Citizen

Chapter seventeen

For the past week Kyra's life had been simple: sleep, eat, train, and repeat. And she liked it. Patterns were familiar to her; they put her mind at ease. There was nothing for her to worry about, no decisions to make, nothing out of place. When she wasn't busy she could hide in her room with a good book, oblivious to the world, and she took comfort in that - there was no reason for her to be seen by people, no opportunity for them to stare at her bruises. It was a rare moment of solitude.

All of that changed, however, when she found a note slid under her door.

There are a thousand things I should apologise for, but all I can say right now is that I'm sorry - for everything. I know you need answers, and believe me if I could give them to you I would. But for now I can't. It's too risky - something you'll understand one day.

I need to see you, to at least apologise for vomiting on your floor. If you're ready to talk to me, meet me at our usual Saturday morning spot.

Hint: I'll be the guy in the depressingly dark clothing waiting for your insults.

James.

Kyra ran her fingers across the paper, crumpled from all the times it had been folded and unfolded since early that morning. She didn't want to go, didn't want him to lie to her again, but part of her wanted to see him, to see if his bruises had healed faster than her own. All she had left from the incident on the train were faint yellow patches, and a small scar on her chin from the scrape.

"So stupid," she murmured, gripping the bridge rail as she came to a stop. Whether she was talking about herself or James, she wasn't sure, but either way her stomach was filled with dread. She hadn't seen him since he'd turned up in her room covered in injuries, driven delirious by a concussion. Whether James remembered it or not, they had the biggest fight of their relationship that night, and Kyra still recalled every word of it. Something had happened to her that night. It was like all her stored rage from the past eighteen years came out in a flood and drowned everyone near, including herself. And yet, it was the realest she'd ever felt.

Despite the strong easterly breeze, the river below was smooth, not a single wave breaking the surface as it moved steadily towards the other end of the city. It was shallow, but standing against the railing, staring down into its depths, Kyra could see neither an edge nor a bottom, a thought which made her uncomfortable. A face stared back up at her, familiar and yet foreign because of the faint yellow patches against her skin – one of the only things left over from last week's ordeal. The water seemed to make the faded bruises on her face stand out even more, despite the measures she'd taken to cover them up.

As she shook her head, hair fell into her eyes, which she impatiently swatted back. The air was full of laughter and chatter as Kyra continued over the bridge, pulling her coat closer to her chest, inhaling the scent of fresh river water - unlike the Control Centre or her house, it didn't smell of chemicals, a scent that she growing far too used to. Though the sun had not yet fully risen, each of the ten bridges scaling the river were full of people; despite her preference of being alone, people watching intrigued her, and filled her with the kind of inspiration only new experiences could. Kyra longed to be one of the Citizens passing her, heading back towards her house - that would be better than confronting James.

Head bent against the wind, she stepped onto the concrete boardwalk, following the familiar path without thinking. The buildings that lined the river were all rather small, painted in bland colours, their names fancy and the writing used on their walls ornate. Behind that the buildings slowly grew taller; they resembled a haphazard set of bleachers in the way they rose in lines.

She crossed to a little black and white shop, with the phrase 'raison d'etre' written across the top. Nestled in between two taller buildings, it was mainly ignored by the citizens, but that only made the place more appealing; the less people the better, after all. With one hand raised to grab the handle and the other clenched into a fist, she froze, unsure of whether she was making the right call. Before she could change her mind, the door swung forward, pulling her with it. She stumbled inside, her shoes wet with dew sliding on the wooden floors, causing her to bang shoulders with someone and reach out to steady herself on their arm.