Page 64 of Conform
A confession slipped from me, halting her. “You were right, Lo. It is better to go through this together.”
Lo smiled. “I knew you would come around.”
After she left, I threw away our trash and collapsed in my bed, my mind unsure how to make sense of everything. So I did the only thing to quiet it, allowing sleep to claim me, stretching my glowing wrist out to the empty side of the bed.
TWO DAYS PASSED. MY BIRTH FAMILY REMAINED AS SILENT ASthey had been for the previous twenty-seven years, which suited me. I didn’t hear from Collin. I didn’t know if the Reaper had resurfaced. If that was why he had been silent or if he had achieved what he wanted with the Press and there was no reason to talk. Collin did send me flowers again, which sat in my office. I didn’t bother to read the card.
I had two lessons with my HI, whom I had named Frida, after an artist that occasionally came up in the Archives. Both mornings, Frida announced that I had entered the luteal phase of my cycle, whatever that meant. My stats recovered after my run. Certain nutrients and minerals struggled, but my dopamine stayed elevated.
The first lesson addressed etiquette again before launching into my duty as a fertile vessel. My stomach twisted at how Frida’s words echoed my time at the Academy, dragging up horrible memories that all ended with a freckled face disappearing from my life.
The next day, I started dance lessons. Frida would briefly describe the dance and then play a short video showing the dance before footsteps appeared on the floor for me to follow. I felt utterly ridiculous dancing alone in my room as the sun rose. Still, I let the music chase away any insecurities.
The music was beautiful, with peaks and valleys of sounds that I couldn’t help but move to. I was left breathless and eager for the next lesson when the music ended. It wasn’t the same as running, yet I felt that welcome calm take over as I danced.
Lo had brought her meals up both nights, claiming my floor was more comfortable for dining. We discussed her upcoming initial meeting. Thankfully, she had received a message stating that her first meeting would be in public tomorrow, the same night I would have dinner with Collin, Nora, and her Mate, William, at the Pond. Maybe we would truly go through this whole experience together.
While we discussed all things procreation, I kept Hal to myself. Twice, I almost told her about him, but fear stopped me. Perhaps it was more shame than fear. But those were thoughts I locked away.
Hal had come to see me both mornings. He didn’t mention the Press or my Mate. He didn’t mention the flowers’ slow decay either. And I didn’t ask about the supporter who had sent a warning whistle when he saw me. We talked about art, teased, and danced around the truth we both knew—that this, whatever this was, had an expiration date. It was approaching, and there was nothing we could do about it.
I thought of the painting of the couple embracing goodbye while I lay in bed alone. I thought maybe I was starting to understand their desperation. That terrified me, but like all things that scared me, I ignored it. Ran from it. We should have discussed it, but we didn’t. Instead, we looked at art like we had all the time in the world. I stared at Hal like he was my own personal sunset. Let it captivate me, distract me, and make me appreciate him all the more because it was fleeting. I found myself unable to look away.
But, like the sunset, it must end.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, ON THE DAY OF THE DINNER, I FOUNDHal sitting in my chair, his feet on my desk, staring at the ceiling.
“Hi.” I grinned and scanned my wrist.
“Hey,” Hal responded, dimple on display. He crossed the room toward the waste bin, his hand brushing mine. My body came alive at the graze. I sat in my chair and logged in to the system. As the first piece of art loaded, I turned toward Hal. He was limping, just barely, but it was there every time he took a step with his right foot.
“Are you okay?”
Hal flipped the trash bin upside down, grimacing as he sat. “Tired, but fine now.”
My brow furrowed. “You don’t look fine.”
“Rough shift. Physical labor catches up with you,” Hal said nonchalantly. “What do you think of this piece?”
The painting depicted a pregnant woman wearing a long dress decorated with golden circles and other colorful geometric shapes. Her breasts were bared, and she looked down at her rounded belly. Peeking behind her gown was a skull. At the bottom of the dress, three other women bowed their heads as if in mourning. I glanced at the title:Hope IIby Gustav Klimt. My stomach bottomed out. The women all seemed remorseful, as if the skull predicted the offspring’s future.
“I don’t like it,” I confessed, wanting to look away. I hated that it depicted a warped representation of what might await any offspring I produced. That they would live my life, hidden and shamed for something they couldn’t control. Something I gave them. It would mark the trajectory of their life—or death.
“Why?”
“Because only sadness and grief await those with offspring,” I told him, shifting.
“Sad things can be beautiful too, Moonlight.”
“I disagree.” I looked away from the painting, glancing at the screen. “That’s strange. They’re reassigning it. Usually, they get rid of ones with people in them.”
“Maybe they don’t want to lose the idea that having an offspring is sad.”
I couldn’t look at the painting any longer. With a click, it disappeared. I released a long breath.
The next painting had a dreamlike, ethereal effect, capturing a city in the foreground and rolling hills that bled into the night sky. The stars swirled, and the moon glowed, the long brushstrokes mimicking the movement of light. It was stunning and unlike any night sky I had ever seen.The Starry Nightby Vincent van Gogh. I was shocked that it was the same artist who had paintedAt Eternity’s Gate,the despairing man with his head in his hands.
