Mortal - Chapter 6

Premise: In this young-adult dystopian novel, people can no longer die. But they still feel pain, and suffer--and it's maddening. Because of the chaos that ensued, the US Government created a program to figure out how to kill people. When Garrett, a teenager, falls into a coma for weeks as a result of an experiment, the Program sets its malicious sights on him.

This is the sixth chapter of the novel, Mortal. Click here for the beginning of the story. Or, click here for Chapter 5.

Was it all an act?

I stare at myself in a mirror of one of the infirmaries. My face is swollen and is beginning to turn a splotchy red. Dry blood crusts around my mouth. My nose, at the bridge, is slightly crooked though the nurse assures me that it is not permanent. And my eyes are wide, not because of the gruesome image, but because I feel betrayed.

It is worse than thinking Joe acted independently.

I dab at my face a few more times with a wet washcloth before I let the nurse waiting yank my nose in opposite directions, to pop its form back in place. She puts a small, hard bandage in the middle of my nose to keep it straight-- so that it can heal-- before she lets me leave for the recreational room.

I sit at a table with no one else, my shoulders hunched, and feeling watched, as I absently flip through one of the magazines still left on the table. Therese has already left for her tests, and there is no one else I want to see more, except maybe Abel. Never have I felt more alone than right now.

My fingers tap against the tabletop, my mind whirling with thoughts I refuse to focus on, my head still throbbing with the ache of the beating.

I examine the room searching for someone to talk to. I search for a familiar face until my eyes meet Peter, my roommate, moving past me, and I stand to intercept him.

“Peter,” I greet emotionless.

“What do you want?” a flash of irritation flickers in his eyes, and his nose scrunches up in a snarl.

I slink back into my chair, recoiling. Peter and I were never close, not that it mattered anymore. After what I did.

His face softens when he must have seen the hurt on my face. “Hey, Garrett.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I-I…I don’t know—“

Peter raises a hand, “Save it,” he tells me. “Every bastard in this place would have done the same, including me. Don’t give them, and me, the satisfaction of feeling guilty.”

He leaves without another word.

I try to keep busy alone until Therese and Abel return. I eat the middle meal, a spam sandwich with canned peaches, slowly. I stare blankly at the single television channel they give us, not registering a thing. I go to the corner of the large room and lift the meager weights provided, the strain in my arms calming my festering thoughts that I ignore. And though I try to ignore the stares, my skin crawls with alertness.

I ultimately end up sitting against a wall, my legs pulled up to my chest. I rest my chin against one of my knees and look into the opposing wall.

My body flinches when the door slams, and inmates begin to file in the room. Most of them look exhausted, a few look too awake, like Paul, who’s still jittery with the high concentration of drugs in his system. For some reason, Mose has lost his nose, and it only makes me angry because I’m sure the scientists did it for the only purpose of being humorous.

I examine each face that enters the room, searching for Abel and Therese, and Joe. A little more than half of the inmates return to the recreation room after the tests. Some go straight to their rooms because of the pain, some have tests that last longer, sometimes up to a few weeks, and some have tests that end them up in the infirmary because of what the scientists deem unbearable pain. My stomach clenches as I eagerly wait to see their familiar faces.

I spot Therese, and a small smile cracks through the stone of my face. She has a few gauzy strips of cloth wrapped around parts of her arms and a bandage on her face, but other than that, she looks fine. She starts talking to a few people at the nearest table, and although I want to go talk to her right away, I know she’ll make her methodical rounds and eventually get to me.

The door shuts, and my whole body tenses as I return my hard gaze to the door to watch for the last of the returners. A few minutes pass, and no one enters. My heart pounds against my chest as I search the room, wondering if I might have missed them enter. No. I was thorough. They are not here. And I know this is no coincidence.

I rest my head between my knees, my jaw knotting. Horrifying images of Abel, even Joe bombard me. My whole body trembles with hopelessness and I can’t help but think it is all my fault…

“Hey, you.”

I glance up slowly to see Therese standing over me with a crooked grin which confuses me since she never smiles after a test. “You don’t look so hot.” She presses her back against the wall and slides to the floor beside me.

“And you do?” I grumble, turning my head away from her.

She is silent for a long time which makes me wonder if I upset her. I want to apologize, but I don’t—Peter’s words echoing inside my head.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” she finally says, solemn.

My chest strains, and I’m forced to confess, “It’s my fault,” I exhale raggedly, not meeting her gaze.

“How?” she asks, “Were you the one who created this program? Are you the one making sure this program continues?”

“No…but—“

“Garrett, stop,” she orders sternly. “They’re going to be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?” she laughs, “They…die?”

I turn to her, puzzled by what she said, “Therese…do you want to die?”

Therese twists her mouth into a wry smile, “I’m eighteen. I don’t want to die. But I don’t want to live through this pain either. I’d be perfectly fine with living if I wasn’t living here.”

“Yeah.” It’s all I can say. I look up and scan the room of people, wondering what they thought. Surely, the old men, like Abel, want to die even if they were out of Project Eden’s clutches.  But even surely, Mose, who doesn’t seem too old wouldn’t want to live now. He is mutilated for life…but so is Therese. I frown. Arthur Paracot, Dr. Long, they say it’s terrible out there. But I know without question, I would want to leave this place and actually live.

Therese sighs and she moves her legs to the side and leans her body into mine. “But I suppose we can’t pick and choose.”

“What would you chose then,” I ask, “To live, but in here? Or to die in here?”

She laughs, turning to face me. She gives me a grin.

“What?” I ask as my eyebrows raise. I don’t think this conversation is all that funny.

“I feel like a kid again!” she exclaims, her eyes bright with morbidity, “Thinking about fantasies.”

“Just answer the question,” I mutter teasingly.

“Oh…I don’t know…” she says and her smile fades, “I’d want to die.” And I can tell from her eyes that she does know.

“Really?” I ask, sarcastic. But I actually am shocked to an extent and it gnaws at me, “But you’re such a pretty flower!”

Her eyes narrow, “Shut it.” Her lips press together in a smile. “If my death could help everyone, then why not?”

“A modern-day Jesus,” I envision sarcastically.

“I’m serious!” she punches me playfully in the arm. “What about you, huh? You wanna die or live?”

I grimace as I think about her question. Why would I want to help people who have destroyed us? I see Therese, and she only strengthens my defiance. She could have been something. She told me a few months ago that her father sold her to the program. He couldn’t afford to take care of her, his wife, his young son, and of course, himself. He had no choice. Instead of Therese living her dreams, she is living her nightmares. Yes, I would never want to help these people even if most of them had no idea what is happening. But to live, there would be a high possibility I would one day look like Therese. But I am okay with that if they never get what they want. For Therese.

“I’d want to live,” I say firmly.

Therese rolls her eyes, “You have to be contrary, don’t you?”

I ignore her, “But why not pick and chose?”

She bites her lip, “Because…we can’t…?”

“Therese,” I say, and for the first time, I grab her hand without shuddering, “Why can’t we live our lives out there?”

She stares into my eyes, wary, and lowers her voice, “Are you suggesting we escape?”

I give her a short, jerk of my head, and her eyes widen.

“Garrett! That’s impossible!” she whispers harshly.

“Like you said, what do you have to lose?” I ask quietly.

“Only you,” she retorts.

I blink in response and my face burns because it’s so unlike her. I know she means it only in companionship, because that’s the only way you can get by, but her words throw me off, and I fumble for what to say.

“Therese, we’re as good as dead here. Out there…we have a chance,” I breathe urgently.

Her eyes glance away for a brief moment before she grips my shirt and pulls me close to her, her breath warm against my neck, “Say you’re kidding,” she whispers in my ear.

I pull away enough so that I can see her face. It is completely lacking of emotion except for the fierceness in her eyes, and for some reason, I trust her. I trust that whatever she is doing, she is trying to save me from some whatever.

Therese pulls away and looks up at something for quick moment before lowering her gaze to her lap. I follow the former train of her gaze, and my stomach knots at the sight of the camera staring at me. I casually move my head to look at three men lifting weights. Could the camera hear us too? Could whoever watching get a close enough image to read our lips? I try to formulate a way of saying what Therese wants me to, without it sounding obvious…to them.

“You and I could do it, you know. We could go live in a big city, get married, have kids. We could do all of that if we escaped. They wouldn’t be able to find us.”

Therese plays her part well, “Garrett…you’re scaring me.”

I stare at her seriously and grip her shoulder, “We could work at spaghetti parlor. No…” I say as my voice trails, “We could work at a strip club spaghetti parlor.” A big grin flashes across my face and I begin to laugh.

Pure shock highlights Therese’s face, “Garrett! Don’t you ever do that to me again! I thought you had lost your mind!”

I continue to chuckle as she angrily gets to her feet and stomps off. Immediately, I hope that she is wrong. Then, I hope that if she was not wrong, a naïve assistant was listening and not the Secretary, because he would know as well as I did, that was a little overplayed. I notice carts full of dinner trays enter the room, and lastly, before I get up to get my food, I realize Therese was trying to save me.

From myself.

Thanks for reading!! xoxo, Liv