where, incidentally, Rey is an instructor. Would it be possible to develop a crush on someone who would return my interest in five weeks? At this moment, I wish I were the kind of girl who could sleep with anybody at any time, like Elena.

  Well, it is what it is. No use dwelling on this experience. I’ll find a different route to having a consensual first time. If Rey won’t cooperate, fine! That’s his loss.

  I arrive home and prepare to live through the loneliest night of my short life.

  My loneliest night doesn’t last long.

  5

  The Accord Prince

  Poncho howls way before the sirens start blaring. I throw my bedcovers to the floor, instantly alert.

  The building rumbles, and I get up in a flash. Azalea is already on her feet.

  I hurry into my usual pants and boots. Another rumble startles us. An air raid? Starville capitulated long ago. Why would Patriots do this?

  A distant explosion makes the building shake. It has enough force to throw me to the floor. I take my emergency backpack and desperately reach for Mom’s memories box.

  “No time for that, idiot! Help Olmo!” shouts Azalea. She reaches for my cloak and throws it at me.

  Dad is at the door, prodding Olmo, whose face is a mask of terror. I make him climb on my back, and we storm into the hallway. Dad knocks on the other first-floor doors as we pass them.

  “Air raid! Go to the bunkers!”

  A bomb hits the southern part of town, one mile from where we are. Rubble crumbles from the buildings in our neighborhood.

  There’s an eerie light illuminating the horizon, like lightning in the next town over. Only we know that it’s destruction. When the local churches ring their bells, more Starvillers evacuate their buildings and head into the streets, running past us.

  The bunker isn’t far. Soon we see the air shelter entrance. The Starville Commissioner Kit Lee-Rivers, one of the few locals working for the Patriot government, stands at the bunker entrance. He’s leading people inside. He lets me, Azalea, and Poncho in, but he stops my dad and Olmo.

  “There’s no space. Wait to see if there’s still room once everyone’s inside. If this gets too crowded, you’ll have to seek refuge at the museum ruins.”

  “I won’t go in without them!” I shout.

  “Me neither, and I’m a minor. You’re breaking the law!” shouts Azalea, pushing against the crowd to exit the bunker.

  “As you wish.”

  Kit Lee-Rivers throws his hands in the air and moves on to the next group. I’m ready to force our way in, but local guards and soldiers are nearby. It’s better not to risk a confrontation with them.

  We head for the museum ruins, fighting our way against the masses.

  I hear the rumbling and whooshing of missiles. It’s total chaos—crying kids, terrified faces, screams, shouting. Finally, the anti-air-raid sirens go off.

  Then I see him. The man I fought earlier in the day. He wears the standard Accord red cape and black armor. His long, platinum hair covers half his face. Towering over everyone, he looks imposing as he barks orders with a deep voice to help the growing crowd get into the bunker.

  None of the other Accord Unit cops help Sasquatch organize the mess. They’re trying to enter the building, but he doesn’t let them.

  “Prince Aleksey, please!” the smaller Accord cops beg, loud enough for me to hear them. Panic contorts their faces. Aleksey ignores them, focusing on getting in as many Starvillers as he can.

  My family and I struggle to advance. Some people step on my dad’s cart, and Olmo’s out of breath. We won’t make it to the museum.

  I turn to Aleksey just as his eyes find me. He appears to recognize me. Given the situation, I shouldn’t care that he was aroused the last time I saw him.

  “Hey, you! That’s t
he wrong direction!” he yells at us.

  “They won’t let us in,” I shout back over the noise.

  Aleksey strides toward us just as a bomb explodes in the distance. He’s so intimidating that I instinctively cover Olmo with my body. Azalea seems ready to flee, but Dad is stupefied, frozen in place.

  The cop grips Dad in one arm, as though my father is nothing but a weightless doll, and carries Dad’s cart in the other. We gasp.

  “No! Leave him alone!” Olmo shouts.

  The cop ignores him and moves toward the entrance to the bunker. He pushes people out of the way, clearing a path for us.

  “That man isn’t allowed,” Kit Lee-Rivers says. Aleksey shoots him a lethal glare. Kit, clearly intimidated, nods him forward, and we follow the cop into the dimly lit bunker.

  Aleksey climbs down the steps to the secure area and gently—too gently for such a brutish-looking man—lowers my father and the cart to the floor.

  I look up to thank him, but my eyes meet his glare—the most hateful glare I’ve ever seen. It lasts only a second, but it chills me as much as the chaos surrounding us.

  Another blast startles us; something’s exploded, and it sounds much closer.

  Aleksey turns away. Before exiting the bunker, he instructs the crowd to give preference to kids, women, and the elderly. I look around the square-shaped shelter. The Commissioner wasn’t lying. There’s not enough space, and more people are arriving.

  Olmo looks terrified, and Poncho attempts to calm him without success. I give Olmo his inhaler and hold him close. I’m about to tell him that everything will be all right when he wraps his arms around my neck.

  “Don’t be afraid, Lila. I’ll be your protector,” he says, his arms shaking.

  I kiss his hair and thank him. His fear intensifies mine. I’m not afraid of what could happen to me. I fear for my family.

  The bunker doors close, leaving us in the dark. The crowd quiets down, as if silence might keep the bombs from dropping. I feel as though I’m in the midst of another vivid nightmare; only the sounds of a crying baby and my brother’s trembling body convince me that I’m not dreaming.

  The whole building starts to shake. A sharp whistle …

  KABOOM!

  Pieces of rubble fall over the screaming crowd. My ears ache and Olmo’s grip on me tightens. In the dark, I feel Dad embracing Azzy. He murmurs a prayer that Olmo echoes. At this moment, I envy others’ ability to pray—to hope.

  Somewhere in the dark, Baron Diaz’s booming voice invites people to pray. The buzz of thousands of murmured prayers in the dark stops when the next bomb rattles the shelter.

  * * *

  Three hours pass before the air raid winds down. The bunker is so crowded that the air has become thick and hot.

  My protector sleeps in my lap while Azzy fights to keep her eyes open. My dad’s eyes are closed, but I know he’s awake.

  We hear the doors open, and Kit Lee-Rivers’ voice announces that the danger is over.

  “Wait another hour before you exit the bunker,” he commands.

  Something compels me to look up. Ten feet away, Rey’s carrying Reyna in his arms. At least a dozen Diaz relatives surround him, and he’s staring at me. I almost close the distance to hug him when his rebuff replays vividly in my mind. He flushes as much as I do before breaking eye contact.

  My godfather, Baron, fights the crowd to approach my dad, his sons Rey and Duque behind him.

  “Dr. Ethan Velez! Compadre!” Baron’s roaring voice matches his stoutness. “Thank God we all made it! A good reason to celebrate the Assumption Feast, isn’t it?”

  As Baron talks to Dad, Azzy notices Rey’s discomfort. She shoots me a questioning look while I try not to look at him, which is hard. I need him. I could use a hug at the moment.

  Duque Diaz is oblivious to our awkwardness. At eighteen, he is a slimmer, shorter version of Rey. He searches the crowd for his fiancée, Veronica, who is also a TCR member.

  I wrinkle my nose at the stench of dirt and piss. “As soon as you two get married, leave Starville,” I joke.

  Even Duque’s grin is the same as Rey’s. “Yeah, if we had the tattoos and a j-device.”

  It’s easy to get out, but we wouldn’t survive outside. Not without a j-device: a trackable gadget shaped like a jewel that works as an ID and allows you to access money. The jewelry devices contain the owners’ genetic code, so it’s impossible to steal one. No Patriot or Nationalist city will admit us without one. The tattoos that brand a person as a citizen are also hard to come by. Only authorized Patriot artists can place tattoos. Besides, Olmo wouldn’t do well with the merciless changes in weather. We’d need an all-terrain vehicle. And even if we could get the money for a vehicle, we’d risk the attacks of beasts and bandits.

  Through Dad’s illegal e-reader, I’ve learned how different life is outside this town.

  “I’d love to leave Starville and—”

  Duque covers my mouth with his hand. “Shh! Are you crazy?” He whispers the following words in Comanche, a safe language to speak when one fears being overheard. “It’s they who should leave.”

  I refrain from rolling my eyes. The Diaz family is still fighting for the Nationalist cause.

  Duque whispers something that chills my bones. “I heard the raid’s target was Midian.”

  I freeze. Midian is a small city not far from here. Our gang exchanges information with Midian resistance through messenger doves.

  Duque flicks his head toward the leader of our gang and goes to the other side of the bunker, followed by the rest of his family. I understand his message. Patriots discovered the rebellion and retaliated. If the Comanches aren’t careful, Starville will face the same fate.

  I hug Olmo tightly, hoping that our involvement with The Comanche Resistance doesn’t hurt him. I was a scrawny thirteen-year-old when I joined TCR. The bruises on my face infuriated Rey, and he always asked who my attackers were. They were usually Warren Lee-Rivers and his cousins, but I couldn’t tell Rey. I knew he’d pick a fight with the Commissioner’s son. Rey couldn’t be my bodyguard all the time, so I asked to join his gymnastics club. I wanted to learn to fight back. I didn’t suspect that his gym club was actually a resistance gang. TCR members learn combat skills that keep us able-bodied and fast enough to commit acts of sabotage.

  These days, I’m part of TCR because not many people are standing against recruitment, but I don’t give a damn about politics. I don’t care about Nats—and if they weren’t recruiting and murdering, I wouldn’t care about Patriots either. They can kill each other if they want, so long as they leave bystanders alone.

  The museum is my second home. What will we do if the bombs have reached the museum area? I can only hope the resistance hasn’t been discovered yet.

  * * *

  At dawn, the occupation soldiers make us leave the bunker. Rocco Smith, their gray-skinned leader, asks the east-side families to gather at the town plaza in two hours. We live on the east-side so as much as I want to take the twins home, we must attend the meeting.

  We lag behind so that Dad and Olmo can take their time climbing the stairs.

  A slightly accented voice startles us. “Carry you outside?” A scowling Aleksey is staring at my father. His offer would be kind if his voice weren’t so brusque.

  My father hesitates before nodding. “Thank you … General … er …”

  Aleksey mumbles something unintelligible. It sounds like Fee-oh-st. I eye him suspiciously. General Fee-oh-st is terrifying in his lethal, rugged beauty. He looks more like a lion than a guy coordinating evacuation efforts.

  The cop carries my dad to a deserted street, and we run to keep up with his stride. I scan my surroundings. At first I can’t tell where the worst of the destruction is. Most of the multifamily apartment complexes are visible in the distance, apparently still in place. But smoke from the east and north is infiltrating the town.

  Carefully, Aleksey puts my dad on his cart. Then he disappears into the crowd wit
hout acknowledging my father’s thanks.

  Dad picks up on a few scattered rumors. “They say Patriots destroyed Midian. The bombs here were a mistake,” he whispers, looking at the horizon. “But I don’t think it’s a mistake. It’s a warning.”

  I agree. Patriot technology is too advanced to allow for this kind of mistake, and their bombs are needed in other places. Places where Nats are still powerful.

  My eyes turn to the Midian hills, several miles from Starville. Two giant smoke columns swell in dark billows. Ignoring my father’s protests, I climb one of the highest hills in town to get a better view of the damage. Some people stand at the crest of the hill, surveying the scene. The dark smoke makes ghostly forms above the skyline. Some Starvillers say they see the wicked smiles of demons in the smoke clouds.

  At first, the smoke and clouds of dust block my vision. When I reach the top and scan the town, my heart clenches.

  The apartment building where I slept only a few hours ago is no longer there. In its place is a gigantic crater.

  I race down the hill toward the crater. The street is full of rubble. I stumble over scattered objects and fall, landing on a pile of lifeless bodies. Or more exactly … on severed human limbs. Horrified, I realize that my face is near a child’s arm.

  I fight down the carrots and bread from last night’s meal. Suddenly and thankfully, my mind goes numb.

  “The false accusations of mass rape in territories occupied by Patriot troops have hurt the feelings of an entire nation. A nation that has done nothing but support international causes since the twentieth century.”

  “We don’t have such crimes in our country, thanks to an honorable institution in which our Patriot Citizens take pride: Recruitment.”

  Extract of Maximillian Kei’s speech for the United Neutral Nations Organization Spring Conference

  6

  The clinic

  I stand with my dad and my two siblings near the crater we once called home. It smells of burned flesh. I’d mourn the casualties, but at the moment desperation clouds my thoughts. Other than the clothes we wear and our emergency backpacks, we have nothing. Where will we live? What will we eat?