Awake

FORTY THREE

Right now, I'm at the unworld base: sitting on the ground in the library. The cold of the concrete floor is soaking through my clothes, into my skin, but I don't care. The memory wall is shifting and pulsing in front of me – dark, distracting – but right now, all I can concentrate on is my journal. The pen in my hand.

I don't want to write anything more about what happened with Jake. What more can I say? I feel humiliated – just the barest thought about what happened in the immersion makes me cringe.

He's been acting normally – as though nothing happened. Nothing did happen. Except for me assaulting him. Oh, Christ. I'm such an idiot. Why did I do it?

I'm not writing about it. I'm not thinking about it. If he's going to act as though it didn't matter, as though it was nothing – it must have meant nothing to him. Kisses don't mean anything – I'm the one who overreacted, made it a big deal. It's like Lily said – he's out of my league. Chubby nerds do not get kissed – seriously kissed – by people like him. It must have been an experiment – a spur-of-the-moment-weird-opportunistic-brain-malfunction on his part. And I punched him.

But – if he was serious – I mean, by shoving me into that statue plinth, he quite literally put me on a pedestal – and I think that it's a very foreboding metaphor because, you know – I'm not just a Waker – like those other statues of Wakers – I'm Anna. I'm a person, I'm –

Not thinking about it.

I'm going to stop scribbling such stupid things. I'm going to calm down.

In front of me, the memory wall is shifting. It's refusing to settle on a single shape – like a mass of dark clouds, or the movement of branches. I can almost make sense of all those tiny, shifting pieces, but then they fragment into nothing again.

A bit like my mind right now.

If only Jake – and what happened with Jake – was all that I had to think about. Maybe then I'd be able to compartmentalise – to shut it away – to forget about it. But no. After I got home, something miraculous happened. Something that's made me equal parts furious, and overjoyed. It's tangled up my mind – made my thoughts a knot.

I'll write about it because, after all – that's all I'm good for, isn't it? Not being a friend, not being a woman – not being a functional human being. I can write journals. Journals that no one is ever going to read.

Enough self pity. Get a grip, Anna. You're being pathetic.

After – the event – in the immersion, I decided to go home early. My anthology of Shakespeare was missing. First Austen, now the Bard! I think Zoe's the one stealing them. I wasn't in the mood to attempt a rescue mission. I just hauled my satchel over my shoulder and told Paige I'd be back as soon as I handed in my last essay at uni. Then I snuck out before anyone could attempt to escort me anywhere.

At least, now I know why they took all those precautions with my safety. It's not just because I'm a new Waker. It's because I'm a female Waker. It even explains why they were so awful to me at the beginning, why they forced me to do those tests. They had to be sure I was worth it. Had to be sure I was an investment worth the risk.

I walked in a random direction for at least twenty minutes, squinting in an attempt to see through the darkness. Apart from falling over several times – and nearly spraining my ankle – for once I ignored the shattered city around me: even through the cold light of the moon overhead made it look as though everything was coated in silver.

I was certain that Mila was watching through the security cameras hidden around the ruins – making sure I wasn't taken by an opportunistic Hierarch patrol. I angrily bit the inside of my cheek, and made my shard liquefy, running it around my wrist and though my fingers like a cool, supple ribbon to calm myself down. I can't believe they kept it from me for so long. What was the point?