Displaced

Wicken - Sixty-Two

Whenever I go up to the Surface to see Chevelle, it's like I've died and gone to heaven for a handful of hours every day. Or maybe an elaborate dream. It's not stable. I know that. I cling to every moment I have with her because I'm not sure when it's going to end. Sure, Paul, Casey, Pat - they've all put in a good word for me. Despite sneaking out of the Pit to see her again our first night together, I've gotten special privileges. Pat called it a grand gesture of love because I was willing to risk everything for Chevelle, much like she was willing to take the risk to come down and see me.

I don't know why I had tried to push her away. Guilt, I guess. She could be free from all of this. If she was with me, she would give that chance up. Somehow I'd proven to be worth the sacrifice. Every day I was wondering if she would change her mind. She cared about me, but our love was at different levels. I loved her a whole lot more than she loved me. Of course, I'd also loved her for a lot longer, so the emotion had had more time to simmer.

We walked hand in hand through the Garden toward the lagoon. It was one of our favorite spots. Not only because it was the best entrance to go back to the Pit through, but because it was always void of people. She liked keeping our relationship private. I did too. So many of the couples down in the Pit enjoyed sucking face on the couch, or making big shows of running off to a closet. Gross.

On the Roof, people were equally disgusting but in different ways. They flaunted their bodies to one another, kept the flirting thick to the point where I could figure out entire conversations just by watching their physical language alone. At the restaurant, the public displays of affection were not as numerous, and were generally performed by the same five women and whoever their chosen mate was for the night. Justice told me to not watch, or they'd get the wrong idea. I couldn't help it. The game was fascinating to observe.

I liked privacy. Chevelle was my precious treasure. People don't share or show off their prized possessions unless they wanted to challenge someone to take it away. No way was I going to do something so dumb. She wasn't my thing, but she was still mine.

"You're thinking pretty hard," she observed as we walked toward the pool beneath the waterfall.

I kicked off my shoes. "I'm more than just a pretty face. Thinking is something I do."

"I know you're more than just a pretty face." She splashed some water at me. "There's a difference between thinking and thinking hard. You look almost in pain. What's up?"

"Things have been good."

"I sense a 'but' coming."

"I love you."

"I love you, too," she said and settled in next to me. We both put our feet into the cool water.

Hearing those words always put a smile on my face. I put an arm around her shoulders, unsure how to explain my feelings effectively. In the past, I'd rather be a jerk than honest. So much easier that way. "Do you think if we were back home, we'd be getting married and all that stuff? Would it be the same?"

She shook her head. "It'd be different. Things would be a lot different. I'd be more pissed about you lying to me about your imaginary girlfriends, for one."

"I'll never live that down, will I?"

"No, probably not. It'll be a story for the grandkids. Assuming we have any, of course."

I frowned. "Why wouldn't we?"

"I don't know if I want to be a parent, that's all." She shrugged.

"Oh." I may have sighed with relief as well.