Unspoken

Chapter 3

I'm taken to get my daily Transmitters an hour later. Merda leaves long before then; surprisingly, my father stays. He stared at me for a long time, though, waiting for me to say something. I almost did so he would look away with his intimidating gaze.

On the first floor of the Medical Unit is the Transmitter Room, where eight different stations are set up for patient use. I must have been the last patient brought down for the day. At this time, the room is empty besides an older Spoken man who looks to have received more than his allotted dose for too many years. His eyes are hazed and he sits without moving beside a station without an attendant. There's a skinny tube feeding into his lower arm. Clear liquid runs through it, disappearing into his splotched skin. He flinches with pain every few seconds.

The Assistant who escorted me down sits in a chair at the edge of the room. I approach the only open station, which is hosted by an aging woman with her long, blonde hair tied into a ponytail. She looks young despite her creeping age, younger than my father though her lines on her face hint that they may be the same age. She's familiar. I might know her from my street; I think she lives a few houses down. I catch a glimpse of her Tag: Laura Jane Emby.

She smiles and holds her hand out for my Tag, glancing at the man with the tube in his arm. He almost falls asleep, but another surge of pain runs through his face. After watching him myself, I show it to her. Her eyebrows rise at my name. When she looks at me, her smile is bigger than it had been before. She reaches for a Transmitter pad, presses a few buttons to adjust the settings, then places it in front of me.

The label where I will place my palm tells me this is for my Nutrition.

I set my left hand down, resting my fingers in the groves made for them. Once the Transmitter senses my fingers, it gives one beep.

The Ticks rise from the seemingly flat surface and press into my skin. Just as quickly, they are gone. Coursing through my body is every vitamin and mineral, protein and carbohydrate my body needs to function perfectly. The Ticks don't hurt anymore—I can't remember a time where they did. All babies cry when they start receiving them—I've seen it. I simply can't remember that time. I've since become numb to the feeling.

Once that is done, Laura Emby already has my Levels Transmitter ready, which regulates emotional and mental factors. I'm reaching for it when a man appears behind the counter and taps on her shoulder, handing her another Transmitter labeled for Levels. I pull my hand back, placing it at my side. I watch the aging man carefully. His hair is almost too long and messy for our people. His hazel eyes glint in a way I'm not used to.

He pulls a paper out of his coat pocket and shows it to Laura. I crane my head to read it. The words are too small and too far away for me to make out, even with optimal vision.

The man is too large. His muscles stand defined under his shirtsleeves, which isn't normal in the City. His eyes are dark as they flash to me; I narrow mine at him. He doesn't seem the type to work here. My gut turns queezy. Laura reluctantly grabs the Transmitter pad from the man and lays it down for me. The man disappears faster than he appeared.

I try to look after him, but no matter how much I crane my neck I can't make him out in the back room. He's slipped behind an aisle of Transmitters and has left my line of sight. Mindlessly, my hand goes to the Transmitter. I don't even feel when the Ticks invade my skin, but I can feel the Transmitters as they course through my body. Immediately, the edge to my thoughts softens and my breathing calms.

When I'm done, I nod at Laura and turn back to the Assistant. He's wearing long sleeves, so I wasn't able to catch his Data Tag. All I can tell about him is that his face shows barely any emotion and he is roughly thirty years old. He is miserable in this job. I wonder what he would love to do. The Movement doesn't care about passions, only practicality. He must do this job well, even if his heart isn't in it.

That is my biggest fear as I wait for my fate in the next few days—what will the rest of my life entail? What duty does the Movement think I will be able to master for the remainder of my days?

When I step into the lobby, I find my father has placed himself in a waiting chair. He'd stepped out of the room right before the Assistant had come for me. I hadn't been able to see him in the hallway when we'd walked down it. I had no idea where he'd disappeared. I didn't expect him to find his way down here. It takes him a few moments to see me, but when he does he rises. He points his thumb to the exit and then puts his hands on my shoulders to squeeze. He's trying to look apologetic, but I know he's not.

Of course he's leaving to work.

I never expected anything more from him.

Back in my room, I'm struck with how alone I am. I turn on the television to fill the void.

Music plays from the Station for the remainder of the hour.

I lay in my plain, white bed and listen and imagine what my life will begin to look like now that I'm an unspoken Spoken.

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A/N: I know this chapter is a little boring, but I think it's good to give some more insight. Things start to get rolling in the next chapter! I've edited half the book, so I'll put chapters up as I have time (and this week, I have a lot of time)

Comment, vote, follow, enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Alisha