Dragged Apart

Chapter One

I shove my bag strap higher up my shoulder and pull my coat in tighter, wincing as a car zooms by, spitting mud all over the pavement. No one cares about this part of the city. It is full of derelict buildings, wasted structures and shivering, naked trees; labelled 'Dead-town'. The youngsters exploit this area as a racing track, their second-hand cars tearing across the unpaved roads at unimaginable speeds. And the amount of mess and mud they leave in their wake! Surprisingly they manage to get away with it too. Like I said, no one cares about Dead-town.

The shadow of a starved tree stretches almost threateningly over a gate that guards an old-fashioned 'block' of flats. Well, a flat with a house on top. Not that many people are recipient to this information; I know this due to personal experience. Fixing my headscarf as I walk up to the gate, I can't stop myself from cringing at the thick layer of dirt and grime which covers the 'buzzer'. Shaking my head partly in disgust at the extremely old tech and partly in disgust at myself for being disgusted in the first place, I press the buzzer.

"Detention Unit 3906, how may I help you?" the Patroller asks, in a monotone voice. It makes me smile a little, for I know how he wouldn't speak like this if he knew it was me.

"Re:trievers present. We have gained unholy information about some of your inhabitants. Please allow us to enter." I say in a slightly nasal, robotic voice, but do not quite manage to finish the sentence without escaping into little giggles.

"Hilarious. Who are you in to see?" He eases up, evidently having recognized my voice. 

"Number 22," I say, dropping the facade. I really needed to work on my concealment skills.

And yet, I can't help but laugh at my own joke as the gate creaks open. I step forward, allowing the door to slam shut behind me. I climb the grimy 'stairs' (the only places that still have this installed are Detention Units. In fact, most people have never seen these bizarre contraptions) and turn right at the landing. Number nine. I raise my hand to knock at the door just as it swings open to receive me. The Patroller smiles at me. He doesn't greet me or ask how my parents are or anything like that because he doesn't know anything about me. It's safer that way. He doesn't know my name, I don't know his; but I'm just glad he still allows me to come here.

I smile back, and walk across the passage. I pass Mira, who is here to visit her boyfriend, Jimmy. Unlike me she isn't wearing a headscarf, but then again she wasn't born in the UK. Mira was born in India and traveled here when she was only 11. This makes her an Interbred, and since people no longer immigrate here, she has an elevated Status. In fact, her Interbred status gives her some liberties that even I cannot access, despite the headscarf on my head. That, coupled with her boyfriend's Korean ethnicity (resulting in a mixed-race relationship) is what allowed them to stay together, despite his Illicit status.

I also pass Anika whose dad is stinking rich. No, seriously; he owns the Sewage System. Her husband Amir is the same ethnicity as her—I think—and so her dad's wealth is the only thing that lets them stay together. It does make sense, considering he is an Illicit and they are both Bengali. Why else would the Government have allowed it?

I continue walking until I reach the door I want. Number 13. I gently ease the door open. The room—more of a cell, really—is dark, the curtains still drawn. The room consists of a small window, a sink and toilet at one end and a bed and table at the other. He is sprawled across the 'bed'—which is really just a pile of sheets—with the pillow covering his face. I shut the door carefully, and pull the curtains wide open. A burst of sunshine greets me, almost blinding me.

He groans exaggeratedly, and turns onto his side.

"Jack, get up!" I say, pulling the sheets off him. He presses the pillow down harder in place over his head. "Jack!" I exclaim.

"I'm up, I'm up," he mumbles, sitting up. A smile ghosts across his lips, a warning sign before he playfully tries to grab my waist. I escape his clutches.                                                                             "Good morning, Jack," I say.                                                                                                                                 "Zara." He says simply, leaning against the cold wall. His face is tired, his green eyes bloodshot, his golden hair a chaotic mess.

Unlike Jimmy or Amir, I know exactly why Jack was branded as an Illicit, and that he's innocent too. He beat up a Government Official for pestering an innocent young girl. Me, actually. Jack and I have known each other for years; in fact, our fathers had been best friends all the way back Before.

But that's a whole other story.

I perch myself at the edge of the bed and start to rummage through my bag, pulling out a loaf of bread, a small jug of milk and a bar of soap which I place on the small table. In one swift movement, Jack shuffles forward and pulls me onto his lap, his arms warm around my waist. As I pull out several more necessities out of my bag, he removes the pin from my headscarf, causing it to fall off my head. He then pulls out my hair band, and my hair escapes from its high ponytail and tumbles down my back. I would be horrified to be so naked in front of anyone else, but this was Jack. He knew better me than anyone else, and me him.

I get up and walk across the room to place the last items, toilet tissue and hand wash, on the sink. Jack follows me. Finished, I lean into his shoulder. He wraps his arm around my waist and kisses the top of my head. I feel, rather than see, him begin to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" I say, wiggling out of his embrace, going to sit down.

"This," he says. I turn to see him gesturing at all of the things I'd brought him. "You always were the sensible one." he says admiringly.

"And?" I say, sitting down on the bed.

"I... was, uh, always the, umm... reckless one." he said, his Adam's apple bopping as he swallowed, uncharacteristically nervous, "And, I um... just spent my Tokens on, umm..."

"Ja-ack." I say patiently. "What are you trying to say?"

Jack furrows his forehead and ran a finger through his hair. I began to panic, thinking of all the possible reasons he could be acting this way; he was ill, or moving to another Detention Unit... Then, to my extreme shock and surprise—and delight, too; in fact, more happiness floods through me then than I've felt in a long time—he knelt down on one knee. Holding up a small red velvet box, "Zara," he said, "Will you marr—"

And before he could finish his sentence an alarm went off. Jack looked up at me in horror, speechless for once. We both know what that means. That means someone is in deep, deep trouble. I remember the joke I played on the poor Patroller earlier, and my throat goes dry with regret. Jack must have mistaken the expression on my face for fear, for he suddenly draws me into a hug, stroking my hair reassuringly. I breathe in his clean, familiar scent as he strokes my hair, "It's gonna be OK, everything's gonna be fine..." he says.

Abruptly he shoves me off him, roughly. He picks up the box, which had fallen on the floor, and shakes his head. "Someone found out." He whispers, shaking his head. I know he is taking about the ring, and his intent to propose. It's against the Law for an Illicit to marry, no matter their Status. He passes it to me. Wordlessly, I take it, caressing the soft box with my fingers as I slip it into my bag and slide the bag strap up my shoulder. He hands me my scarf. I somberly wrap it around my head as a tear silently trails down my cheek, surprising me; I never cry.

Jack sees and gently wipes it off my cheek. He gently kisses my cheek, squeezes my hand and opens the door. I leave, as I have a million times before.

But this time, I might not be coming back.

What should have been the beginning... was the end.