Those Who Fall

Those Who Fall

Jenson knows I'm nervous. He always knows that I am. While he sits up tall, dignified and composed, my thin shoulders are drawn in on one another, blonde hair falling against my eyes. All I want to do is run, flee, forget this, but even then I know it's no use. It's already inside of me, a stamp already against the backs of my eyelids. Dying. My internal clock is running short.

"Aliana," Jensen's voice croaks, a hiss from the corner of his mouth. When I turn I can see his dark, honey colored eyes watching me in silence. I sigh and look away but he grabs my hand, making tiny circles on my palm, the way our grandmother used to do. Feeling his warm fingers on mine makes a sparking chill strike up my arm. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I promise."

His eyes are sympathetic, but they lie. He knows it's not okay; and if by some means he's brought peace to the idea that we're dying because of a chemical flooded into our veins years ago he's insane. I always find it peculiar that Jenson is so mystified by the idea death. Not in the dark way, but in the way that our energy becomes something new altogether.

I'm not. I'm afraid more than anything.

"Jensen, please," I moan, shifting from toe to toe. "Jensen I want to go-"

"Stop," he says again, giving my hand a firm pump. "Just a few more guests. Then we have two hours to ourselves." He stops, but then I can feel the words almost on his lips. And then that's it. Then we're gone.

A few guests come to shake our hands, say what a shame it is, say how kind we are, but none of them truly care. A few boys embrace Jensen in an awkward hug, but none come for me. The only friend I had, Gemini, left hours ago. As soon as the ceremony started, she was in tears, and her parents had to take her home. Ripped from me early, I suppose.

It's not until a boy comes up, hair draped in front of his eyes as he looks shyly around, does my heart jump to my chest. He's dressed up even further than most of the boys, his suite clean and ironed nicely. Most of them came from the more poor parts of the Division wearing too big or too small clothes. By far he is more beautiful he has ever been.

Then his eyes meet mine. Crystal blue, clear as a robin's egg. A small smile, shy and cute, taints his lips as he strides closer to the table that Jensen and I sit behind awkwardly. I can feel as the color drains from my face, and my fingers grasp the sides to keep from falling out.

As he approaches, his smile is replaced instead with one covered in sadness and sympathy. Sickly sweet and I hate that he has to do this to me. Still, he mummers a small "Hey" and places his finger in a dent on the table.

Jensen elbows me in the ribs before I wheeze out a nervous "Hey" back to him. Then, feeling it's needed; I speak his name and let it roll off my lips. Let me speak it one last time. "Avan."

Avan swallows, and nervously touches his tie. "I'm sorry," is all he says, in a low voice, "that this happened to you. It sucks."

I lick my lips, trying to hide my yearning to say something more emotional back to him. "Yeah."

Before I can say another work, he's been over the table, lips softly landed on my cheek, touch gentle as anything. His other hand touches my cheek, his hands softer than I thought they would be, cradling my cheek. I can't help the feeling as my cheeks flush red with shock.

"I don't want it to be like this," he whispers, moving his lips so close to my ear that I can feel the tickle of his breath. "I don't want it to be you."

Then before I can stop myself, my arms are around his neck, and I'm on my feet embracing him. I can feel the gentle heave of his chest, the kind that he's trying to hold back tears. "I'm sorry," I whisper into his chest. "I can't help it."