Page 20 of Trade
“As long as I want.”
I ball my hands. His gaze drops. He seems to take note of my fists before his eyes return to my face.
“But you’re going to let me go back,” I say.
He nods slowly.
I turn my head away. The valley sprawls, unrolled in front of us like a red carpet. We’re perfectly centered, as if the bunker and its mountain were placed here on purpose. The lake glitters. Now that I know it’s water, my brain doesn’t try to convince me it’s not glinting in the light.
They say your body is weightless in water.
I want to touch it. I want to feel it for myself.
I’m supposed to comply with instructions. If I do, they’ll let me back inside. I’ll be safe again. Like I was before they pushed me out here. Traded me.
How long before the Outside poisons me?
“How old are you?” I ask Dalton.
“Twenty-three, I think.”
“You don’t know?”
“I never had a mother. Dad didn’t care much about dates.”
Twenty-three. Older than I thought. When I was twenty-three, I still thought I was going to be Head of AP. I had so many ideas of what I’d do. Dad would tell me, “Slow down. There’s time.” When did he decide that the time was going to be never?
Dalton looks healthy. More than healthy.
Four days there. Four days back.
An idea takes shape in my head, a whim, an urge. The worst has already happened. And what do I have to look forward to? Pleading naked for Gary Krause to let me back inside the bunker so I can go lie in bed and stare at the slats of Amy’s bunk while everyone feels sorry for me and happy that it wasn’t them?
I look over to Dalton. Of course, he’s watching me.
It didn’t hurt too bad. And he was quick.
I’ve already been sold. Why shouldn’t I sell myself?
I look Dalton straight in the eye and hold his gaze as hard as I can. “I want you to take me there.” I nod toward the lake. “I’ll trade you for it.”
If there were clockwork in his brain, it’d be turning. He glances from me to the lake and back again. “You want to go there?” He’s calculating.
“Yeah. And then back here.” I expect him to ask why I want to go, but he doesn’t. The clockwork turns. He frowns at me. He scans the valley. He squints at the distant lake.
Finally, he says, “What are you offering?”
“What do you want?” I know what he wants, and I don’t really think he’ll be too ashamed to say it, but there’s a part of my brain still operating on the program where I’m the Assistant Head of Agricultural Preservation who lives on Level C with her loving husband and people are fundamentally decent and nothing truly bad can happen if you follow the rules.
It’s like that part of my brainwantsto be broken once and for all.
“You let me fuck you,” he says. “And I’ll take you there.”
“And back.”
“And back,” he agrees.
I shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t hesitate—that there’s no sign of shame on his face—but I am, a little, and that makes me feel stupid.
