Blemished, The (5 page)

I
walked home as the sun set, leaving in its trail a bruised, purple-orange sky. As I followed degraded streets the sky turned to black in shadowy degrees as though God pulled a dark cloak above my head, except I knew that it was impossible because this world was Godless. It had to be. I folded my arms around my shoulders against the chill.

The events of the evening played over in my mind like a film on loop
, and part of me refused to believe it was real. Did they really just convince me that Daniel could see the future? Why would I be in that future? It was all so strange that I was frightened. I was frightened of them, of the implications, and of the fact that we’d found each other. I’d never been superstitious. I didn’t believe in fate. But even I had to admit that this was a pretty huge coincidence.

On top of everything, despite how afraid it made me feel to think of Daniel and Angela, the way they ambushed me and the book of drawings, I was relieved. Now I knew there was someone who understood what I go through every day. Someone who had been through even worse, whose own mother had abandoned him. Perhaps we could figure things out together.

After getting lost in my own thoughts I realised that I’d made a wrong turn. The barely distinguishable streets of the Area 14 ghettos were even more identical in the night-time, and instead of making my way to the outskirts, between the ghetto and the town road, I’d turned inwards and headed towards the neglected fields which separated the ghettos and the GEM district. Somehow, after the Fracture, the settlers in the town Areas had segregated themselves. Dad once told me that the un-Blemished rich people had bought Children of the GEM to try and get into favour with the Ministry. It worked. And now, fifteen years later, they had the world at their feet whilst the rest of us could only watch from the ghettos.

I stared out at the fields wondering what it would be like to live on the other side
, when behind me the gravel crunched.

I froze. It wasn’t late at night but very few Blemished stay out after dark. My heart pounded against my chest while I hesitated, unsure of whether to turn around or run. Thoughts ran through my head. Where would I run? Through the fields? Or through the ghettos? It would be easier to hide in the fields, under the tall grasses and weeds, but there was no one who could help me. Maybe I wasn’t in danger. Maybe I should fight them. I ran through every martial arts move I’d ever been taught by my dad. I made my decision. I turned around.

“Who’s there,” I said, my voice little more than a tremble in the cold air.

The gravel crunched again as the intruder came closer. Panicked, I backed up towards the fields, looking
out for something I could move – rocks or heavy wood. But the tingle in my fingers wouldn’t come. I tried to focus on something, anything, but that flash in my mind refused to appear. It was fight or run. I cursed myself for not taking Daniel up on his offer to walk me home. Now I was screwed.

“Mina?”

The sound of my own name made me jump. I gasped. The voice sounded familiar.

“Sebastian?” I answered.

He stepped forward into the moonlight, the angles of his face casting shadows over his eyes and cheeks. He wore running shoes and black shorts.

“Thank goodness it’s you,” he said between panting breaths. “I was running and listening to my music,” he removed a tiny plug from his ear and held it up in the moonlight, “not really paying much attention to where I was going. I was in the fields you see, and I kind of blocked everything out. You know how it is when you get into the zone.”

I nodded. I did know.

“Then I didn’t know where I was and I could just see a shape up ahead.” He laughed. “I thought you were going to attack me!” He stepped forward again so I could see his eyes, they smiled along with his face and I felt safe.

“I thought you were an attacker too,” I said. “I was about to run and hide in the fields.”

“I’m sorry! It must have been even more nerve-wracking for you. Hey, what are you doing out after dark? I thought Blemished girls weren’t allowed to…” his voice trailed off.

I looked down at my shoes. “No. You’re right. I must get home. And I’m not supposed to talk to you either, so.”

“I can’t leave you alone in the dark,” he said, his eyes shining in the moonlight. “Let me walk you home.”

“I don’t know if I should,” I said.

He moved closer to me and all of my worries disappeared. I felt his warm breath and forgot about Angela and Daniel, getting home before my dad worried or even how I should not talk to a GEM. I remembered how his touch made me tingle and the way heat travelled up my arms. I remembered how my gift had been uncontrollable because of the way he made me feel. Despite everything – Billie’s warning, Mrs Murgatroyd’s disapproving eyes – I wanted to get to know him. And I didn’t want to be parted fro
m him. Not yet. “All right.”

We walked
side by side, our shoulders almost touching. Even just his close proximity made me feel like static ran through my body.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re out here alone?” he asked.

“There’s no big story,” I said, smiling into the dark. “I went to a friend’s after tea and we lost track of time. We were talking.” I left out the part about super-human powers.

“Your friend, her name is Angela, right?”

“Yes,” I said surprised. “That’s right.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because GEMs don’t usually remember our names. You don’t even notice us.”

There was a pause and I almost felt him cringe. I’d offended him and could kick myself for it.

“I hate the term GEM. It makes us sound like we aren’t even human,” he said eventually.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re not. You’re better than human. At least you aren’t less than human like the Blemished.”

“We’re clones, not cyborgs,” he said with a laugh, “and Mina, you are definitely not less than human.”

I like the way he said my name, like a sigh. “Tell that to the Ministry.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Anyway, it’s a good thing. The GEM project eradicated all––”

“––genetic predispositions to illness and disease,” he finished. “Yeah, we learn that stuff in Sex-Ed too.”

“Can I let you into a little secret?” I said.

I felt like he smiled even though I couldn’t see it. “Please do.”

“We call it No-Sex-Ed. Because all they ever teach us is that we can’t mate.”

He laughed.

“And we call Mrs Murgatroyd Murder-Troll.”

He laughed again, more loudly. “It suits her.”

We went quiet, the only noises coming from arguments in the houses around us and the gritty pavement beneath our feet. Ghetto houses have thin walls, and many of the windows are smashed and never replaced. It meant you could easily hear the workings of a household, the shouts and swears. The ghettos are the same no matter what Area you were in. We turned right, heading home.

“Why do you think Elena picks on you?”

“Because I’m new?” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I think she’s jealous.”

I snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It isn’t,” he said shortly. “You have something she can never have. You have uniqueness. You’re natural.”

For a moment I thought he knew my secret but then I understood that he was talking about our looks. “I don’t know about that.” The thought of Elena, the mo
st beautiful girl I’d ever seen being jealous of me was completely ridiculous. “All of the Blemished are unique, I guess. So why me? Why not Angela or Billie?”

Sebastian laughed but didn’t answer. “I’ll tell you one day.” He shuffled his feet along the pavement awkwardly.

“Is it true that she’s almost identical to a film star from years ago?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“It is true. I saw a picture. Her name was Angelina something. But Elena looks different to her, crueller I think.”

I nodded. I could believe it.

“Why are you Blemished?”

His question was so sudden that my blood froze in my veins. No one ever asks you
why
you were Blemished. Especially not a GEM.

“I… erm,” I stuttered.

“I’m sorry. I’ve crossed a line. You don’t have to tell me,” he said.

We turned another corner and I recognised a mural to my right. In it a mother held her baby close to her body. An Enforcer stood over her with a machine gun. The moonlight drained the colour from the mural but I knew that the red of her dress stood out like blood in the daytime.

“It’s… something that runs in my dad’s family. Um, a mental illness.” It was something my dad never talked about, but my grandma had been very ill.

“Oh,” said Sebastian. “I see.”

“Yup.” We walked a few more houses until coming to the corner of my street. “Well this is where I live.”

“Looks nice,” he said. “Look, I’m sorry I asked you… It was really rude of me.”

“No.” I waved my hand dismissively. “It’s okay. At least you’re, you know, interested.”

A cloud moved over the moon casting us back into darkness. “I am interested,” he said. “I’m interested in you.”

Through the darkness I thought I saw his hand reaching towards mine but then falling to his side. It could have been my imagination.

“There’s something else you should know,” he said. “If you ever need anything, come to me. If you’re ever in any trouble. My dad… he knows people. He can help. He… sympathises.”

I was taken aback. I had not expected him to say that.

“Also, Elena will never bully you again.”

He walked away, his shadow disappearing into the darkness. I went home with a thousand unspoken questions on my lips.

S
ebastian didn’t lie. The rest of the week at school Elena left me alone. Her friends, the little huddle of hyenas, were made to cope without the entertainment of a showdown and at lunch times Elena chose her meal without fuss. There was a new vibe about her group, as though Elena’s lack of bullying took away her power. I noted how her friends whispered behind her back, eyes shifty and narrow – plotting. The blonde girl puffed her chest like a cockerel before a fight. I tried not to care. Why should I care? She deserved everything she got.

At night I would come home to find Daniel in my house and seeing him there sent my stomach a flutter with nerves. When I walked into the house he would look up at me shyly, eyes always searching mine, an artist’s gaze, looking for nuances. He would always be wearing his apprentice uniform of a black shirt and trousers, the Symbol of the Blemished stitched neatly over the pocket. There were fewer restrictions for Blemished boys. Regulations suggested they wear the Symbol, dark clothing and always have their chest covered.

He and my dad worked constantly on the basement. I could tell Dad liked Daniel by the way he would casually toss him tools and the way he trusted Daniel’s instincts when it came to design. Together they laid floor-boards, put up shelves and tried to boss me around, or at least my dad did, Daniel was too shy to ask me to do much. One evening Dad came home with some old boxing gear and hung up a punch bag.

“Are you taking up boxing?” I asked while sanding the floorboards.

“No, you are,” he answered.

“Kickboxing?”

Dad smiled. “If you like.”

“Good,” I said. “I miss martial arts.”

He laughed. “I know.”

Angela joined us in the evenings. Her mum’s condition worsened day by day and they both liked to be out of the house. It put Dad in his element, fussing over children and making beverages. At night he made us his famous spaghetti and whilst he was in the kitchen the three of us chatted, telling each other about ourselves: what our absent mums and dads had been like. Daniel’s mum was deeply religious, as many of the Blemished often are. When he talked about her he spoke with a quiet voice that demanded attention, with his head hanging forward and hair in his eyes. He always went still as he spoke of her, the only time he was ever still, and I would find myself staring at him, unable to move, almost hypnotised. He described how she would try exorcisms on him, smearing him with holy water and pushing a crucifix into his chest. I wished that I’d been there. I wished I’d known him then so I could do something. Daniel looked up at me once and I remembered his notebook. All this time he’d known me – my face at least – and the thought sent tingles through my arms and legs. Maybe I
had
done something to help, even then.

One day after school Daniel had a vision and his nose bled. I fetched him damp towels and laid him down gently on the floor so he could sleep. We were on our own, Dad had gone to the market to fetch more tools and Angela was at her house having tea with Theresa. I sat there, terrified that Daniel was hurt, energy coursing through my body, jangling paint pots, itching to move objects. I watched him sleep, staring at his features; the small nose, full lips and long blond eye-lashes. He was fine when he woke but refused to talk about his vision because he said it was something he could never change and there was no point dwelling on it. I didn’t care that he wouldn’t tell me his vision I was just relieved he was okay
. Then I realised that I’d been in pain along with him and I wondered why I felt like that.

He never complained about the headache, simply picked up a brush and got back to work. I joined him. We worked in silence until eventually he started to talk.

“It was my mum,” he said.

“In the vision?”

He nodded. “Don’t tell Angela. I don’t like her to know about stuff like this. She worries about me and she has enough to deal with… you know, with Theresa.”

“I won’t tell her,” I replied. “I promise.”

“I see her a lot,” he said. “She’s always in trouble but I don’t know where she is so I can’t…” his voice cracked and he tightened his grip on the brush. “The low-life she ran off with, he treats her badly.”

“I’m sorry.”

He put his energy into painting. “Don’t be. It isn’t your fault. I just wish I was there to protect her.” He leaned forward and dunked the brush into the paint.

“Even after everything she did?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. Even after all that.”

I watched him for a few seconds, always moving, as though if he kept going it would stop being real.

“It’s nice to see her,” he said with a hollow laugh. “That sounds stupid but I get to see her face and it makes me happy.”

“That’s not stupid. I’d give anything to see my mum’s face again.”

Daniel stopped what he was doing and turned to face me. His eyes were deep pools of suffering and I wanted nothing more than to take it away. We stayed like that for what felt like hours until he finally said, “These powers we have. They’re a burden. A weight of responsibility.”

I nodded.

He took my hand and held it for a moment and I stared down at it. When he let me go my fingers burned. They longed for the rough feel of his skin. I wondered what the hell was happening to me.

*

Later that day Angela came to the basement and we talked some more. She told us how her dad was a good cook, his speciality spiced chicken and rice. She missed his food. Her mum sometimes forgot about meals leaving Angela and Daniel to fend for themselves but they said it was okay because there was usually bread. I told them about the stories my mum used to tell me. There wasn’t much else that I remembered about her. I told them that my dad sometimes disappeared at night and I didn’t know why.

At one point during the rest of the week we felt so brave that we sat my dad down at the kitchen table and told him about Daniel’s power. I told him that both Angela and Daniel knew about my gift and that I trusted them. If Dad was surprised he didn’t show it. He took it all calmly and even offered to help Daniel control his gift.

But soon the days faded before my eyes and as the last finishing touches were prepared I felt a sense of nostalgic sadness take over me. But as a fitting tribute to us all Daniel painted our portraits along the length of the basement wall and somehow he captured a little bit of each of us; Angela’s goofy grin, his own crooked smile and dishevelled hair, my dad’s professor glasses and me, deep in thought, staring out at some unknown future. He painted us without our headscarves, with my hair flowing down and Angela’s full head of coiled curls which framed her face beautifully. I think we all felt a twinge of sadness that the task was finally over, even Dad, because it had brought as all together and who knew when we would have that closeness again. We were back into the real world. Thrust out from the protective womb beneath the house.

“Now the hard work begins,” Dad said to me over breakfast the next day.

I stirred my cereal. “I don’t know how to do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to control my power. Sometimes when I
want
to be able to use it I can’t. I have to be angry.”

Dad took a spoonful of his cornflakes and chewed. “Then you have to learn
how
to get angry.”

“You mean fake being angry?” I asked.

“Perhaps you can think of something that makes you angry and use that energy.” He waved his empty spoon dismissively. “Anyway. We will begin all that when you’re ready.”

“Dad?”

“Yes, Mina.”

“Why am I learning to fight?”

“For protection, Mina.”

“Why do I need protecting?”

He looked at me sadly. “Because I won’t always be here to look after you.”

I started to say something, to ask why he wouldn’t be here. What did he mean? But he silenced me with a kiss on my forehead.