Escaping Elysia

Chapter 19 - A Tree In Winter

Dale

I knew he would react like that. I clench my jaw as I follow Weston to his room. He's always been sensitive to any criticism about the experiments. Once, I made the mistake of venting to him about Trenton's side effects. He informed me that they were well worth the advancements in the experiment and then didn't speak to me for a week. I understood then that he and I would never be close friends. Though with Trenton gone, he's the closest thing I have.

Weston would never have told Evita any information contained in that stupid screen Ellis lets him read. He values Ellis's inclusion of him too much. I could have told her that, if she'd asked me. But she didn't ask me, didn't even listen when I warned her to stop. I clench and unclench my fists. Why can't she trust that when it comes to Elysia and the people in it, I know what I'm talking about? Now I have to deal with the mess she's left behind.

Weston has always kept his room uncluttered and organized. His nightstand is clear except for a stack of books on genetics, and he places the screen on top of the stack, neatly centered.

A drawing on the wall catches my eye, and I turn to look at it. Weston notices my glance and blushes, pulling down the paper and sliding it under his bed. I catch a glimpse of it before he does, and it's Nadya. Nadya, from a few months ago when she was healthy, at least relatively, and still absent minded but not devoid of life. There's something else familiar about the drawing too.

My gut turns, unsettled. I've seen the way Weston looks at her, but I never thought his feelings were this strong. He sits on his bed, but doesn't look at me.

I clear my throat. "I didn't know you could draw."

"I can't." He fiddles with the stack of books, straightening them. "Trenton drew it for me."

Of course. That's why I recognize it. The pang at Trenton's name hits, a dull thud between my ribs. Will it ever fade entirely? Trenton loved sketching, before those last few months. I have no idea where he found all that paper, probably from old books in the library. I have a few scraps of sketches he did for me too, tucked in my pillowcase.

I lounge on Weston's roommate's bed, and wait for him to bring up what just happened. The tension is wound tight in his shoulders, and his mouth is pinched.

"I'm sorry."

I sit up, frowning. "Sorry?" I'd expected him to begin ranting about Evita.

"Obviously I was wrong about her." He sighs. "I shouldn't have told you to forgive her."

I raise my eyebrows, but before I can speak he continues. "Did you hear the things she accused Ellis and the other researchers of?" He scoffs. "She's trouble."

I almost laugh. She's trouble? Sure, she just got here and she thinks she can lead everyone out in a grand escape. But trouble? It sounds so dramatic. Weston catches the smile before I can wipe it from my face and leans forward, his eyes widening.

"You think I'm wrong? She's crazy, you know she is. They would never kill all of us. The studies are too important." He grows emphatic, and a vein bulges on his forehead. "She acts as if they're all out to get us, that they like hurting us, but they don't. I can see how it affects Ellis. He would never do more harm than necessary."

Heat rises up my neck. I squeeze the blankets in my fist, fighting to stay calm. Again, the contention point between Weston and I. How can he be okay with what these people are doing to him? Maybe it's because he's in the blue group, where the most he has to do is get friendly with a cup every once in a while. But Nadya? I think of the drawing under his bed. He obviously cares for her. Doesn't it bother him that she's become like a tree in winter, bare and dormant? I grit my teeth. Let society solve the food shortage some other way.