Unspoken

Chapter 34

Brody leaves me almost immediately. I wander through the empty rooms. I put my clothes into one of the drawers. I don't have enough stuff to fill any of the other cabinets or drawers. The bareness of the apartment makes me uncomfortable. After I drink a large glass of water, I decide I can't handle it and leave.

I walk down the halls of the living quarters for a while. I read each name plaque outside the doors carefully. Eventually, I find myself in front of a door. I knock slowly.

A few seconds later, it flies opens. Standing on the other side is Merda, with aggravated eyes that quickly widen in surprise. Paint smears are present on her face and hands, even on her dingy, loose clothes.

"Taeo?" I'm sure I'm the last person she expected to see at this time; I'm sure she didn't expect to see anybody at this time.

I give her one short nod, then tuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans.

"Do you want to come in?" She steps to the side to make room for me in the small doorway. I take a hesitant step in, then another. The first thing I note is that the room smells exactly like her, the way it did back at her house in the Movement; the second is the mess of colors. Every wall is painted in a different hue, with colorful paintings hanging along them. The apartment has the same setup as Baya's, except there's only one arm chair, no couch, and an easel is set up against one of the walls with part of it covered in a painting. I move toward it and point.

She laughs to herself. "Oh, that." She sits in the worn, wooden chair set in front of it and picks up one of the cans of color. "Painting's always been one of my favorite things." I'm able to peg the scent I've been alluded to all these years. She always smelled faintly of house paint. It was small enough a scent that I couldn't connect the two. Now it is obvious, especially with the splashes staining her skin. There had been so many times where I'd noticed small patches of color on her skin, but I had never thought anything of it. No one really painted in the Movement--no one could really make art. We had practical jobs and hobbies. If an activity couldn't aid to the functioning of the Movement, it was frowned upon. A few did in more secluded cities and towns, but it wasn't common.

I grab one of the paints that she isn't using and examine it. It's a beautiful color that reminds me of the sky when it's about to storm, and it's almost an empty can. Merda must think it's beautiful, too. We've always thought similar things were magnificent. It's why we were best friends for all those years; it's why I almost started to fall in love with her.

I put it down and catch her eyes. I shake my head and bite my lip. The deception she's given me is something I can't take lightly. What if the Merda I've known wasn't always the Merda she could be?

"I didn't want to have to lie to you, Taeo. I had to. You have to understand." She puts the paint down after only making one stroke with the brush. "Now you can know who I am, though. I am Merda Hoffing, I am a Free Speak, and I love to paint."

I cross my arms over my chest and look around. I motion the length of the room, then point at the ground.

She grabs a different color, swirling the brush around in the golden hue. She spreads the brush across the canvas for a moment before deciding what to say next. "I've lived down here my whole life; I got my own apartment last year, when I turned 18..." Her voice trails for a moment as she lets the fact sink in. She'd even lied about her age. She continues after a moment, "We're here at least two months out of the year--whenever we went on 'vacation'. It's why we went out of town so much."

I watch her paint for a few moments, entranced by the way she pulls the brush along the canvas. Not many artists live near where I grew up; I've seen paintings in government buildings, but they aren't very common with white decor being the main staple of our society. In smaller cities closer to the coasts, I'd seen a lot of them. Merda must not have painted on the surface not only for the sake of Movement structure, but also to keep her cover.

There's something beautiful about seeing a painting being created, a rare treat I've been lucky enough to be given.

After watching for a few minutes, my fingers start to inch for my jacket pocket; that's the real reason I gravitated this way. After Brody had left me, the first thing I'd really done was pull the book out of my pocket. In the book I found the reason Jeremii was so hesitant to let me tell Michael about the truth of it.

But Merda understands, because she's the one that decided I could serve the purpose the book is designed to indicate.

I place the worn copy on the small table her paints sit on.

Her lips rise at the corners. She sets her brush down and maneuvers her chair to face me. "Have you decided what to do with it yet?"

I shake my head. The decision...is a big decision. There's a lot of implications if I choose to do what it asks, a lot of challenges will face me ahead. On the long road, though, I know the decision is the best one for everybody.

The book wasn't about what was written in the pages--there weren't any pages to really read—it was about a letter written through the first ten.

She nods, grinning sincerely with small tears in her eyes. I can see how much she loves me and how much this is all hurting her, that I'm not loving her back. I see the question come before she even asks it. "Do you think you could ever love me, Taeo?"

I sit for a while, thinking about it. At one point, I always thought I could. She'd seemed so perfect for what I could do in the Movement. But I may never go back to the Movement as I knew it, and she will definitely never return.

When I look at her, I don't get the feeling in my stomach where it drops and lurches and twists the way it does for Baya. I shake my head. No, no I can't because Merda isn't Baya. If this had never happened, I would have loved her until the day we died. But life has changed, and now here we sit. Both of us are not who we were a month ago.

I look into her eyes now and see the pain behind them. I don't know what makes me do it, but I lean down and press my lips to hers. Even though I don't love Merda and know that I can't love her, it has been something I've been waiting for for years. She will always be one of my best friends; I will always love her that way. I just can't love her the way she wants.

We both know the kiss means nothing romantically. It's a seal that our past doesn't define our future any more, that we've reached the end of a chapter.

I honestly feel nothing when I do it except for pain in my chest that this isn't Baya, then guilt that I've let her think I'm angry at her.

I'll have to apologize to her soon.

After I step away from Merda, I take my book and depart. She wishes me luck on our demonstration.

I say nothing in return.

--

A/N:

So we've found out a little more about the book, but not all yet. More will come about as time progresses! Hope you enjoyed!

Vote, comment, share! Next week things start to speed up!

Also, if you enjoy this, go check out my story The Nomad! Chapter 4 is up today!

Alisha :)