Labeled (A The Selection Fanfiction)

Chapter Fourty

"...off the Selection, because..."

"...home. I can't take this."

"Do you wonder..."

Snippets of conversations intrude my thoughts as the bumpy movement of the truck I'm in pulls me back to consciousness. Waking up, I feel safer than I have in the past few days at the Rebel Headquarters.

The Rebels had cameras in the Palace, watching Alexander's reaction as Mother harmed us. Luckily, I was the only one that got cut, as I was the first one she tested.

Apparently, his reaction was enough that he left. I don't know how to feel about that. I understand that helplessly watching someone you care about be hurt is extremely hard, but...it sort of feels like he didn't stay by my side. That he wasn't there for me.

I push my thoughts aside for now and focus on the present.

Seated in the disguised Palace truck with me are Paris, Blake, Lulu, Maybelle, and Natalia. Since the only one of them I have really connected and conversed with is Blake, I look to her to talk to.

She's staring at her hands that animate her thoughts, which appear to be pretty violent. She makes her fingers taught again and clenches them roughly. "Blake." I whisper, vehemently aware that we are still in the 'escape' part of this. This whole adventure.

If you could call it that.

She looks up with tired eyes. Her face looks not quite broken, but almost there. Like just one more thing could send her over the edge. She looks exhausted at the prospect of even conversing with me, so I decide to make it quick.

"How long?" I ask her weakly, gesturing to the car as to say 'have we been in here.' I don't believe we are being followed, but the guards with us seem calm and still on edge, so I want to stay quiet for as long as possible.

She holds up three fingers, her worn out face taking on a confused expression. Shrugging her shoulders slightly, she adds another finger.

Three or four hours. "Thank you." I mouth.

With a relieved look, she focuses on staring out the heavily tinted one-way window. We can see out, no one can see in.

Industrial buildings flash by, and after about a half hour the buildings look newer and more taken care of. Slowly, traffic starts to build and the aching silence inside the truck is filled with the noises of horns honking and impatient people yelling.

With so many cars surrounding our, someone is bound to notice us. We all sit up straighter and our hands twitch in our laps. While the atmosphere is more put together, it is stressed.

We got away, now we have to stay undercover. It feels like we are in a spy movie; dramatic music should start playing any second now. Duh, duh, duh.

But unfortunately, we have no guarantee of surviving like those in the movies. And as time passes, I realize how well thought out this actually was. The Rebels know what our trucks look like, but to spot us, as we are well dispersed throughout the lanes of traffic, they would have to look at every single car. I'm sure there are other trucks that look similar.

The tension in my body lessens as this information sinks in. Blake looks over at me, noticing the change in my demeanor, and she looks better. Emotionally stronger.

I smile softly, and then lean back in my seat, comfortably. She mirrors my actions, and I can see her blinking back tears. I think of all of the Selected, and wonder how many of us are safe and unharmed.

I hope everyone made it. If someone didn't, then....

I don't know. We would grieve, the Palace would host a funeral, we would share our kind words and memories, but how much of a difference would that really make?

Their families will have lost a daughter, sister, cousin, granddaughter, maybe even aunt. And we will have lost a friend, someone who journeyed so far with us only to fall behind. And when she fell, we couldn't pick her back up.

The thought makes my throat tighten with a promise of tears. Not now, I say to myself, not when you've made it so far.

I tilt my head back, arching my neck and staring at the top of the car. I sigh deeply, relief still flooding through me as the Palace comes into sight.

The traffic thickens even more as we come closer and closer, growing more congested until everything is stop-and-go.

It's like having all of our dreams dangled in front of us, again, as we travel two steps forward and one step back.

Soon enough, we sit on our hands to keep from waving them around ecstatically, and we bounce up and down in our seats like impatient toddlers.

"Oh!" We all sigh with overwhelming relief. Quickly, the guards open the doors before the trucks have even stopped, ushering us out.

"Go fast, we don't know of any rebels nearby but we can never be sure." We jump out and run , the torn ends of our dresses flying in the wind as our tangled hair brushes in our vision and our torn feet pound on the ground.

The doors open as soon as the swarm of Selected reach the steps. The two butlers holding the doors open bow politely at us, but we don't notice.

The carpeted hallways are soft and welcoming beneath our damaged feet, and the cries of ecstasy that surround me lift my spirits greatly, considering what we've been through. As we sprint down the hallway a tall, brown-haired, suit-clad, ego-harmingly handsome figure turns the corner towards us.

His frightened and tired eyes light up, at first with fear and then with relief and joy. "You're alright!" Alexander says, running towards us.

I sprint even harder to reach him first, jumping into his arms. "I missed you so much." I say, the promised tears finally arriving. "So, so much."

He just sighs shakily, cradling me in his arms and ducking his head into my messy hair. "You're alright, you're alright." He repeats to me as the other Selected crowd in, one tangle of people.

I feel his tears rolling off of his cheeks and onto my neck, warm and sad. "I'm okay." I tell him reassuringly. "You're okay, I'm okay, and we're okay."

Suddenly, the scrapes on our feet don't hurt anymore. Suddenly, the trauma we have been through is temporarily forgotten. Suddenly, our tears dry and our frowns fade. Suddenly, the cuts on my arms stop stinging.

And suddenly, we're home.