The Law and the Codas

Chapter Thirty-Six

Central Sector, Upper Level - The Brights

After six days of captivity, I'm about ready to pull my hair out and bolt for the door, no matter how futile an escape effort would be. But I've kept it together this long, I could do so for a few more hours. After this therapy session comes to an end, we'll be expected to present our choice to the Law. Later today, some of us would be draped in the gauzy, white robes of Future Councilors and swear fealty to the FUA. The rest of us would face expulsion.

We were told if we accepted re-entry int the Law program, we would be absolved from our sins. Our hands would be wiped clean of any blood that made have stained them. This line of talk seemed to spark something inside Mara and she'd asked the doctor about it who'd insisted, "Blood spilled with purpose could never be considered a sin."

"Allison?"

I shove two fingers between my throat and the starched collar of the cream blouse I'm wearing underneath the blazer and tug.

"Allison," Dr. Aronson says again. "Stop fiddling with your uniform."

Sweat runs down my face, despite the air whistling through the overhead vents. I sigh and withdraw my fingers, accepting defeat.

In lieu of a pen and clipboard, the doctor taps her feet against the marble floor to punctuate her annoyance.

I lean back in my chair. "Wish you'd stop calling me that," I say, bunching up the hem of my skirt. My knees make a sound akin to velcro being unstuck as I pull them apart.

The doctor snorts. "Calling you what?"

"Don't play oblivious. You know that's not my name."

The leather seat Dr. Aronson has shoved herself into for today's session, gives a little squelch as she shifts her weight. With a fat finger, she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, her cheeks flush.

The little amount of lip she has pulls into a line. "I couldn't help but notice you're not wearing your FUA pin." She moves her legs, which sounds like someone wrenching apart two greased up hams, before crossing one over the other. "This is the third time this week." She straightens and heaves her enormous bosom forward, her blouse's buttons pushed to their limits. Sam's eyes bulge at the sight. If he were any more obvious, drool would be hanging off his chin in thin, glossy strings. Mara would usually reprimand his behavior with a quick jab to the ribs or gut, but she keeps her gaze on Aronson, hopeful, enraptured.

The doctor clears her throat, the universal sign she wishes to hold my attention again, so I oblige her. "Gold was never my thing," I say, shrugging despite the discomfort the movement lodges between my shoulder blades. "Always seemed best suited to adorn small-dicked men and withered, empty women." I nod at the gold necklace looped around her thick neck.

Sighing, Aronson folds her hands on her lap and begins to talk, her words little more than air being leaked from a tire what with how pursed her mouth is. "Lashing out today, too?" She smooths a few strands of uneven fringe out of her eyes. "You're always one to redirect. Never want to confront the truth."

"If you're so aware of my MO, why insist on having these pointless meetings? Can't you crawl back to your boss, and when you're done licking his ass, let him know that this shit isn't working?" I kick up my feet and plant them on the glass table in front of me

A stretched, upside-down reflection of Dr. Aronson smiles at me from inside the bulbous player which means she was frowning at me, again. "Just because therapy hasn't worked for you yet, doesn't mean the other Potentials don't feel differently."

I gulp as she scans the others, situated in a crescent around the table, opposite me. On the first day of therapy, six chairs had been arranged in a line, all facing the larger doctor's chair. I'd purposely moved mine opposite the others, placing a barricade between myself and them. After David--I clench my hands in my lap-- I just couldn't bring myself to...to be near them.