Page 29 of Savagely Yours
I’d yet to win an argument with her.
I took a seat at one of the solitary dining tables situated along one wall, which were specifically for the black-uniformed guards. Most Class One Elites were from Special Operations Forces in their respective military branch. People like us were usually inclined to form teams and alliances, but we had also gotten strategically split up from friends, family, and other loved ones. Physically, we were capable of causing a stir, but psychologically, we harbored chips, scratches, and dents.
Mae placed the food tray in front of me and then brought over a spare chair to sit on the other side of the table.
I dug into my eggs.
After a while, she said, “Still no sign of her, Dezzie.”
Finding Larke in this place posed enough of a challenge, but finding her based on a description would be twice as difficult.
I had no photos of her.
When things were “normal,” I’d assumed I was keeping them safe by backing them up on a cloud drive. One I might never again be able to access. Now, I wish I’d treated the photos like priceless artifacts, from those we’d taken around the DMV area on our usual outings to the ones I’d take when she wasn’t looking:
Larke standing beneath the Constitution Avenue NW street sign.
Larke at the Cherry Blossom Festival silhouetted by rows of blooming pink.
Larke ordering Cajun food from a food truck.
The 100th time Larke ordered food from that same Cajun food truck.
Larke asleep in my bed the couple of times she’d had to crash at my place.
Those, I should have held on to like a one-of-a-kind art piece.
“Thanks for trying,” I offered.
Mae tapped out a rhythm on the wooden tabletop with her fingernails. “You know, you’re one of only a handful of these pig heads who I think is still decent enough on the inside. You’d be surprised how quickly a little bit of power, and a little bit of status, can change somebody.”
I wouldn’t be surprised at all.
I knew the tactic very well.
It was why my apartment looked the way it did. If I started to act up, they would show me how many rungs above the “lower class” I was to get me to fall back in line. My skill level made me as valuable as it made me dangerous, so I was granted privilege in order to facilitate compliance.
“One of? Oh, so I’m a pig head too?”
