Page 79 of Retrograde

“Ever the flatterer.”

I’m leaning towards him, my skin tingling, my senses overwhelmed with his proximity, his male scent, the heat of his body, the smouldering look in his eyes. I’m craving his touch, relentlessly, the way I’d crave something warm on a freezing day.

But all such thoughts evaporate from my mind when he says in a firm, detached tone of voice, “I want you to tell me about the day.”

“What day?” I ask even though I already know; I’m just buying time.

“The day you turned coat,” he confirms my fear, and everything inside me freezes.

29

RILEY

“Idon’t want to talk about that day.” Dread floods me from head to toe.

“Tough.”

“No.” I shake my head, my fingers digging into the mattress, seeking anchor. “I won’t.”

“Riley.” The warning is unmistakable in his voice, all the more potent because it is almost imperceptible—he knows he doesn’t have to raise his voice or threaten me for me to get terrified so fast it’s like the flick of a switch.

“What the fuck would you want to know that you don’t know already?”

“I want to know everything.”

“What do you mean, everything?” I scoff, but whatever it is I’m seeing in his expression makes me relent. “What, you want to know it was pissing outside and my clothes were soaked through?”

“Yes. Every. Thing.”

I shake my head in resignation more than in refusal. “Fine. It was pissing down. I had no umbrella. My hair was all wet and plastered to my face, and my clothes were soaked through.”

“I think we already established that.”

I take a deep breath. Memories start rushing in. Despite the ongoing pretence of a free press, reporters associated with the resistance began dying in accidents or disappearing after Rift Day. Not in any numbers noticeable to the general public, but enough to alarm those of us remaining. I was far too prominent to harm directly without raising too many questions. But my parents and siblings were not.

“I’d just moved my family to a smaller city that was a bit more under the radar. I started using our old apartment as kind of a studio and a place to crash when I didn’t fancy going home.”

It’s strange how it’s both hard and easy to remember what the city looked like back then. It hadn’t been remodelled yet; the old concrete housing blocks were still intact.

“It wasn’t smart being there alone, but ... my family life was ... suffocating at that time. So that’s where I was that day. I’d taken some shots on my analogue and was developing the negs when I heard the main door bang. I went into the main living area. And he was there.”

“Volker?” Aron asks, rubbing his clenched jaw.

I nod curtly.

“Yes. Him and his three bodyguards.” I take a shaky breath and say the next part in a mechanical, flat tone of voice with my eyes closed. “I screamed. No one said a word. The bodyguards grabbed me, took all my clothes off and tied my hands behind my back. They hauled me to the bedroom and threw me naked over the footboard of the bed. They tied my legs to the planks to make them stay wide apart.”

Whatever it was that I was expecting to see in Aron’s face—outrage, or even some basic compassion—it isn’t there. His eyes are dark, lifeless, and unreadable, his mouth a thin line that gives nothing away.

“If you were picturing me at a table with Volker, both of us evil, cackling and eating caviar or whatever, then I’m sorry to disappoint. The day I sold my soul, my ass was up in the air, I was crying into the stinky old mattress, and Volker wasn’t looking at my face when we had that conversation.”

This time, I get a sharp exhale out of him, the sound strained but also relieved in a destructive kind of way—like letting go of something that he needs but it’s too hard to hold on to.

“Volker then told me that he had a proposition for me, and that he had already spoken to my parents, and they agreed. He didn’t phrase it as a question.” I continue, the memory of the mattress’s stink sharp in my nose, phantom restraints cutting into my skin. “He spoke as if what I thought or wanted wasn’t important. My parents agreed, and that’s all that mattered, and besides, they were already packing for their move to the Oceanics in exchange for my cooperation.” I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood to stop the sob clawing up my throat. “I didn’t believe him at first. But then ... he called them, and put the phone to my ear.”

A grunt with a subtle shake of the head.

“My mum was crying, and my dad was already drunk. They both begged me to do whatever Volker wanted. Actually begged me. I could hear my siblings’ voices from the next room. Excited, relieved, happy. It didn’t feel like I had any choice at all.”