“You’re so beautiful,” he says to me.
I’m pink and red and maroon all at once. I duck my head and trip away from the mirror only to have him catch me in his arms. “I’d forgotten my own face,” I whisper.
“Just don’t forget who you are,” he says.
“I don’t even know.”
“Yes you do.” He tilts my face up. “I do.”
I stare at the strength in his jaw, in his eyes, in his body. I try to understand the confidence he has in who he thinks I am and realize his reassurance is the only thing stopping me from diving into a pool of my own insanity. He’s always believed in me. Even soundlessly, silently, he fought for me. Always.
He’s my only friend.
I take his hand and hold it to my lips. “I’ve loved you forever,” I tell him.
The sun rises, rests, shines in his face and he almost smiles, almost can’t meet my eyes. His muscles relax, his shoulders find relief in the weight of a new kind of wonder and he exhales. He touches my cheek, touches my lips, touches the tip of my chin and I blink and he’s kissing me, he’s pulling me into his arms and into the air and somehow we’re on the bed and tangled in each other and I’m drugged with emotion, drugged by each tender moment. His fingers skim my shoulder, trail down my silhouette, rest at my hips. He pulls me closer, whispers my name, drops kisses down my throat and struggles with the stiff fabric of my dress. His hands are shaking so slightly, his eyes brimming with feeling, his heart thrumming with pain and affection and I want to live here, in his arms, in his eyes for the rest of my life.
I slip my hands under his shirt and he chokes on a moan that turns into a kiss that needs me and wants me and has to have me so desperately it’s like the most acute form of torture. His weight is pressed into mine, on top of mine, infinite points of feeling for every nerve ending in my body and his right hand is behind my neck and his left hand is reeling me in and his lips are falling down my shirt and I don’t understand why I need to wear clothes anymore and I’m a cumulonimbus existence of thunder and lightning and the possibility of exploding into tears at any inopportune moment. Bliss Bliss Bliss is beating through my chest.
I don’t remember what it means to breathe.
I never
ever
ever
knew
what it meant to feel.
An alarm is hammering through the walls.
The room beeps and blares to life and Adam stiffens, pulls back; his face collapses.
“This is a CODE SEVEN. All soldiers must report to the Quadrant immediately. This is a CODE SEVEN. All soldiers must report to the Quadrant immediately. This is a CODE SEVEN. All soldiers must report to the Quadra—”
Adam is on his feet and pulling me up and the voice is still shouting orders through a speaker system wired into the building. “There’s been a breach,” he says, his voice broken and breathy, his eyes darting between me and the door. “Jesus. I can’t just leave you here—”
“Go,” I tell him. “You have to go—I’ll be fine—”
Footsteps are thundering through the halls and soldiers are barking at each other so loudly I can hear it through the walls. Adam is still on duty. He has to perform. He has to keep up appearances until we can leave. I know this.
He pulls me close. “This isn’t a joke, Juliette—I don’t know what’s happening—it could be anything—”
A metal click. A mechanical switch. The door slides open and Adam and I jump 10 feet apart.
Adam rushes to exit just as Warner is walking in. They both freeze.
“I’m pretty sure that alarm has been going off for at least a minute, soldier.”
“Yes sir. I wasn’t sure what to do about her.” He’s suddenly composed, a perfect statue. He nods at me like I’m an afterthought but I know he’s just slightly too stiff in the shoulders. Breathing just a beat too fast.
“Lucky for you, I’m here to take care of that. You may report to your commanding officer.”
“Sir.” Adam nods, pivots on one heel, and darts out the door. I hope Warner didn’t notice his hesitation.
Warner turns to face me with a smile so calm and casual I begin to question whether the building is actually in chaos. He studies my face. My hair. Glances at the rumpled sheets behind me and I feel like I’ve swallowed a spider. “You took a nap?”
“I couldn’t sleep last night.”
“You’ve ripped your dress.”
“What are you doing here?” I need him to stop staring at me, I need him to stop drinking in the details of my existence.
“If you don’t like the dress, you can always choose a different one, you know. I picked them out for you myself.”
“That’s okay. The dress is fine.” I glance at the clock for no real reason. It’s already 4:30 in the afternoon. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
He’s too close. He’s standing too close and he’s looking at me and my lungs are failing to expand. “You should really change.”
“I don’t want to change.” I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Why he’s making me so nervous. Why the space between us is closing too quickly.
He hooks a finger in the rip close to the drop-waist of my dress and I bite back a scream. “This just won’t do.”
“It’s fine—”
He tugs so hard on the rip that it splits open the fabric and creates a slit up the side of my leg. “That’s a bit better.”