Seconds later, the president had joined them in the narrow hall that separated the first main room of their house and the doorway. He clapped his hands together and smiled widely, blissfully unaware of the discussion that was unraveling just a few moments earlier.
"I am positively ravenous!" he exclaimed, patting his son's shoulder. "There was so much paperwork that I had to skip my normal break, and on top of that I'm completely swamped with the investigation."
Arabelle nearly ran into the dining room, paralyzed with fear. He knows, she thought to herself over and over again, He just has to know.
Micheal came in to check on her. "That was more than a little suspicious behavior," he told her, standing a few feet away. She nodded her head and sighed. "You're right. But you'll have to forgive me. It sounded like you said you wanted to kill him!" she hissed. Swiftly, Micheal stepped forward and clapped his hand over her mouth.
"Don't you dare spill this," he whispered. "I could spin it and convince him it was entirely your idea. The only one to be punished would be you."
Tears flooded her eyes. She had evaded death once before, but she knew she couldn't escape it again if she was charged with a plot to assassinate the president.
"Are you ready for me to let you go?" Micheal asked her, as tears dripped from her eyes onto his hand. Instead of answering him, she took the opportunity to bite down on his hand. "Ow!" he grunted, staggering back two steps.
"How dare you threaten me!" she growled.
Suddenly, a voice caught them by surprise. "Everything all right in here?" the president asked, a glass of wine in his left hand. "Yes father, thank you," Micheal responded, stealthily hiding the teeth marks on his hand.
"Well then come!" the president exclaimed. "Let's have something to eat!"
They made polite conversation as they ate their dinner. After what felt like an eternity to Arabelle, the president finally asked the youngest maid to retrieve his coat.
"It was good to see you again," he noted as he began to walk towards the door. "Always a pleasure to have you over father," Micheal replied. "Let's do it again soon."
As soon as the car rumbled away from the house, Arabelle broke into tears. She had never considered herself to be an emotional person, but she felt like the dam holding back all of the sadness of leaving her family and being forced to be with a person she couldn't stand had finally broken, allowing her tears to spill forward.
Micheal sighed, seemingly both mentally and physically exhausted. "I'm sorry," he apologized, nearing her slowly, "I shouldn't have snapped at you. Please forgive me."
Although she accepted his embrace, she made it very clear to him that she despised him with everything she had. "I understand," he whispered as he pulled her tightly into his chest.
"I hate myself too."
She was shocked at his words. Tears streamed down her face as she contemplated them, wondered what he meant.
Finally, Micheal let her go. "I have some contributors on the inside that support the idea of killing the president. Once it's done, you can leave me and go as far away as you want."
"And I will!" she burst. "I'll get as far away from you as I can! Even if I have to travel in the Wastes and be poisoned!"
Arabelle raced up the stairs, locking herself into her bedroom.
Micheal staggered towards the table. Once he had returned, rather than sit in a chair, he used one hand to support his weight, and the other covered his face. "I'm sorry Arabelle," he muttered, finding that a few tears were even emerging from his eyes.
He didn't dare tell her, but it wasn't just her stats that caught his attention. Her hair and the color of her eyes were what drew him in, and he had believed he'd never seen a girl as beautiful as she. However, when he had checked on her Predetermined Judgement Status, Micheal had found that she would have most likely been killed.
Not wanting to see someone who looked so much like his childhood love murdered, he bartered with his father until they were able to strike a deal. Micheal was growing closer and closer to the age of twenty two, the age when all high standing political men get married.
And although it was obvious she would never love him, he knew inside his heart that he loved her so much that it sometimes terrified him.
But it was no good. Soon enough, the president would be dead, and as soon as the public caught wind of the incident, all hell would break loose. And she would leave towards some Outer Division city and find some other man.
The sun was just beginning to set as rain began to pelt down on the city. Rain was a rare sight in the city, considering the Watchers tended to disregard colder or wetter weather, and usually provided the city with sun and warmth.
Micheal left the house to sit on the porch. Rain drenched every inch of his skin, soaking his skin and making his clothes weigh nearly a thousand pounds.
The entire world felt bleak and black as he seated himself on the final step leading from the porch to the extensive walkway.
"I hate these clothes," he muttered, staring at the sleeves of his expensive suit.
"I hate this house," he added, as a crack of lightning flashed in the sky, followed by the boom of thunder.
"And I hate the person living within both," he finished, glaring at his reflection in a tiny puddle at his feet.
A short while after that, he stood and re-entered the house. Yet another flash, then the thunder. As he climbed the stairs, he believed he heard a soft but surely frightened noise. He paused and waited for the next flash, and just as before, there was a scared squeaking coming from Arabelle's room.
Removing his wet jacket, Micheal ascended the remaining stairs and knocked on the door. "Arabelle?" he called to her through the door. He could hear a sniffle come from inside the room.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
"Are you afraid of the thunder and lightning?" he asked her, laying his head against the door.
There was a long silence, until at last she whimpered, "Yes." Smiling slightly at her stubbornness, Micheal began to plead with her. "Please, let me in." "Never," she replied coldly, kicking the door.
"I promise I will not snap at you again," he assured her, "Just please let me in."
The door suddenly opened, just far enough for her to peek out at him. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her cheeks were covered in tear streaks. "Please," he whispered, making one final attempt at begging.
Moments went by where neither of them said a thing. At last, Arabelle opened the door all the way and allowed him to enter the room.
"Thank you," Micheal said as he moved past her and came into the room.
Once he was inside, she shut the door once more and took a seat at one edge of her bed. "Permit me the ability to sit beside you?" he asked, knowing that it was a stretch and that she would most likely say no.
Just as he had suspected, she shook her head. "Alright then," he stated. "What can I do to make this better?" Her lips moved, but he was unable to hear what she had told him. "What was that?" he questioned her.
"You can die! And you can send me back to my family!" she shouted.
Micheal pushed himself up from his seat and strode towards her. "I understand where your anger comes from," he said, "And I am aware it is justified, but please, if you would only listen to me for just a moment-"
"No!" she interjected. "You took me away from my family and forced me to live with you! You're a thief! You're no better than the slave traders who buy children at the border!"
The final flash of lightning flickered around them. And, in that brief moment, Arabelle had shrieked, rushed forward, and grasped the chest of Micheal's shirt.
Things like fears and desires were never included in the status reports of the citizens, as they were seen as unnecessary and unneeded. So when Micheal discovered that Arabelle was scared of the thunder and lighting, he wasn't entirely sure of what to do. Especially when she sought him for comfort, he was at a complete loss.
Without knowing what else to do, he hugged her back. The rain slowed, and it seemed that the storm had passed. "I think it's stopped," he said, looking down at her head still resting against him. "I know," she murmured, not making any signs of wanting to move.
"I'll tell you what," he said, inching himself away from her before the water from his clothing spread to hers. "Let me change, and then I will be right back."
Arabelle watched him as he left the room, angry at herself for reaching out like that. But it was merely her instinct. She had done the same thing to her brother back home, and it seemed that her subconscious thought it would be a fine thing to do again.
She peered down and noticed that there were splotches all over her night dress. Sighing, Arabelle scurried to her closet as quickly as her exhausted feet could carry her and changed into fresh, dry clothing.
Not long after she finished changing, Micheal reappeared in the doorway. "Am I allowed back in?" he asked her, leaning against the frame. She nodded and took her seat on the bed's edge once more. "Since I'm not allowed to sit next to you, I'll sit across from you," he told her, taking the spot on the other side of the king sized bed.
"How are you feeling now that the storm is over?" he asked her, running his hands over the soft blankets lying across the mattress. "Better, thank you," she replied. "I'm sorry for the...incident that happened. Usually someone like my brother would be around to make me feel better. You wouldn't understand."
Micheal chuckled softly as she spoke. "You forget that I used to live in the Outer Division and have experienced the lowest forms of poverty. Our only forms of riches were our family."
Arabelle said nothing in response. "Your brother seemed like a very kind person, and good to his wife and son. What would he normally do to help you feel calm after a storm?" She scoffed and turned her head so that she could glare at him. "Why would I tell you? You'd probably turn me in for having an emotional attachment to my family."
"Perhaps if you talk about it, it will remind you and you will feel the effects of those things," he explained.
"I can do that simply by imaging them," she replied curtly.
"Yes, you could do that, but I am curious. I won't tell a soul."
Back and forth they went, for at least a good ten minutes, until at last Arabelle broke down.
"Well, the first thing he would do would be to grab one of our thin blankets and sit next to me while I laid back," she recalled. "Then, he would tell me what he remembered about our parents."
As she continued down the list, Micheal gradually watched her grow more and more tired. After a while, she shifted so that she was lying on her side, still facing away from him.
But minutes later, she was on her back, barely able to keep her eyes open. Micheal leaned his elbow onto the pillows, resting his head on his hand for support.
"Those are all wonderful things," he told her, taking a chance and brushing a few strands of copper red hair from her face. "But it is time for you to sleep." She ignored his actions and closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift off.
When he was sure she was fast asleep, he gently placed a kiss on her forehead and whispered, "I love you."
Then he left the room and strode down the hall towards his own. About halfway through his short trip, he noticed a small figure hiding just out of sight at the top of the stairs. The young maid Jacqueline peered up at him. "What's wrong Jacqueline?" he asked, bending down on one knee so that she could more easily meet his gaze.
"I heard what you said," she murmured, her voice meek. "Oh you did?" he replied with a wide smile. He was never rude to any of his servants and rarely ever made them do much work, as he had known that life first hand as a child. "Did you really mean it?" she questioned him. Micheal nodded, his smiling growing. "I did. Now you should run off to bed. It's getting very late."
The young child rushed down the stairs, pausing only long enough to mutter, "G'night sir."
Once he wished her goodnight, he turned and entered his room, worried that if the child had heard him confess his love, surely Arabelle had too. He didn't want any loose ends or messy ties when he started the revolution, and although he knew he would be much happier with her by his side, he knew that she would be much better off in one of the Outer Divisions.
She would be safe from the chaos that was sure to ensue.