Triple Crown

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

The interviews go well – or at least I don’t say or do anything remotely rebellious. I reply to every question Puck asks me with a bland, scripted response that I halfheartedly try to put emotion into, and, at the end, manage to do some damage control by telling Luke how much I love him and kissing him passionately. The crowd, of course, goes crazy for that, and, as I walk off the stage, Max gives me a small nod of approval.
The victory tour also goes well; well, Rush and Max seem to approve of my performance. Though I never get a chance to tell Luke that not everything I said to him in the arena I meant, that some of it was just me understanding and saying what Max wanted me to say, maybe that’s best. After all, he’s a lot happier thinking that I love as much as I said I did than knowing that I don’t love him that much, that my heart still lies almost completely with Jackson. Of course, I never get a chance before we leave to talk to Jackson about what happened and what I said in the arena either, but that’s probably best too; I have time to think about what I’m going to say to him and what excuses I’m going to come up with now.
The Sections are noticeably more rowdy now, and there are even hints of rebellion in One through Four, the Sections most loyal to El Nieve, now too. That concerns me greatly, since I know that I will take all of the blame if the Sections revolt, so I try my best to act in love with Luke and control the damage. I don’t seem to be very successful though, as Luke and I are given the salute I gave the crowd at the end of Hand-to-Hand and One-Person in every Section we go to. The people of the Sections see right through me, and know that I’m not really as in love with Luke as I’m acting, that I’m really a rebellious seventeen-year-old who is – or was – all too happy to be the spark and the martyr the Sections need. Even Mitchell’s tempering of my outfits to lose all resemblance to the spark theme they once held doesn’t seem to make a difference either.
I’m fighting a losing battle with the people of the Sections that I can’t win, even though it’s crucial for my family and friends that I do. The worst part is that I don’t want to fight against the people of the Sections and try to put out the fire I’ve started. No, I want to fan the flames, and laugh as Rush and El Nieve and this society’s whole structure burn with me. It seems only fair, after all, that I help give El Nieve what it deserves: destruction by the people it has repressed for so long. The people of the Sections have had a hundred years to stew and become enraged with El Nieve, so who am I to deny them the opportunity to earn their freedom? Oh, right, someone who wants her family and friends to be alive at the end of it, even if she isn’t.
I guess you could say that I have a clash of interests. While my own personal agenda would be to help the Sections and fully embrace my firestarting abilities as the spark, I can’t ignore Rush’s threats of death for my family if I do not cooperate with his agenda. After all, while my father cannot die ever, as he is a god, my mother and brothers have a conditional immortality like I do, and Rush undoubtedly knows this if he’s studied me for as long as I think he has. Rush, however, does not know how powerful my family is, though he doesn’t have to know to exterminate them.
If he has other immortals working for him, other immortals which may be completely immortal like my dad, then my family is dead, because how do you defeat someone you can’t kill? And, even if Rush’s immortals do have conditional immortalities, my family doesn’t know how Rush’s immortals can be killed, and therefore they would have to expend energy they can’t afford to waste trying to find out. Even if my family did eventually discover the other immortals’ weak spots, my family would be drained, weaker and easier to kill, while the other immortals might not be harmed at all. Either way my family would lose and be killed, and that’s something I can’t afford to have happen; I don’t want any more blood on my hands, especially not the blood of my family.
That means I have to play along and do what Rush wants me to do and be the good little girl I’m supposed to be, otherwise my family will pay the price. I guess, if I wanted to, I could kill Rush with little to no difficulty, but someone else – his second-in-command, probably – would undoubtedly release the immortals on my family anyways, and then it wouldn’t matter that Rush is dead, because my family would be dead too. Of course, I suppose I could always wipe out everyone in a position of power in El Nieve, and then track down and wipe out the immortals who are supposed to kill my family, which would solve my problem completely. However, I don’t want that much blood on my hands, as I would be killing hundreds, if not thousands, of people if I were to execute that plan. Besides, I don’t want to sink to Rush’s level to fight him, because that plan is brutal and violent enough that it’s something Rush would do if he were in my place. Therefore, it’s not something I would do, because I’m not nearly as firm a believer in the achieve-the-end-at-all-costs motto.
When I was an assassin, I was not opposed to taking out a few guards or people preventing me from getting to my target, but I would never kill a civilian who got in my way; I would always go around them, or bypass them in some way. I also would never kill an innocent bystander who saw the wrong thing; I would always erase the memories of any mortals who happened to see me killing my target, so that those mortals would forget every moment that they had seen me and wouldn’t even be able to remember that they had seen me before if they saw walking down the street at a later date.
Of course, Rush would undoubtedly just have killed the humans who happened to see the wrong thing, because he wouldn’t want to waste the time on erasing their memories when terminating them was so much quicker and easier. That’s what separates me from Rush: my sense of morality hasn’t been completely destroyed yet, while Rush’s has been dead from the day he became Prime Minister of El Nieve. I am also determined to not let him – and the Triple Crown committee – destroy my morality, because, when I burn in the fire I started, I want to know that I am dying a human, not the cold, empty creature Rush would make me.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

“Hello, Miss Lightning,” a taunting, malicious voice calls out of the mist around me, and immediately I know who’s talking: Kuro, evil incarnate in a living body, who has been soley responsible for almost all disaster and strife in human history for the last eight and a half millenia. In fact, the word Kuro even means evil or darkness in Japanese; he’s very appropriately named. My suspicions are confirmed when Kuro walks out of the mist next to me, an evil smile on his face as he regards me with amusement. Though he is about eight and half thousand years old, he looks like he’s twenty-five at best, with an incredibly handsome face, light brown skin and dark features that mirror his personality. Kuro also happens to be Kodiak and Nymeria’s father, and they hate him as much as I do. Of course, he gives everyone reason to hate him; he’s been feared and loathed by people and civilizations for the entirety of his existence.
“What are you doing here, Kuro?” I snarl at him, my hands balling into fists. He shouldn’t be able to get into this dimension, if I can’t get out of it without the help of El Nieve technology. Generally I can open up gateways in the air to anywhere, even to different dimensions, but El Nieve has created a machine that prevents my gateways from forming if I try to open them. And trust me, I most certainly have tried.
“Evil exists in every dimension,” he answers with a shrug, his midnight-brown eyes locked on mine as he continues to smile demonically. “Therefore I exist in every dimension.”
“Well, get out. I don’t want you here,” I shoot back, gesturing to the mists behind him and away from me.
“But Lizzie, I am only here to help, and provide you with other options and solutions to the... predicament you have gotten yourself in.” He flashes me his most winning smile, showing all of his perfectly straight, white teeth, but I don’t fall for it. Kuro never helps anyone; he only ever makes an appearance in the mortal world when he senses an opportunity to amuse himself by creating chaos. He is a huge fan of pointless destruction and bloodshed, and likes to start wars just for the purpose of watching humans destroy each other.
“You never want to help anyone, Kuro, so why are you actually here?” I ask him sharply, keeping my voice as cold and dangerous as I possibly can.
“Alright, you caught me,” he says, holding up his hands with a dashing, malicious grin. “I’m not here to help you; I’m here to persuade you.”
“Kuro, you know that you’ll never persuade me of anything, so why on earth are you even trying?” I fold my hands across my chest and stare at him flatly, wishing he would just leave me alone.
“Because I can persuade you, Miss Lighting; I would not have come here if I didn’t think I could.” He gives me another smile, this one pleased, and I feel my heart sink. Kuro can read your heart, mind and soul like an open book with one glance – unfortunately, though I have tried many methods, there is no way to keep him out – so, if he saw something in me, that thing undoubtedly exists. After a moment of silence, he continues, his grin fading, “You know, Miss Lighting, I don’t understand why you live like you do. You could run four laps around a track in less than a second, and could run a point-zero-five hundred meter dash if you wanted to, and yet you choose to limit yourself to only a little above average. You have the power to make everyone on the planet completely obedient to you without even lifting a finger, and yet you choose to amuse those mortals by running fast and singing. You could be and do anything you wanted, and yet you choose to live in the form of a human and act like a human too. You are one of the most powerful beings to have ever lived, yet you choose to remain at the mortals’ level, and that fascinates me, Lizzie. Why do you limit yourself to being human, when you are so much more, so much better? Why do you force yourself to live around and put up with the imbecile humans, when you could – very easily, in fact – be ruling them all? Why do you insist on pretending you are normal, when in fact you are the most extraordinary thing this universe has ever seen?” His dark eyes, burning with passion and true curiosity, stare into mine, and I force myself to resist the urge of backing away under his incredibly intense gaze.
“Because I will not be the monster you are, Kuro,” I reply, staring him down and resisting the urge to lunge out at him when a small smile appears on his face.
“Lizzie, it’s not about being a monster; it’s about embracing what you are. Everything it takes to become me is already inside of you; you just need to realize that and let it take you.” I look at him warily in silence for a few moments, not knowing how to reply to his statement, which I know is true. However, I don’t get a chance to reply, because Kuro continues, “I don’t understand why you insist on acting like you’re normal and making yourself blend in with those idiot humans. You have the power to rule them, and create the perfect world I know you long for, so why do you not take it? Why do you not accept that you are extraordinary and conquer the weaklings, and take your natural place as rule of the humans? If it is about being detected, why do you fear being discovered, when you have the power to conquer or destroy anyone who finds out? It would be far easier for you to just take over the world than continue to put on this huge human charade.”
“Because I don’t want power or control or rule over anybody, Kuro, and I certainly don’t want to kill anyone else. I didn’t want to be born an immortal, and seventeen years of danger sure as hell hasn’t changed that opinion. All I want is to be normal, Kuro, so I will do my best to pretend and convince myself that I am.” After a moments’ hesitation, I add, my tone venomous, “Besides, why do you care so much about what I do?”
“Because I hate to see talents like yours go to waste,” he replies, his gaze locked on mine, and I feel the wave of his persuasion wash over me and forcibly try to change my mind. Steeling myself, I close my eyes and force him out of my head with all of my might to hear him cry out in surprise when I’m finally successful.
“Serves you right,” I mutter quietly, glaring at Kuro as he rubs his forehead. Suddenly another question occurs to me, and I ask him, “If you want an immortal to rule the world so much, why don’t you take over and do it yourself?”
“Too much work,” he replies. “Besides, there wouldn’t be nearly enough chaos in the world to suit my liking if I ruled all of it, because there wouldn’t be any leaders scrabbling for control and causing civil wars. All I’m after is chaos and panic, so I why would I destroy the perfect environment the humans have created for me?” His smile returns, and his dark eyes shine with malice once again. “And before you ask why I like chaos and panic so much, Lizzie-” – he gives me a smirk that makes me want to strangle him with my bare hands – “-let me remind you that it is in fact my job as evil incarnate to balance out the good in the world and create chaos and panic. The fact that I like my job is nothing but a bonus.” He grins again, flashing all of his white teeth, and I shake my head at him. He’s so sick and twisted that I wonder how he could have ever found anyone willing to have children with him. I think he must have brainwashed Kodiak’s and Nymeria’s mother.
“You’re a psychopath,” I mutter, still shaking my head at him as I watch him intently. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to take over my mind again, and I have no intention of letting him in this time either.
“Technically I am a sociopath and a narcissist, not a psychopath,” he corrects. “I am not suffering from any delusions or false realities, which means I am not a psychopath. I merely have become completely self-absorbed and have lost the ability to feel remorse.”
He shrugs, and I can’t help but say under my breath, “I think you’ve lost a lot more than that.”
Kuro bursts out laughing, and, when he’s finally calm enough to be coherent, “Yes, I think I have Lizzie.” After a few seconds of silence, his face loses its amused expression and he tells me, “You know, denying what you are does not change anything. It only wastes your skills.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “I will come back for you when you are brave enough to admit to yourself your true power.” He turns and walks away to be swallowed by the mist, and I stand there staring after him, wondering how on earth Kodiak and Nymeria are as normal – by immortal standards – as they are with him as a father.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

I wake up shivering and drenched in a cold sweat, and it’s a few moments before I realize that someone is lying next to me.
“Lizzie, are you alright?” I hear Luke’s concerned voice ask me, and I lie motionless with eyes closed for a few moments before sitting up and answering.
“I just had a horrible nightmare,” I murmur, shaking my head. Kuro being able to access my dreams isn’t good; it was bad enough that he could get inside of my head when I was awake.
“About what?” Luke asks, and I sigh slightly. I’m going to have to lie to him, since it’s not like I can tell him the truth: that an eight and a half thousand year old immortal who happens to be evil incarnate visited me in my sleep and tried to persuade me to take over the world. In fact, it’s all I can do not to laugh out loud as I think about what happened, because it all just sounds so ridiculous.
“About Abby dying,” I reply quietly. It’s a harmless lie, since generally that’s what I do have nightmares about. In fact, on any given night, I might wake him up three or four times by screaming, “Abby, no!” in my sleep.
“It’s alright, she’s not dead,” Luke murmurs, and wraps his arms around me to pull me closer to himand back into a laying-down position. He then gently kisses the back of my wet neck, and mutters, “Wow, it must have been pretty bad.”
“You have no idea,” I respond, resting my head on his shoulder and thinking that any dream Kuro’s in is bound to be a nightmare. Suddenly a question occurs to me, and I turn to look Luke in the eye and ask him, “Why don’t you have nightmares?”
“Well, I do have nightmares, but mine just aren’t as violent as yours.” He pauses for a moment, then, unprompted, continues, “Most of my nightmares are about watching you die and knowing I’ve broken my promise, so I’m fine when I wake up and realize you’re right next to me.” He gives me a smile and I can see the intensity and sincerity in his eyes.
Wanting to divert his attention away from me and lower the emotion in the air, since I’m not really in the mood for Luke to pour his heart out and make me feel like an awful person, I quickly say, “So those nights in One-Person when I wasn’t with you must have been hell on earth, huh?”
“You have no idea,” he replies, and a small smile flits across my face. “You not being there was even worse than lying there and slowly dying.” I see the passion return to his eyes, even more powerful than it was before, and I curse my stupidity. I should have known that Luke would reply like that and therefore shouldn’t have said anything at all.
However, Luke thankfully doesn’t act on the passion in his eyes, and we lie there in silence for a few moments until an errant idea skitters across my mind. “Luke, is it possible for me to send a wedding invitation tomorrow and maybe have it reach the person before the wedding?”
“Well sure,” he replies. “The mail in this place is almost instantaneous, so it could reach whoever you’re inviting probably within seconds of you sending it.” Luke pauses for a moment, and I can just tell that he’s going to ask who I’m inviting. Like clockwork, he questions, right after I’ve finished thinking it, “Who else are you inviting? Abby, Jackson, Marcus, Adelaide, Nick, Sarah and that McKenzie Lewis girl you insisted on inviting are already coming, so who else is left?”
“Marshall Moore,” I murmur, and immediately feel Luke stiffen next to me. “Luke, he’s truly a decent guy who I’ve grown to consider an ally, maybe even a friend, so I think that he deserves an invitation, even if he’s not going to show up.”
“I still don’t like him, not after what he did to you in Hand-to-Hand,” Luke mutters. “It’s a wonder that you like him as much as you do, considering that you’re the one he actually did that to.”
“Luke, that was Hand-to-Hand, and I butchered him immediately after,” I say impatiently. “He’s paid his debt to me, and things have changed for the better since then anyways. I’ve realized that he really is a nice guy who doesn’t really want to be a career and win it all, and I can definitely identify with that.” After a moment’s pause, I add, “Luke, he at least deserves an invitation; I think he’s earned one.”
“I still don’t like him,” Luke grumbles, but I can hear the capitulation in his voice and know that I’m going to get my way.
“I’ll send an invitation to him in the morning then,” I tell Luke, and smile slightly when his scowl darkens some. “You know, you really are the best Luke,” I murmur, fully realizing how much he’s going against what he thinks is right to let me invite Marshall to the wedding, and lean up to kiss him lightly on the lips.
When I pull back, he stares down at me, a happy grin on his face, and murmurs, “Now what on earth would possess you to say something like that, when you yourself are so much better than I am?”
“Oh, don’t even start Luke,” I mutter quietly as I roll off and away from him, all my happiness thrown out the window by that comment of his. I don’t know why he insists on lying like that, since anyone can see that he is clearly better than I am in personality, mindset and natural disposition. “I could argue with you for hours and hours about that, but I don’t really want to get into a debate right now.”
“I am merely stating fact, Lizzie,” he replies, and I roll my eyes. Why on earth is so blind and so determined to flatter me with blatant lies?
“Like I said, I could argue with you for hours and hours about that, but I don’t want to right now,” I repeat, and Luke finally takes the hint and falls silent.
I then roll back over to rest my head on his shoulder again, and, just before I drift off, I feel Luke wrap his arms around me and hear him whisper in my ear, “Goodnight, Miss Lightning. May your nightmares be ones that cannot come true.”

“Is all of this dress-fitting really necessary?” I grumble to Mitchell as he helps me into the fifth wedding dress I’ve tried on so far. All of them are completely beautiful, as they have all been designed by him, and I would be happy with any one of them, but, for some reason, the populus of El Nieve wants to see me in ten different dresses, so I have been forced to oblidge and act like a model for a few hours.
“Just play along with it, Lizzie,” he murmurs in reply as he zips up the back of my dress and walks to the front of me to give me one brief looking-over before pushing me towards the entrance of the room. “Besides,” he adds just before I walk out of the room and pose for the cameras, “the less you whine, the faster it will go.”
I have just enough time to give him a dirty look before I have to put on my biggest smile and act like I’m actually happy to be parading around in dresses more expensive than most people in the Sections’ homes. Every time I walk back out in a different dress, I am greeted by a round of cheers and gasps and comments about how this is definitely the best dress so far from the news crews filming it all. Personally I find all the public interest in the wedding pathetic; I mean, don’t they have their own lives to live? Then I remember that all of El Nieve lives for the Triple Crown, and that a Triple Crown wedding is the event of the century to them. It makes me almost feel bad for all those shallow white people. Almost.
Suddenly there is a commotion near the entrance of the building, and camera people are being jostled around as someone very familiar-looking fights his way through the crowd.
“Lizzie,” Marshall greets after he’s moved through all of the news crews to stand in front of me. Even though I know that all cameras are on us, and that there will be a huge amount of gossip about this, I step forward with a cry of, “Marshall!” and give him a warm hug, which he returns.
“You came!” I exclaim when I pull back, smiling up at him. It really is nice to see a familiar face in all of the chaos of the news crews around.
“Well it’s not like I was going to miss your wedding,” he replies, grinning down at me, but I can see the poorly-masked sadness and longing in his eyes. Clearly he wishes that it was his wedding too. He steps back and looks me over, and the want in his eyes becomes even more obvious.
“You look absolutely radiant,” he tells me quietly, his gaze still on my dress. Finally he tears his stare away to look me in the eye again, a small smile creeping onto his face as he adds, “It’s not very fitting of a spark though. I was expecting some flames or something like that.”
I laugh at his comment, and it kills me to see the joy that crosses his face upon making me laugh. Why does he have to make everything so hard by not being the douchebag I originally thought he was and being great instead?
“Yeah, I’ll have to talk to Mitchell about that,” I agree, nodding my head. Marshall and I then stand in silence for a moment before I realize that we have nothing else to talk about and that I have another dress to put on. Gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the empty chairs to the side of the room, I excuse myself with, “I have to go put on another dress, but I’ll be right back.” I give Marshall one last smile and pose for the cameras once more before walking back into the dressing room to wonder how much damage I just did.
Mitchell seems to notice my change in mood, because he asks me quietly and concernedly as he helps me out of this dress and into another one, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” I reply tiredly, shaking my head and telling myself to snap out of it. I have to be the Lizzie Lighting everyone in El Nieve loves, not the homicidal, suicidal, partially cynical rebellious ex-assassin that I actually am. When I see Mitchell continuing to look at me curiously, I add, “A friend that I invited to the wedding just showed up, and that friend happens to be about my age, handsome, intelligent, interested in me and male.”
“Marshall Moore?” Mitchell questions without even looking up from smoothing out the hem, and I can’t help but smile slightly at his intuition.
“Yeah. You can just imagine what the news crews are saying,” I mutter, shaking my head out of exasperation and annoyance. There really is no such thing as privacy when you’re a Triple Crown champion, especially the winner of Hand-to-Hand and One-Person. Luke is probably being swarmed by adoring, wherever he is. The only reason he’s not at the dress fitting – and trust me, he wants to be here – is because, in accordance with marriage traditions, he’s not allowed to see the dress until the day of the wedding.
“Lizzie, they’ll talk and talk and talk even if you were perfectly good and didn’t give them anything to talk about,” Mitchell says as he gives me a brief inspection and pulls at the dress around my rib areas slightly. “You need to be eating more,” he murmurs disapprovingly. “You’re almost too skinny for this dress.”
Ignoring Mitchell’s comment about my weight, I mutter, “I know. It just gets really annoying, you know? It feels like I’m always under a microscope.”
“Well you and your personality and this wedding are the three biggest things to happen to the Triple Crown, which happens to be the biggest thing in most of these peoples’ lives. Of course you’re going to be under a microscope all the time, because everyone wants to get the latest news about the newest superstar.” Mitchell waves his hands and rolls his eyes. “I share your opinion that it’s completely mindless and idiotic, but, unfortunately, you and I both have no choice but to go along with it.” When he sees my puzzled expression, as I don’t know why he lumped himself in the same category as me, he says, “I wouldn’t have made all of these dresses if it hadn’t been for this dress fitting, because nine of them aren’t ever going to be worn again!”

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

I can’t help but roll my eyes and laugh at him, although I guess he does have a point. He did put a lot of effort into designing all of those dresses, so it is a shame that I’m going to wear nine of them only once.
“Tell you what Mitchell: keep those dresses around, and, if I survive Team Survival, I promise I’ll wear them after the Triple Crown’s over.” I give him a smile as I think that I won’t have to keep that promise, because I’m not going to survive Team Survival, but that it’s a surefire way to shut him up for now.
“You promise?” he asks me, staring me down seriously, and I force myself – with incredible difficulty – to keep a straight face as I nod my head in confirmation.
“I promise,” I repeat, choking back the laughter that’s bubbling up inside of me. Glancing down at myself, I ask him, “Now am I set to go back out?”
“Well, you could do with about five more pounds on your ribs-” – he begins, and pulls at the dress again – “-but I suppose it will do for now. After all, if you do end up wearing this dress for your wedding, we can pad it to improve the appearance.”
I don’t have any time to give him the stunned, indignant and angry look I want to, because he pushes me out the door before I even have a chance to look over my shoulder at him. Resisting the urge to shake my head and scowl, I force my best fake smile onto my face and walk slowly towards the news crews and Marshall, posing every couple steps, and back away.
“You know,” Marshall starts, and I stop to look at him, “I don’t think it matters what dress you wear, because you’re absolutely stunning in all of them.” He gives me a small smile as he looks me up and down, his eyes pausing for a moment on the small pockets of extra fabric around my ribs. Great, now I’m going to have to hear that I need to eat more from him too. If that happens, I might just have to to stop being harrassed by everyone around me.
“But you haven’t even seen them all yet,” I reply, knowing exactly what his response is going to be but not even caring that it’s borderline suggestive.
“I don’t have to,” he replies, just like I knew he would. “You do any dress you wear a favor.” He gives me another smile, and I smile back at him before turning around and walking back into the dressing room, the cameras rolling and flashing the whole time. I can just imagine the rumors that are already popping up about Marshall and I, and think idly that it’s a good thing Luke doesn’t watch any of the El Nieve news; Marshall would be dead and I would be under incredible scrutiny if he did.
The rest of the dress fitting is tolerable, with Mitchell making comments that I need to eat more every time I change into a new dress and Marshall giving me brazen compliments every time I come out in a new dress. Finally, a half an hour later, I’ve tried on all of the dresses, and it’s all I can do not to jump up and down with joy.
Brushing aside Mitchell’s not-so-subtle suggestions that I should go out and eat something, I step out the dressing room in my normal clothes to find Marshall leaning against the doorframe of the exit, apparently waiting for me.
When he sees me approaching, he straightens up, gives me a smile and tells me, “I want to take you out to lunch, my treat.”
“That sounds great,” I reply as my stomach growls loudly, and I give him a smile of my own. “I’m starving.”
“Dress fitting is that strenuous, huh?” he teases lightly as he holds the door open for me. I know that the cameras are still rolling and picking up everything we do and say, but I don’t care. I’m going to go to lunch with my attractive male friend who happens to be interested in me whether the camera crews like it or not.
“Yeah,” I confirm, going along with the joke. “It’s about as bad as being in the arena!”
Marshall laughs, then pauses for a moment to give me time to catch up to him. “So where do you want to go for lunch?” he asks me as he looks down at me, his eyes twinkling.
“Well, you seem to know the city better than I do, so I’m going to let you decide.” I look up at him and give him a smile to find him staring down at me with passion burning in his eyes, and I immediately look away. I don’t want to have Marshall pour his heart out for me, because that would just ruin the friendly mood I’m striving for.
When he doesn’t answer after a moment, I glance over at him under my eyelids to find him still staring at me with the intense look in his gaze. However, all of the emotion in his eyes soon disappears, and he says with a smile, “Alright then, I’ll take you to my favorite restaurant.” He then holds his hand out to me, palm-up, and asks, “May I?”
Giving him a smile, I lay my hand on top of his and reply, “Of course.”

“You know, after all that dress fitting, I really want to do something completely non-feminine,” I tell Marshall as we sip at our glasses of water and look out through the storefront window at the street. So far, three camera crews have passed the restaurant looking for us, and each time we have ducked underneath the table, laughing. Of course, I laughed the hardest when Marshall clocked his head coming up the second time. For some reason, he didn’t find it very funny though. However, both of us are surprised by the fact that no one in the restaurant has approached us or tried to ask us questions, even though I thought at least one person would. After all, we are two of the most intriguing Triple Crown champions with an equally intriguing relationship, so it’s almost astonishing that no one else in the restaurant has tried to come talk to us. Neither one of us are complaining though; we both like the privacy to uphold the notion that we’re just two friends going out to lunch together.
“Like what?” he asks in reply, tearing his gaze away from the activity outside to look at me.
“Well, do you know of any shooting ranges nearby? I’d love to put a bullet or an arrow in something.” I swirl my glass in front of me and watch as the ice cubes dance around each other before taking another sip and setting the glass down again.
“Sorry, I don’t, but I do know of a hand-to-hand combat training facility not too far from here.” I am about to open my mouth and ask what kind of hand-to-hand combat – as in, weapons or literally just hand-to-hand – when Marshall, seeing my unspoken question, quickly adds, “It’s just hand-to-hand, no weapons involved, so we won’t have to make a sword run.”
“Alright, cool. Let’s go,” I say, rising to my feet. I see Marshall’s hand move to his pocket, and, realizing that we need to pay for our lunch, I immediately reach into my pocket and pull out a twenty-dollar bill – which happens to be plastered with Rush’s face – that should be more than enough to cover our lunch.
“Lizzie, I said this was my treat. You shouldn’t have to pay for anything a day before your wedding!” he exclaims, and makes a move to snatch the bill off the table. However, I immediately cover the money with one hand and stop his move with the other, and give him a smirk when I see the exasperated, annoyed and slightly amused expression on his face.
“Tell you what,” I finally concede, after the determined, stubborn look on his face hasn’t faded any, “I’ll let you pay for our admission into the hand-to-hand combat place.”
“It’s a rec center. It’s free,” he replies flatly, then immediately begins to plead with me, “Lizzie, please let me pay for lunch. I told you I would, and I really want to, so please let me.”
“No,” I immediately respond. If he’s going to make this a battle of stubborness, he’s most certainly going to lose. “Keep your money. It’s not like I need you to pay for my lunch anyways.” Max has basically given me an unlimited spending limit, and I fully intend to use at least some of it.
“Lizzie, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll only back down now as long as you promise to let me spend the money on you later, alright?” He offers me his hand to shake, and, after a moment of silent deliberation, I accept it.
“Deal,” I confirm, at last removing my hand from the bill on the table. I know I’m not going to get him to budge any more, so, since I don’t want to spend the day the whole day here, I have to accept his offer.
“Well, after you then.” Marshall quickly closes the gap between us and the door and holds it open for me respectfully, giving me a smile as I walk past him.
“Thank you,” I tell him, grinning at him and then pausing for a moment to let him catch up to me. “Well, where’s this hand-to-hand combat place you were telling me about?” I ask him when he appears at my right side, and we begin walking down the street together.
“It’s about four blocks this way.” He gestures in the direction we’re walking, and sticks his hands in his pockets. Feeling his gaze on me, I shoot him a furtive glance to see that he is in fact looking over at me with an almost amazed look on his face.
Finally my curiosity at what he’s stunned at becomes unbearable, and I turn to him and question, a small smile on my lips, “What are you looking at?” However, when I see the passion and intensity in his eyes, I immediately wish that I hadn’t spoken at all. I don’t want to hear an outpouring of emotion that reveals the truth about our relationship; I want to continue the ruse that we’re just two friends spending an afternoon together. Unfortunately, it looks like that’s not going to happen.
“You,” he replies simply, and I clench my jaw slightly in anger and annoyance at myself. I really shouldn’t have said anything. “You’re honestly perfect.” He reaches a hand up to gently trace my jawline, but I instantly react by slapping it away and turning to him.
“Don’t start, Marshall. Please, not now,” I murmur, meeting his gaze for a moment before turning away from him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him wordlessly nod his head and slip his hands back into his pockets. Even though he definitely looks slightly depressed now, I can’t help but breathe a tiny sigh of relief at him understanding what I’m getting at. To be perfectly honest, I’d think that he would want to keep up the ruse that we’re just normal friends for as long as we can, but I guess I was wrong. I guess his priorities and thought processes about our relationship must be different that mine, considering that he’s attracted to me and I’m not attracted to him.
However, it isn’t long before I catch him staring at him again, and, turning to him in exasperation and annoyance, I threaten, “You know, if you keep that up, I can always walk in front of you.”
“I’m sorry Lizzie. I just-” he begins, and I can’t help but get even angrier when I realize where he’s going with this.
Quickly interrupting him, I growl in a dangerous tone, “Don’t you say that you can’t help yourself, or, so help me God, I will break your jaw!” I don’t care that Marshall probably can’t help himself; I just don’t want to hear it, as it reminds me too much of Jackson, and I don’t want to think about Jackson right now either.
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry Lizzie.” He throws his hands up in the air, his expression surprised and slightly hurt. However, it isn’t five seconds after he falls silent that he stops and says quietly, “We’re here,” then steps up to open the door for me.
“This place is pretty nice,” I murmur appreciatively as I look around at the facility surrouding me. Flyers for hand-to-hand competitions and lessons cover a floor-to-ceiling billboard on the west wall, and a row of mounted swords, spears and shields blankets the east wall.
Turning to Marshall, I say, “I thought you said this place was hand-to-hand only.”
“I lied,” he replies, a smirk crossing his face at the disgruntled look on mine. “Hey, you can’t blame me for not wanting to get anywhere near you with a sword.”
I smile slightly and agree ruefully, “Yeah, I guess I can’t blame you for that.” Taking a step towards the weapons on the wall, I reach a hand out to touch the shining steel of the sword closest to me and say, “These are beautiful weapons.”
“I actually,” Marshall begins from behind me, sounding almost abashed, and I turn around to find him looking almost abashed, “made that sword.”
A smile breaks out across my face as I look between Marshall and the blade and ask, “Are you serious?”

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

“I’m a blacksmith by profession. Actually,” he backtracks, and, by the way his voice falls, I can tell he’s going to say something about the Triple Crown, “I’m a Triple Crown champion by profession, and a blacksmith on the side. I guess I’m an ok blacksmith if I have you complimenting my weapons.” He gives me a smile, his blue-green eyes twinkling as he looks at me. It really is too bad that I didn’t know him before this, because being slated to kill each other isn’t exactly the best way to start a friendship.
“This is amazing, Marshall.” I run my finger over the entricate designs on the sword’s golden hilt. My thumb comes across two letters in the metal – MM – and I can’t help but grin; I guess that proves he made it. Turning back to him, I add with a smile, “You’re amazing.”
I immediately wish that I hadn’t spoken when I see the passion and longing come into his eyes again, and hope to dead God that Marshall isn’t about to pour his heart out for me. However, Marshall shakes his head slightly, as though to shake the intensity out of his gaze, and seems to gain control of himself, because the passion in his eyes does go down some.
I’m incredibly grateful when he returns my smile and gestures to the white mats on the other side of the room. “Well, I guess now is as good a time as any for me to get my ass kicked by you, so shall we?”
“Yeah, let’s go.” I give him a smile and follow him, my eyes on him the whole time. He walks with the grace and style of a leopard, and I know him to share some personality traits with a leopard too: intelligent, meticulous, careful, and, most of all, dangerous.
I stop walking when I’m on one side of the mat, and wait for him to stop walking and turn around too. “You ready?” I ask him when he finally does, giving him a cocky smile.
“Well, this looks like it’s going to be fun for one of us,” he replies, his eyes on my grin, and I can’t help but reply, “Yeah, me.”

“You have a very twisted sense of what’s fun,” Marshall mutters as I climb off of him for the tenth time. Even though he’s an excellent fighter, he still doesn’t come anywhere close to being the fighter that I am. Of course, I don’t know of anyone who could rival my fighting skills that isn’t an immortal.
“Well, I’m not the one eating the mats,” I reply, smirking as he rises to his feet, looking exasperated and annoyed.
“Good point,” he concedes, smiling despite himself too. “I suppose it would be more fun for me if I didn’t spend most of my time with my face in the mat.”
“Yeah, this hand-to-hand thing is pretty nice when you’re winning,” I tell him, my smirk getting bigger as he rolls his eyes at me.
“Not that I would know what that feels like, considering I’m fighting you,” he retorts, and I can’t help but laugh. Marshall really is a good sport, considering that he’s losing pitifully and I’m teasing him all the time.
However, my laughing is cut short, because Marshall then charges me and pins me onto to the mats before I can even react. “Well, now I think I think I know what it’s like to win,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine and a smile on his face. He has my lower body rendered useless by having his hips locked on top of mine, and my arms are pinned behind my back too, leaving me completely defenseless. It’s the same exact pose Marshall had me in during our Hand-to-Hand Combat fight.
I am immediately worried when I see the passion return to Marshall’s eyes, and even more concerned when he raises a hand to gently stroke the side of my face. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers. “No; you’re honestly perfect.”
He leans closer to me, so that our noses are almost touching. “Did you know,” he begins, his voice full of emotion and his gaze, so full of intensity, glued to mine, “that every time I see you, I get butterflies in my stomach, and I worry about what I’m going to say to you so I don’t sound like an idiot, and I wonder if I should change, because maybe I’m wearing something you don’t like. And, you know, you’re on my mind four seconds out of five of every waking day, and I don’t know why. I’ve never felt this attracted to anyone before, and I guess I picked one hell of a time to fall in love with someone.” A bitter smile crosses his face, and I can’t help but agree with him there.
“Lizzie, I know you’ll never see me as anything more than a friend now, but I can’t help but wonder if we could have been more, if the circumstances around us were different. I can’t help but wonder if you actually could have been mine, not Luke’s or Jackson’s, if all of this never happened and we weren’t supposed to be killing each other in the Triple Crown. So, I’m asking your permission to kiss you, and see if there’s just something there, so I can find out if all my wondering and hoping hasn’t just been in vain.”
His blue-green eyes, locked powerfully on mine, do as much pleading as his voice does, and, even though I know it’s incredibly stupid on my part, I find myself answering, “Yes,” before I even have time to think about it. I guess, when it comes to these kinds of things, I really shouldn’t think about it, because my answer will never be yes if I do think about it.
Gently, and with a nervous hesitation that I find slightly amusing, considering this is Marshall Moore we’re talking about, he leans in and presses his lips to mine, and I close my eyes, inhaling his scent. However, even as his arms work their way around me and the kiss becomes more urgent, I don’t feel anything, just the emptiness I first felt with Luke. Actually, I never felt truly empty with Luke, like I feel now, because I was slightly attracted to Luke from the beginning and always knew that there was the possibility we could be together. Marshall, however, I’m honestly not attracted to, and I also know that he and I could never be together, because I’m getting married and one or both of us are going to be dead soon anyways. I guess that just makes the emptiness more acute.
After a long few seconds, Marshall finally pulls back, his expression nervous and hopeful, and asks me, “Well? Anything?”
Wordlessly I shake my head and purse my lips together as I look up at his hurt and falling face. He climbs off of me silently, and I add quietly as I rise to my feet, “I’m sorry.”
I then walk towards the door and leave the center, not wanting to be around another boy whose relationship with me I probably just irreprably damaged.

“Lizzie, where have you been?” are the first words out of Max’s mouth when I walk through the door of the rather large house Luke and I are staying in until the wedding. Well, I guess Max is staying with us too, since he sleeps in one of the guest bedrooms and never leaves the house or lets us out of his sight. In fact, Max was even incredibly wary about letting me go to the dress fitting, which I was all for staying away from too. However, Mitchell finally persuaded him that it was necessary, and I ended up being shoved out the door.
“Lizzie, what happened?” Luke asks me concernedly, and I blindly walk towards him and into his open arms. Burying my head in his shoulder, I close my eyes and say nothing for a few moments; I don’t trust myself to speak without breaking down and crying.
“I think I broke Marshall Moore’s heart,” I mutter finally, lifting my head off of his shoulder for a second to look up at him.
“Oh,” he murmurs in reply, and I can see the almost vindication in his expression that he refuses to let show. Luke doesn’t like me hanging out with Marshall, and I guess he’s happy that I finally did something to stop that. After a few moments, he adds quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?”
I won’t get anything out of talking to Luke, because he’ll be too caught up in his dislike of Marshall to really understand me and respect where I’m coming from, so I initially shake my head. However, I quickly realize that there is someone I can talk to, someone who’s less opinionated on the topic of Marshall Moore, knows me incredibly well, and is willing to listen for hours, and backtrack, “Well, I don’t want to talk to you. I want to talk to Jackson.”
Like clockwork – he probably heard me say his name or sensed my distress – Jackson comes out of the hallway to the left, where his room is located – at my insistence, he’s staying with us too, even though he can’t leave the house – to ask me, “Lizzie, what happened?”
“I want to talk to you,” I tell him, ignoring Luke’s hurt expression as I step out of Luke’s arms and turn to Jackson.
Jackson has the common sense and past knowledge to not ask what I want to talk about and instead says, with a small nod of his head, “Of course.”
I then step forward, find his hand with one of my own, and let him lead me back to his room. Once inside, he motions for me to sit on the bed, and sits down next to me.
“What happened?” he asks again, his golden eyes concerned as he watches me. Before I answer, I scoot closer to him and lean my head on his shoulder to have him wrap his arm around my waist comfortingly.
“I broke Marshall Moore’s heart,” I begin, “and I think I ruined my relationship with him in the process.” I let out a great sigh, feeling like the weight of everything that’s happened in the last two and a half months is finally going to get to me and crush me.
“Well, what happened?” I look up to find Jackson staring down at me, completely attentive with no judgment in his gaze, and I make myself a mental reminder to thank God for Jackson Lucas Carter later.
“He took me out to lunch after the dress fitting and, upon my insistence, we went to a hand-to-hand combat place afterwards. We just screwed around for a little bit-”
“Oh, you showing your fighting superiority?” Jackson interjects, smirking slightly, and I can’t help but feel the corners of my mouth twitch slightly.
“Yeah something like that,” I agree, then continue with the story. “Anyways, at one point, he actually pinned me, and he took the opportunity to pour his heart out to me and tell me that he’s never been this attracted to anyone before and that he wonders if we could have been something more than just friends, if the Triple Crown and Luke and I had never happened. He then asked me for my permission to kiss me and find out, I gave it, he kissed me, and I didn’t feel anything. I then told him that and left the center without another word.”
“Lizzie, you did the right thing,” Jackson tells me quietly as he holds me against him comfortingly. “If you don’t have honesty in a relationship, what do you have left?”
Even though I can’t help but feel that Jackson is trying to tell me to tell Luke about how some of the things I said to him in the arena weren’t true, I brush past my suspicions to agree, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. He just seemed so hurt though.”
“Lizzie, the truth hurts. You know that as well as anybody, and I guess Marshall knows that now too. Facts don’t change to fit someone’s opinion or fantasy, so it’s a good thing you told Marshall the facts before he got too caught up in his fantasy.” I nod my head wordlessly, wondering idly how Jackson can be this full of wisdom and peace one moment and then full of hatred and homicidal rage the next. I guess all of those hormones they injected him with didn’t do much to help his stability.
“I know, Jackson. It’s just... he was happier, thinking that we might have had a chance, you know?” I lift my head off of his shoulder to turn and meet his gaze, and he nods in understanding.
“Lizzie, you don’t have to and honestly just can’t take responsibility for everything around you or try to bleed for the world, because you’re just going to make yourself crazy if you try. You also shouldn’t have to lie or go against something you believe in to make people happy, because the truth is always the best option, no matter how bad the truth hurts.” His eyes, full of intelligence and knowledge far beyond their years, are locked on mine, and I think absentmindedly that he has some of the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen too.
After a moment of him staing at me and me staring back at him, a small smile breaks out across Jackson’s face and he leans forward to kiss me gently on the forehead. “It’s going to be fine, Lizzie,” he murmurs when he pulls back. “You’re strong enough that you can take out anything in your path, so I wouldn’t worry about a thing. You’ll be just fine.” He gives me a smile and gently raises a hand to touch the side of my face, and, as I see the worry in his eyes, I can tell that he said all that more for his benefit than for mine.
Though I had never really thought about it until now, I guess Jackson would be very worried about having me die in the Triple Crown, and that he’d also being doing everything in his power to make sure I survive. That means Jackson have a common goal for once: keep me alive. It’s almost a shame that I’m going to have to deny them their wish.
“Jackson?” I begin, staring up at him and meeting his gaze again.
“Hmm?” he murmurs, gazing back down at me with overpowering concern still clouding his eyes, and I can’t help but wonder how much the thought of losing me has tormented him over the last few days.
“Thank you,” I tell him quietly and sincerely, then give him a kiss on the cheek before rising to my feet and leaving the room, Jackson’s gaze boring holes into my back the whole time.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

I tiptoe silently down the hallway, muffling my curses when I stub my toe on a protruding table leg. Gritting my teeth and my clumsiness – with being a wolf, I’m generally not clumsy at all – I force myself to not swear out loud and continue walking down the hallway to stop when I reach Jackson’s door. Incredibly quietly, so quietly that no one who doesn’t have wolf’s ears wouldn’t be able to hear it, I rap my finger on the door, and hear Jackson move inside of his room.
“Come in,” he murmurs, and I open the door silently. When he sees that it’s me, a big smile breaks out across his face, and he wordlessly scoots over and gestures for me to sit on the bed next to him.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me after I’ve settled down next to him and rested my head on his chest. “Aren’t you supposed to be spending the night before your wedding with the man you’re actually marrying?”
“Well, maybe I’m supposed to,” I begin, “but I’m not exactly one for the orthodox, and I want to spend the night before my wedding with the man that knows me best – you.” I give him a small smile and rest my head on him again, feeling comforted when Jackson’s arm wraps around me and holds me to him.
“Well, you’re welcome to spend as long as you want here with me,” he replies, returning my smile before resting his chin on top of my head.
“You’re the greatest Jackson,” I murmur quietly, wiggling up even closer to him and marveling at the sheer amount of heat produced by both of our bodies. Either one of us probably makes enough thermal energy to power a small generator, and having both of us in close proximity exponentially magnifies the warming effect of our body heat.
“That means a lot, coming from you.” I can feel him smile again, and, even though the heat’s threatening to cook me, I scoot even closer to him so that it seems like every part of my body is touching him.
We then lie in a contented silence for a few minutes, none of the concern or sadness our conversation help earlier present, and I find myself falling asleep on his chest.
“Goodnight, Lizzie,” he murmurs, his voice drifing in and out of my consciousness. “I hope I help you enjoy your last night as Miss Lightning.” The last thing I register before completely blacking out is the feeling of Jackson’s lips brushing my forehead.

I open my eyes to an almost blinding whiteness, and it takes a few seconds for my new-opened eyes to adjust and my newly-conscious mind to wake up. When I do, however, I immediately groan and roll over, not wanting to get out of bed and face the day and the horrors it holds.
“Good morning, Lizzie,” an amused voice next to me says, and I bury my head deeper in the pillow as I realize that it’s Jackson. He’s just another reminder of what I’m going to lose today.
“I can’t believe it,” I mutter into the pillow. I then decide that I might as well stop trying to suffocate myself, since it’s not going to work, and roll back over onto my back. “Seventeen and married!” I exclaim, shaking my head as I stare at the white ceiling. “I never thought this would happen to me. I thought it would be more like twenty-five and married, or even a thousand and married!”
“Lizzie, it will be fine,” Jackson tells me comfortingly as sits up next to me and stares down at me with a small smile on his face, and I shoot him a look. He really isn’t very good at hiding the worry in his eyes. “It’s not a real marriage, remember?”
“Really? Because everyone else I’ve talked to thinks it is,” I murmur, my hands balling into fists. Even though it’s technically not real, just a staged attempt to get the rich El Nieve audience to like Luke and me – well, mostly me – I know it’s real for Luke, and I can’t help but feel like it should be real for me too. “Luke thinks it’s real, Marshall thinks it’s real, hell-” – I turn my head to meet Jackson’s golden gaze, “-I think you even think it’s real, to some extent. I mean, it’s going to stop us from having the relationship we do now, so that makes it partially real, doesn’t it?” After a moment’s pause, I add quietly, “It’s going to affect all of our lives, whatever it is.”
“Lizzie, it will be fine,” Jackson tells me reassuringly, laying a hand on top of one of mine. In that moment, however, he lets his mental defenses down, and I am able to hear his thoughts. As soon as I hear what he’s thinking about, I sit straight up in surprise.
“Jackson, what are we going to do about tonight?” I ask him, vocalizing the worries dominating his mind. “I mean, Luke and I will be expected to sleep together, and I won’t do that with him. I... I can’t.”
“Tell Luke then,” Jackson replies, his facial expression considerably more relaxed, now that he thinks he’s found a solution to the problem. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“You’re right, I’m sure he will understand, even if he doesn’t like it,” I agree, feeling relieved myself that the issue of tonight has been resolved. Of course Luke won’t make me do anything that I don’t want to; I’ve got too much influence over him for that to happen. Besides, even if he does try anything, I’m almost as strong as he is and a faster runner, so I have no doubt that I could evade him if it came down to that.
After a second of silence, Jackson asks me, staring over at me, “Why can’t you do that with him? I mean,” he begins, and quickly backtracks, “don’t take this the wrong way; I’m not advocating for you to actually sleep with him, but you’re set and determined on dying anyways, so why would you leave out that part of the human experience?”
“I don’t want to get that physically intimate with him, since I’m afraid it would ruin our already screwed-up relationship,” I reply. I add, after hesitating for a spilt-second, “Besides, I never really planned on sleeping with anyone before college, and I feel like I still shouldn’t, even though I’m never going to go to college.”
“Oh, ok,” Jackson responds, nodding his head in understanding. I can tell that he’s resigned himself to the fact that I’m going to try to die but not to the fact that I’m actually going to die; I guess he’s going to be in for a very unpleasant surprise in a few weeks then. “And I think you’re right, about the relationship part; when you sleep with someone, your relationship with them changes a lot, many times for the worse.”
“Yeah, and I don’t want to mess up my relationship with Luke any more than I already have. I mean, one more wrong thing said or done, and I could lose him and it altogether.” I deliberate with myself for a moment before adding, “Anyways, I could never see myself sleeping with him. There’s only one guy in the whole world I’ve ever even considered sleeping with, and he’s sitting next to me right now.”
Jackson meets my gaze warily, his expression one of guarded surprise, like he thinks this all might be just some sick joke, for a few seconds before realizing that I’m not joking at all. “Oh,” he says quietly, tearing his eyes away from mine to stare at his lap. He then looks back up and asks, “Are you serious? I’m the only one? Not even Troy?”
“Not even Troy,” I confirm, smiling slightly at the astonishment on Jackson’s face. “I guess you were the only one I ever felt enough for to consider doing that.”
“Well I’m honored to hear that,” Jackson replies, giving me a grin of his own. “You know, you’re actually the only girl I’ve ever considered doing that with too.”
“No way.” Jackson must have felt that way for Alexa, considering that he loved – well, I know he still loves her, even if he doesn’t want to admit it – her in every other aspect of the word.
“Truly,” Jackson confirms, nodding his head. “I mean, I was physically attracted to Alexa, but I never felt the burning passion for her that I feel for you.”
Now it’s my turn to lamely say, “Oh,” in reply. After a few moments of sitting in an incredibly awkward silence, someone begins to shuffle down the hallway towards us, and I leap to my feet. I can tell that it’s Max, undoubtedly coming to round me up and deliver me to Mitchell to get dressed, and I’m happy for any excuse to leave. All the emotion building up in the air is making me incredibly uncomfortable.
“You have to go already?” Jackson asks, his tone startled and resigned at the same time. I guess he knew he wasn’t going to have very much time with me before the wedding.
“Yeah, sorry,” I reply. When my words do nothing to help the tone of our environment, I attempt to lighten the situation by joking, “Knowing Mitchell, it will take him three hours to just get my hair done.”
“Yeah, he’s good like that,” Jackson says in agreement, a fake smile crossing his face as he looks up at me with anger and longing and unbearable sadness in his eyes.
“You’re definitely coming to the wedding, right?” I ask him, fearing that he might have decided not to come since I last talked to him about it. I mean, I know it’s going to hurt him to be there and see me with another man, but I need him there as a friendly face in the crowd of strangers.
“Lizzie, I’m not going to miss your wedding,” he tells me reassuringly, sounded almost surprised that I would think he would.
“Alright, good,” I reply, and reach out to find his hand with one of my own and give it a squeeze. “Goodbye, Jackson. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
When Jackson doesn’t reply after a moment, I realize that he must just not be able to talk right now, and walk towards the door to leave.
However, just before I exit his room, I hear him murmur quietly, “Goodbye, Lizzie. I hope you like being Missus Gates.”

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

“I can’t believe that this is really happening, that this is it,” I murmur as I stand completely still to let Mitchell play with my hair to his liking.
“Lizzie, it will be fine,” he replies reassuringly as he gently slides a bobby pin into my hair, and I can’t help but be reminded of Jackson’s and my conversation earlier. Hopefully this one doesn’t end with sadness and pain like that one did.
Suddenly it occurs to me that I don’t want my hair up, and, breaking Mitchell’s rule of not moving, I reach back and pull the complicated mess of seven bobby pins out of my hair.
“Why did you do that?” Mitchell exclaims in surprise and anger. “You just ruined an hour of work!”
“I don’t want my hair up for the wedding, since I might as well be me, right?” I see Mitchell nod his head grudgingly behind me, and can’t help but add, “Besides, if that’s all you got done in an hour, you really need to work on your efficiency.”
Mitchell smiles at my joke, then helps me silently into my wedding dress. After ten minutes of zipping up zippers and tying up laces and fluffing out certain parts of the gown, I’m finally looking to his satisfaction, and he takes a step back to admire his work.
“It’s perfect,” he replies, not seeming to notice that he actually forgot to design and make a veil to match the dress.
I am about to ask about the veil when I remember that veils aren’t used at weddings in El Nieve. I guess that’s just another of the traditions that have been lost to time and war.
A low and conspicous cough outside the door – obviously Max is getting impatient – stirs both Mitchell and me to action again.
“Lizzie,” he begins, “you look as radiant as the sun, so please show your dress – which happens to be helping greatly with your appearance – some love and respect and don’t trip on purpose, light it on fire on purpose, or do anything other purposeful act of destruction, since you’re not going to fool me with the excuse of an accident, alright?” He captures my gaze with his own chocolate brown one, then continues in a milder tone, “I know you don’t want to be here, and I know you don’t want to be doing this, but please don’t take it out on your dress, alright? I spent too much time designing and making it for you to ruin after wearing it for five minutes, so I expect that you won’t.”
“Ah Mitchell, you’re taking all of the fun out of my wedding,” I reply, forcing a smile onto my face while internally cursing the fact that one of my ideas of crashing my own wedding just got flushed down the drain. ‘Accidentally’ destroying the dress on national television would be the perfect way to tell Rush that I’m going to play along with his plans of a happy ending for Luke and I.
“Lizzie, I’m sure there are many other ways for you to ruin this for everyone else,” Mitchell tells me as he tugs at my dress to get it fit right, “so please don’t choose to do so by destroying your dress. After all, you promised you’d wear all ten of the dresses I made after Team Survival, so I need this dress to still be around in a month.”
“Mitchell, I think the biggest variable in that equation is whether I’m going to be alive in a month,” I reply. I don’t know why everyone is so confident that I’m going to come out alive, especially when they know that I don’t want to come out alive.
“From the way I’ve seen you treat clothes, I beg to differ,” Mitchell responds, tugging at the area around my ribs and frowning. “Damn it Lizzie, I might have to put a little bit of padding around your ribs for the dress to fit right, because you’re too skinny for it!”
“Mitchell, you know I’m not going to start eating more anytime soon,” I tell him, and he bows his head slightly in capitulation.
“I know, but Lizzie, you’re ruining the whole look!” He gestures to the small amount of extra fabric gathered around my ribs and shakes his head. “If only you were five or ten pounds heavier…”
Sighing in exasperation, I place my hands on my hips and shift all of my weight onto my back foot to have Mitchell stop fooling with the dress and look up at me in surprise. “You in a hurry to go somewhere?”
“Yeah, I’m in a hurry to get this wedding over with,” I answer, and a small, sad smile comes onto his face.
“Lizzie, you could do a lot worse than Luke,” he tells me quietly, his eyes locked on mine. “That boy would do anything for you, anything in the world, and, from what I’ve seen, you do care for him some.”
“I know, Mitchell,” I begin, “but I don’t know if he’s what I want. I certainly know, no matter how much I care about him, that I don’t want to be marrying him today.”
“Lizzie, nothing about this situation has been defined by what you want,” Mitchell responds with a bitter chuckle, “So I think you should get used to not having a say in your life anymore. After all, the people that are controlling your life now have no intention of letting you have even the slightest bit of choice or freedom.”
“That’s the thing, Mitchell,” I start, “they can control every aspect of my life, including what I eat, what I wear and what I do ever second of every day, but they can’t control my thoughts, and that’s where my real power lies. They can’t tell me what think – even if they could, I sure as hell wouldn’t listen to them – and, as long as I have that five inches of freedom from one ear to the other, I am just as dangerous, if not more, than if they didn’t control my life at all.”
“I guess you’re right,” Mitchell agrees with a tiny smile. “When you have nothing else left, and all control of outside events is stripped away from you, your real power lies in your mind, and in your inability to be broken.” After a moment’s pause, during which time Mitchell captures my gaze with his own, “I think that, in your heart, you will never stop being a spark, no matter what happens to you or how hard they try to break you. I guess you could say that you’re kind of concrete,” he finishes, and immediately a small smile flits across my face.
“Well, I don’t know if I’m concrete, Mitchell,” I begin, “but I do know that I won’t go down without a fight and that I will try as hard as I can to not be broken. They might own everyone and everything else in this Triple Crown, but, so help me God, when it’s all said and done, they will not own Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Lightning.”
With that, I turn away from Mitchell and slip out of the dressing room we’re in to find Max waiting for me outside with a bored look on his face. When he sees me approaching him, his expression brightens considerably, and he asks, “What took you so long?”
“I just had a conversation with Mitchell about the state of things in my life,” I answer truthfully as I step to Max’s side to have him grab my arm. As I don’t have any male relatives or friends at the wedding – well, Jackson’s a male friend, but it’s only because Mitchell pulled a few strings that he’s even here as himself and not Max – Max will be giving me away to Luke, like he first did that fateful night almost three months ago.
“Must have been a pretty depressing conversation,” he says as he takes a deep breath and begins to walk down the curving red aisle that eventually leads into the main chapel.
“Yeah, it kind of was,” I reply with a sigh of my own, and find that I have to walk exceptionally fast to keep up with his huge strides. Max soon notices this and slows down his pace some, which makes him seem even more large and ungainly. I guess he’s just one of those people that has to walk fast.
“Ah, it’ll get better Lizzie,” Mitchell says, clearly trying to sound encouraging but only sounding awkward. “Once you win Team Survival with Luke-”
“Wait, with Luke?” I interject, wondering if Max has momentarily forgotten about the rule that doesn’t allow Luke and me to be on the same team. “We can’t be on the same team, remember?”
“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Max says, his tone just as confused as mine. When I shake my head, he continues, “The Triple Crown committee changed the rules so that you and Luke can be on the same team for Team Survival, which means we succeeded in making the idea of you and Luke as star-crossed lovers popular enough with the public for the Triple Crown committee to be forced to bend.”
“You sure they aren’t going to bend and snap right back like they did last time?” I ask him warily. I don’t trust the Triple Crown committee at all, and I wouldn’t put it past them to try to make us kill each other again.
“Nah,” Max replies dismissively. “The public reaction to them changing and then unchanging the rules during One-Person was horrible, so they’re not going to try something like that again.”
“Oh,” I respond lamely, rather surprised that the public didn’t like the changing and then unchanging of the rules. Perhaps they’ve become more attached to Luke and I than I thought was possible. “Well, that’s good,” I force myself to lie and say, since this rule change is going to completely mess with my plan to save Abby by choosing her to be my team mate. After all, everyone’s going to expect me to choose Luke now, and I can’t imagine that they’ll be very happy when I choose an unknown little girl who can’t fight to save her life.
“It’s very good.” Max looks over at me quizzically, and I can tell that he’s surprised by my lack of a positive response. He probably thought that I would be jumping up and down with joy, since this rule change means both Luke and I can go home, which is all he thought I ever wanted.
Unfortunately, I want more than I can have, so it looks like I’m going to have to make some very difficult decisions. One thing I know for sure though: I will not change my mind and turn my back on Abby, because that would be the same thing as leaving her to die, and I have already promised to save her. I will figure out what I’m going to do about Luke later.
“Well, this is it,” Max says as we stop outside of the huge double doors, beyond which the wedding lies. Instead of motioning to the men standing outside of the doors to open them, like I thought he would, he turns to me and tells me, “You know, you don’t technically have to do this, if you really don’t want to. The Triple Crown committee isn’t going to change the rules back if you don’t marry Luke, so you don’t have to marry him for you to both survive this.”
“Max,” I begin, gesturing at myself with a small, sad smile, “what choice do I have now?”
“Hmm,” Max grunts, and I can tell from the tone of his voice that he agrees with me but doesn’t want to vocalize that. Apparently even Max thinks this is a bit much by the Triple Crown committee’s standards.
Max then motions for the men to open the doors, and, as the huge slabs of stained brown wood slowly open with much creaking, he gives me a smile and tells me sincerely, “You know, Lizzie, I’m honored to be the one walking you down the aisle today.” Just as the doors open wide enough for everyone in the main chapel to see us, Max turns back to face the preacher at the end of the aisle, his face now a solemn mask.
“Here Comes the Bride” immediately begins playing, and everyone in the chapel rises to their feet as Max and I march in perfect unison to the beat down the aisle. I see Luke standing there next to the preacher, not even attempting to hide his shock at my appearance as he looks me up and down. I hope that means Mitchell did a good job and not a bad one.
Once we reach the end of the aisle and I am standing next to Luke, Max lets go of me and backs away, and everyone in the chapel sits back down. I turn and face Luke to find his expression still completely stunned, and sneak a glance at him to be completely amazed myself.
The tuxedo Mitchell designed for him fits him perfectly and accentuates his long, lean, muscular frame so amazingly that I wonder how it had taken me so long to realize that Luke is incredibly attractive. There also happens to be a tiny splash of light blue around the collar that really brings out Luke’s eyes, and I find myself getting lost in their ice-blue depths as the preacher drones on about God knows what.
I snap to attention when I hear the preacher asking Luke solemnly, “Lucas William Gates, do you take Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Lightning to be your lawful wedded wife, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy, to cherish and continually bestow upon her your heart’s deepest devotion, forsaking all others, to keep yourself only unto her as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” Luke says, and I hear his breath catch in his throat as he looks back down at me. I guess that means Mitchell did a good job.
Suddenly I see the preacher turn to me, and I realize that it’s my turn. Oh. Great. “Elizabeth Eleanor Marie Lightning, do you take Lucas William Gates to be your lawful wedded husband, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy, to cherish and continually bestow upon him your heart’s deepest devotion, forsaking all others, to keep yourself only unto him as long as you both shall live?”
‘As long as you both shall live’ doesn’t sound too bad, I think idly, because odds are that neither one of us is going to live very long. “I do.” I meet Luke’s gaze again and smile slightly as I admire the beauty of his eyes. That blue really is my favorite color now.
Suddenly I see someone – a very large someone – move towards the preacher and whisper in his ear, and my eyes lock on Max’s for a single moment. However, that moment is long enough for me to read his mind, and my eyes shoot open slightly in surprise as I find that Max is telling the preacher we have our own wedding vows to say. Immediately I begin to panic, because no one told me about this, and I sure as hell don’t have a wedding vow prepared! My gaze then darts back to Luke’s face, and, as I see the calm determination that has taken over his expression, I realize that this is all his idea. I guess he wants to make good on his promise of his wedding vow being ‘always.’
“It has been brought to my attention that the couple would like to make their own additional wedding vows,” the preacher announces, seeming almost taken aback. He then turns his gaze on us and motions for us to start.
I’ve prepared myself to crap it and am about to open my mouth when Luke, staring down at me with a small smile on his face, begins, “Lizzie, I think you already know what mine’s going to be, since I told you in One-Person, but I feel compelled to say it anyways: always. Just always.” He raises a hand to gently touch the side of my face, and suddenly it seems like everyone else in the room disappears and it’s just he and I talking.
“Luke, I don’t have any vows written out or anything, because apparently you forgot to mention this to me,” I start, and Luke gets a sheepish and guilty look at my last words, “but there’s one thing that I think you really need to know: I can’t promise you always, Luke – hell, I can’t even promise you tomorrow – but for today, I’m yours.” I pause and give him a smile, and feel the people around me stir. However, before the peace and sincerity of this moment I’m sharing with Luke can be shattered, I add, “And there’s one more thing that really I don’t say enough: I love you, Lucas William Gates.”
Without waiting for the preacher to say anything else, I fling myself onto him and kiss him passionately, that hunger having overtaken me again, to have his arms lock around my back and hold me against him for a long few moments. When I pull back, I’m vaguely aware of the cheering mob of people around us, but still am completely focused on Luke and Luke alone.
Gently he wraps his arm around my waist and guides me towards the incredibly large ballroom next door, where the reception is to take place. The rest of the crowd follows us, and soon the live orchestra on the stage at the end of the room starts playing and the room fills with music and the sound of people eating and talking.
As Luke and I make our way around the numerous tables of food, we given many greetings and congratulations, half of them from people I’ve never met before who must be important El Nieve socialites. Neither one of us eat very much, as we both just want the wedding to end so we can have some alone time to talk, so we’re both very happy when Max gets up onto the stage in front of the orchestra and steals a small microphone from one of the violinists.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins in his huge voice, and I think idly that he probably doesn’t need a microphone to be heard by everyone in the room, “it’s time for the dance.” He then leaps surprisingly nimby off the stage and walks towards me, and suddenly I remember that the father-daughter dance comes first, and that Max is my surrogate father.
Max nods his head respectfully at Luke before taking me by the arm and walking me out to the center of the ballroom, at which point the orchestra begins playing again and we start twirling in a small circle.
“How are you doing, Lizzie?” Max asks telepathically, his concerned, flame-filled eyes locked on mine. It’s not like we can talk out loud, with every eye in the ballroom on us, so we have to communicate mentally. Of course, I would probably communicate mentally even if we weren’t under the spotlight, since it’s almost impossible to detect and decode telepathic communication.
“Fine,” I answer, not taking my gaze away from his eyes. I wonder why he’s so concerned about me; maybe he thinks that the stress of the wedding is going to get to me and I’m going to snap.
“I’m sorry about the wedding vows surprise,” he tells me apologetically. “Luke made me promise that I wouldn’t tell you, and I wasn’t going to deny him that.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” I reply reassuringly. “It gave me an excellent opportunity to work on my improvisational skills.”
Max’s mouth twitches slightly as he sends back, “Good. By the way, you did a damn good of improvising if you ask me.”
Now it’s my turn to respond, “Good,” and my own mouth twitches slightly. Suddenly it occurs to me that the rest of the public may not share Max’s opinion, and I ask him, “Did the rest of the people here like my improv as well as you did?”
His face falls slightly, and I realize that I’ve hit the cause of his concern. “Well, Rush didn’t like it too much, but, like I said, they’re not going to change the rules back, with the reception their last rule change and unchange got.” After a moment’s pause, he sends, “Don’t worry Lizzie; you don’t have anything to worry about besides the normal will-I-be-alive-in-a-month stuff.” His mouth twitches again at his own joke, and I roll my eyes.
“That’s really encouraging, thank you,” I reply dryly, idly thinking that this is a hell of a time for Max to be humorous. I guess it’s better than being all doom-and-gloom, like there’s much reason for him to be.
Suddenly the orchestra stops playing, and I realize that it must be time for me to dance with Luke now. However, before I leave, Max looks me in the eyes one last time and says with a small smile, “It was kind of nice being your surrogate father; call me if you need a fake dad again.”
“Thanks Max,” I tell him genuinely, giving him a smile of my own and a hug – which he clearly wasn’t expecting – before turning away from him to find Luke waiting for me with a smile on his face.
“Shall we?” he asks me solemnly, his eyes locked on mine as he offers me his hand palm-up, a gesture he has done so many times before.
“We shall,” I reply, making no attempt to pull my gaze away from his and just allowing him to guide me out onto the dance floor.
The orchestra then begins playing again, and Luke and I twirl in a small circle silently, at least as many eyes on us as when I danced with Max, even though there are other couples on the floor this time. I don’t have any urge to speak, since everything I want to say to him needs to be said privately, and he seems to feel the same way, so the air around us is completely silent for quite a while.
However, after about five minutes of us just staring into each other’s eyes, both of us completely peaceful and actually enjoying ourselves, I feel a presence come up behind me and hear a very familiar voice ask, “May I have this dance, Mister Gates?”

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

“Jackson!” I exclaim in surprise, whipping around to find him standing there with a small smile on his face. However, no smile can mask the hurt in his eyes, and I force myself to remember that I can’t bleed for everyone around me, no matter how much I want to or think I should. Instead of asking about his pained expression, I pull out of Luke’s arms and fling myself onto Jackson, giving him a hug that probably cracks a few of his ribs.
“You came,” I murmur, staring up at him and getting lost in his eyes. It’s at that moment that it strikes me that all eyes in the ballroom are on us, and rumors are probably spreading about us right now. However, I don’t pull back or make any detectable sign that I had such a realization, because that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters right now is that Jackson is here, and that I get to spend a little bit of time with him.
“I wasn’t going to miss your wedding,” he replies quietly with a smile. After looking over my shoulder to make sure that Luke is ok with us dancing, he takes me by the arm and guides me to a spot a little ways away from the crowd that had gathered around Luke and me.
“You look absolutely stunning, Lizzie,” are the first words out of Jackson’s mouth as we start to dance, and I give him a smile, about to say how handsome he looks. He’s in a suit Mitchell designed for him, so it fits him perfectly, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so attractive before. However, I don’t get a chance to, because Jackson immediately continues, “Actually, stunning isn’t the right word. To be honest, I don’t think there’s an adjective in the English language that can do you justice.” He gives me a smile of his own, and I see the passion and sadness competing for space in his eyes.
“Thank you Jackson,” I reply, smiling up at him almost warily. Even though this is my wedding and he has more than enough common sense to know that he can’t lose control here, I know he’s filled with emotions and is therefore partially unstable.
“You’re quite welcome, Lizzie,” Jackson responds. His grin changes as all passion leaves it, and it’s all I can do to not sigh out loud in relief. We then dance in silence for a few minutes, both of us just enjoying the other’s company, especially since we might not get very much of it now.
However, the passion builds up in Jackson’s eyes again, and he breaks the quiet draping us with, “You know, I always thought you and I had a chance at something like this.” He nods at the wedding around us, and immediately my heart sinks. This can’t be good. “Even when I was chasing Alexa, there was always the thought in the back of my mind that, if it didn’t work out with her, it could be you and me someday in the distant. I never thought it would be you and Luke Gates in less than a year.” He smiles a sad, insincere smile, and I have enough common sense to keep quiet and let him talk. “I think it could have – maybe even would have – been you and me, if it weren’t for the Triple Crown.” I see the anger flash through his eyes and truly begin to contemplate how much he hates the Triple Crown.
“Jackson, maybe you’re right,” I begin, incredibly and uncomfortably aware all of the eyes on us, “but it’s not you and me, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“You and I both know very well that there’s something we can do about it,” Jackson murmurs, his eyes locked on mine. Immediately I get angry with him, because how could he even think about suggesting destroying the city?
“Jackson, I don’t want any more blood on my hands, especially not the blood of innocent citizens,” I reply, staring him down and attempting to intimidate him. Of course, it doesn’t work, because Jackson isn’t daunted by anything, but I guess it was worth a shot.
“Lizzie, there is no such thing as innocent when it comes to the people that live in this city,” he snarls, and I glance around worriedly to make sure that we haven’t attracted too much attention. Yet. “Everyone here loves the Triple Crown, and worships it, and is consumed by it, so therefore they have just as much blood, if not more, on their hands as we do! It’s because they love the Triple Crown so much that it’s lasted this long, because I’m sure El Nieve would have found a different way to repress the Sections if these people didn’t love the Triple Crown as much as they do!”
“Well isn’t sad that their whole lives are tied up this Triple Crown?” I retort. “We should have pity on them, Jackson, not destroy them!”
“Lizzie, it’s the only way to save you!” Jackson finally bursts out, and now people around us are starting to stare.
“Jackson…” I begin with a warning tone, placing a hand on his chest to try to comfort him, but my gesture has no effect; in fact, he only seems to get louder and more emphatic.
“Lizzie, I can’t lose you for good. Even though I’ve already lost you to Gates, I can’t have you die on me, because then I wouldn’t have a reason to live. You’re it for me, Lizzie,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine as he raises a hand to gently touch the side of my face. “I can’t lose you, not now and not ever.”
“Jackson,” I start again, happy that most of the people looked away after Jackson quieted down, “either way I’m going to lose something, and I’d rather it be my life than my family or my identity. Trust me, Jackson, I don’t want to leave you, but I don’t have a say in the matter. This is all Rush’s and the Triple Crown committee’s doing, and I can’t do anything about it. I’m sorry, Jackson, but we’re both going to have to say goodbye eventually.” It’s my turn to raise a hand and gently touch the side of his face, and he leans into my palm slightly.
I then lower my hand, and we twirl in silence for a few seconds longer. “I’m going to miss this, you know,” Jackson says to break the quiet, his gaze on mine. “You solving my problems with logic and keeping me in check. What am I going to do without you?” He gives me a wan half-smile and attempts to chuckle but fails miserably.
“I’m going to miss you, Jackson,” I reply quietly, staring up into his golden eyes for a long moment and finally giving him a brief hug before turning away from him and back towards Luke.
“Goodbye, Missus Gates,” he whispers as I leave, and I can feel his gaze on my back the whole time.

My mood brightens considerably when I see the other champions I invited – Marshall, Marcus, Adelaide, Abby and McKenzie – standing in a corner with plates of food in their hands. They are quite a diverse group, with Marshall and Marcus having almost two feet on Abby and Adelaide and McKenzie always looking around warily, as though they fear they’re being hunted right now. I guess, with all of the members of the Triple Crown committee buzzing around, that’s not such an irrational fear.
Marshall is the first one to see me approaching and calls out, “Lizzie!” as a huge smile breaks out across his face. He sets his plate of food down and steps towards me to embrace me in a huge hug, his eyes twinkling with happiness when he pulls back and looks down at me.
“You look amazing,” he murmurs as he looks me up and down, and I begin to get a little when his voice trails off. However, he doesn’t get any want or lust in his gaze, and immediately looks back up at my face, which relieves me greatly.
“Good. I think Mitchell would consider it an insult if you said anything else.” I give Marshall a smile and turn my head to see Mitchell standing in a different corner of the ballroom talking with some other stylists. From the way they keep on looking over in my direction, they’re undoubtedly complimenting him on the dress, which he deserves. I don’t think any amount of compliments could truly cover how much he’s owed for putting so much time and effort into making me, a very unwilling subject, look amazing.
“Well it’s not just him, you know. You’re doing the dress a favor by just wearing it.” Marshall returns my smile, but this time a little desire does creep into his gaze, and I immediately tear past him to address the other champions. However, I can’t say anything before Abby realizes that I’m there and runs at me to fling herself onto midsection and knock all of the wind out of me in the process.
“Lizzie!” she cries in happiness, her angelic face beaming as she pulls back to look up at me. However, she doesn’t let me go or even loosen her grip on my stomach, so I have to forcibly loosen her arms for me to be able to breathe and respond.
Abby doesn’t give me a chance to respond either though, and says, her mouth moving at a hundred miles a minute, “I can’t believe you got married – and to Luke! – and it was just so perfect and your wedding vows were amazing and I told you it would all work out and you and Luke; it’s perfect!”
I think about the best way to respond for a half a second before replying, “Thank you Abby.” Now that Abby’s tried – and nearly succeeded – at suffocating me, I finally have the chance to speak to the other Triple Crown champions.
“Thank you all for coming,” I tell them sincerely, looking at them all in turn and giving them all smiles. “It really means a lot to me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” McKenzie says as she swallows her mouthful of food. “I’m only here for the food.” She then gives me a teasing grin, and, even though I roll my eyes at her, I can’t help but smile too.
“Seconded,” Adelaide immediately chimes in, gesturing with the chicken wing in her hand. “This has to be the best food I’ve ever had; it’s even better than the stuff at the Champions’ Center. I mean,” she begins, turning to me, “have you even tried it?”
“No,” I admit, shaking my head almost sheepishly. “I haven’t had time, with all the dancing and picture-taking and Triple-Crown-committee ass-kissing.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I remember Abby’s standing right next to me, and tell her, feeling bad and embarrassed that I swore in front of her, “Sorry.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says dismissively, waving her hand. “My brothers used to say a lot worse things that than.”
“Oh,” I reply lamely, feeling that “Ok, good” is about the only response I know that would fit the general situation but also knowing “Ok, good” to be a horrible reply, considering the specific scenario.
Our group of champions then stands in an incredibly awkward silence for a few seconds until Marshall and Marcus, at the exact time, both pipe up and ask me, “Lizzie, may I have a dance with you?”
I look back and forth between them for a moment, deciding what way is best to settle this little predicament, to finally decide that they should settle it themselves. “Winner of rock-paper-scizzors gets to dance with me first,” I tell them, and turn back to the remaining girl champions as the boys go off to one side.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

“Lizzie and Marshall sitting in a tree,” McKenzie begins, her teasing smirk returing in full force, to have Adelaide interrupt her, “Yeah, he wishes! Do you see the way he looks at her? It’s semi-revolting, to be perfectly honest.”
“How so?” McKenzie immediately asks, not giving me any chance to enter the conversation myself. Abby seems to notice this and gives me an apologetic smile.
“Well, he’s a douchebag and a pervert. It’s clear that all he wants to do is sleep with Lizzie. Which reminds me,” Adelaide says, turning to me now, “why did you invite him, after what he did to you in Hand-to-Hand?”
“He’s a lot different than you might think he is. He’s actually a really nice guy, when you get to talking to him,” I reply, pursing my lips slightly as I look at Marshall, who is deep in a conversation with Marcus. I didn’t realize rock-paper-scizzors could be such an engaging subject. “And that way he looks at me?” I begin, turning back to Adelaide. “It’s the same way Jackson and Luke and Marcus do.”
“You’re so lucky,” McKenzie mutters, shaking her head slightly. “You have all these hot guys begging you to take them-”
“You call this lucky?” I exclaim incredulously as I look down and gesture at the wedding dress I’m in. “Me being seventeen and married is a direct result of those guys begging me to take them! To be perfectly honest, I’d beg you to take them if it would do any good!”
“You could do a lot worse,” Adelaide chimes in, looking over my shoulder at Luke. “He’s tall and handsome and intelligent and nice and even occasionally funny; to be perfectly honest with you, I don’t know how you could do much better.”
“And he loves you, with all of his heart,” Abby adds, staring up at me with her beautiful blue eyes. “You definitely could do a lot worse.”
“I mean, I can see what you see in Jackson,” McKenzie begins, staring over at Jackson and shaking her head. “I mean, wow, is he hot – sexy accent and everything – but Adelaide and Abby are right; I don’t think you can do much better than Luke, not even with Jackson.”
“Because Jackson doesn’t love you like Luke does. You’re not going to find anyone else who loves you like Luke does,” Abby finishes, and all three of them turn their gazes on me.
Fortunately, I am spared from having to answer by Marshall and Marcus returning to the group, Marshall openly triumphant and Marcus silently wistful and defeated.
“I won, best two out of three,” Marshall announces, and his eyes immediately go to my face. With a smile, he offers me his arm and asks, “Shall we?”
“I promised,” I reply, and take his arm as I give him a smile of my own. I feel the gazes of everyone else in the group – as well as the gazes of almost everyone else in the room – on me as I proceed to the center of the ballroom with Marshall, but I don’t care. I’m just happy that he’s here and that I get to dance with him.
“I thought you might not come, with what happened at the Hand-to-Hand place,” I murmur after we’ve started dancing, my eyes locked on Marshall’s own. I can see that he’s wary too, with Rush and all of his Triple Crown committee cronies floating around, and more than a little bit sad. It must kill him, to look at me and want me and not be able to have me, especially now that he knows I don’t feel anything for him.
“Lizzie, I promised I would come, and I won’t break a promise to you,” he replies with a smile. However, I can tell that there’s more he’s not telling me.
“But…?” I look up at him and see the dismay and almost bitter amusement flash across his face and know I’ve hit something sensitive.
“But I did think about not coming, for a couple hours yesterday,” Marshall finishes, pursing his lips in thought as he looks down at me.
“Why?” I think I already know very well why – and if I didn’t I could find out in a lot quicker way than asking – but I think I owe it to Marshall to ask and keep his mind still private.
“Because I thought it would kill me, to see you with Gates – or even you with Jackson – and know that I can’t have you, and that you don’t feel anything for me anyways.” His voice trails off lamely at the end, and he shakes his head bitterly, like he’s angry at himself.
“And it hasn’t killed you?” I can’t help but ask, incredibly puzzled by why that is if his answer is yes. I know that now, with the relationship Jackson and I have, it would kill me to see him with Alexa, and I even have the benefit of knowing he loves me some.
“Exactly the opposite,” he answers with a smile. “This time I’m spending with you, just getting to talk to you and dance with you, completely outweighs any pain I feel from watching you with someone else.” His eyes twinkle as he looks down at me, and I don’t pull back when he raises a hand to gently touch the side of my face.
“You know, Lizzie,” he begins, “Jackson’s right: there isn’t an adjective in the English language that can do you justice right now.”
“Wait, you heard that?” I question him incredulously, my eyes shooting open wide as I realize how much more they probably heard. Before he has a chance to answer, I quickly ask him, “How much more did you hear?”
Marshall seems taken aback by my questions – he probably thought I would just take the compliment, like any normal person would – but quickly recovers and responds, “I didn’t hear much more after his outburst of ‘Lizzie, it’s the only way to save you!’”
My heart immediately fills with dread and sinks into my stomach, because that means Marshall probably heard Jackson’s plans to destroy El Nieve. However, I know I can’t let any of this show, and instead ask him, as calmly as I can, “Did you hear anything before that?”
“See, that’s the weirdest part,” Marshall begins, and I feel a glimmer of hope. “No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pick out Jackson’s voice from the crowd immediately after he gave you that compliment, and, even though I heard his outburst – everyone else in the room did too – I couldn’t hear his voice after that, either. I could see his lips moving, but I couldn’t discern his voice from anyone else’s. It was the same with you too.”
It’s all I can do not to let out an audible sigh of relief when Marshall’s finished speaking. Jackson must have distorted the air around us so that our voices couldn’t be picked out, and therefore no one except for us heard any of what we said. Well, I guess Jackson is playing it partially safe so he doesn’t give the Triple Crown committee any more reasons to kill him.
“Ok, thank you,” I tell him, giving him a genuine smile. When I see his befuddlement at my reaction, I quickly add, “Jackson and I had an… odd conversation, and I was just wondering if anyone else heard it.”
“Well, I didn’t, and I don’t think anyone else did either.” Marshall shrugs slightly, and it becomes even more difficult for me to hold back the sigh of relief threatening to burst my chest.
“Ok, good,” I reply with a mischevious grin, and he laughs out loud, drawing the whole room’s eyes onto us. When he looks around and sees all of the people staring at us curiously, he tells me apologetically and sheepishly, “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh that loud.”
“Don’t be,” I reply. “You shoudn’t be sorry that you’re laughing, since it’s not like we have that much to laugh about right now.”
“Yeah, the doom-and-gloom we’re-all-going-to-die-soon mood hanging over us all kind of kills the humor,” he agrees, and I can’t help but smile.
He notices my grin and says, taking a step back to bow grandly, with a smirk on his face the whole time, “I will be your court jester for as long as you’d like.”
“Ok, good,” I respond, giving him a genuine smile. “I need a jester right now.”
Marshall is just about to reply when his eyes fix on something behind me and he falls silent, taking a step back and away from me regretfully.
“She’s all yours, Marcus,” Marshall says as I turn around to find the huge form of Marcus, even taller and a lot broader than Marshall, standing there with an apologetic yet excited look on his face. Marshall then turns and leaves us, and I look after him in dismay. What do I say to Marcus, considering I effectively got him killed in One-Person?
We stand in an awkward silence for a few moments, me thinking idly that Marcus probably has no idea how to talk to girls and is most likely still clueless as to how Adelaide feels about him. After a while, the quiet gets too unbearable, and all the guilt I’ve been feeling finally bursts out in the form of me saying, “Marcus, I’m sorry for getting you killed in One-Person. I really-”
Much to my surprise, Marcus raises a finger to my lips to silent me and tells me quietly, his chocolate brown eyes glued on mine, “Don’t apologize. I don’t want to ruin this moment by talking about the Triple Crown.” He then proceeds to place one hand on my hip and take one of my hands in his other, and begin to dance slowly.
After a few seconds of us dancing in silence, he pipes up and says, “If I step on your feet or do something wrong, please tell me. This is the first time I’ve ever danced with a girl, and I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He drops his gaze to the floor, and I raise the hand that had been resting on his shoulder to pull his chin up gently.
When I’m confident that he’s not going to immediately look back down again, I reply with a smile, “That’s ok. It’s really pretty simple, to be honest.” I shrug, then add quietly, my smile changing into a smirk as I look around at all of the powerful – and mostly old – El Nieveans in attendance, “Besides, if all these old grandpas with dentures can still do it, I think you’ll be fine.”
The corners of Marcus’s mouth twitch slightly as he looks down at me, and a small pang of desire shoots through them before he has a chance to look away.
Suddenly it occurs to me that this is the perfect opportunity to set Adelaide up with Marcus – and get him off my hands in the process – and I ask him, “Marcus, what do you think about Adelaide?” I have to know how he feels about her before I can go about manipulating him into being with her.
Taken aback by the odd question, it’s a few moments before he finally replies with a shrug, “I don’t know. She’s generally nice, pretty funny and has a definite chance of the winning the Triple Crown, more than I do at least.” His expression gets almost bitter at the end, as though he thinks that he shouldn’t be so opposed to killing a couple children to survive.
“How do you feel about her?” I ask him, counting on his lack of experience and unsuspicious nature to keep him from getting angry with me.
However, he immediately does get suspicious, and looks over my shoulder at Adelaide with a scrutinizing brown gaze. After a long moment, he finally looks back down at me and asks me quietly, his expression not surprised at all, “Adelaide put you up to this, didn’t she?”
“How’d you figure out Adelaide likes you?” I burst out before I’m able to help myself. Fortunately, I find no reason to want to take it back, as Marcus doesn’t become surprised by this outburst either.
“She makes it pretty obvious,” he replies, his gaze darting back up to Adelaide. He then looks back down and adds, “She has to, for someone like me to figure it out.”
“Well,” I begin, staring up at him in an attempt to read his expression and figure out what he’s thinking, “what do you think about her and that?”
“She’s just a friend, Lizzie,” Marcus replies, and my heart immediately sinks. So much for my matchmaking efforts. “The only girl I’ll ever see as having the potential to be anything more than a friend is you,” he finishes simply, and it kills me to know that he means every word he’s saying and that he isn’t anywhere near the actor I am.
“Listen, Marcus,” I start flatly, ignoring his last comment for the moment, “You can’t have me, now or anytime in the future when we’ll both be alive. However, you can have Adelaide, and she desperately wants you to take her. Just…” I pause, not knowing how to end, “if you’re going to let her down, let her down easy, alright?” I meet his gaze, and he nods his head in understanding.
We then dance in silence for a few more incredibly awkward moments before Marcus tears away from me with the murmured explanation of, “Need to go talk to Adelaide,” and leaves me standing by myself in the middle of the ballroom.
A sudden movement that I glimpse out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I look over to find Jackson opening the door to the outside and leaving silently. No one but me seems to notice his departure, and I flirt with the idea of going after him for a fraction of a second before realizing that I attract way too much attention for me to be able to leave.
Sighing, I turn around to find myself staring at someone’s nose, and look up to find Luke standing there, his expression concerned as he stares down at me. It’s almost scary, the way he can sneak up on me like that. The only other people I’ve known to be able to move that quietly are myself and Jackson.
Immediately he takes a step back, to give me more space, and I ask him, glancing around the room for a clock and finding none, “How much time do we have left?” I don’t think I can bear being stuck in this hellhole much longer, especially with Jackson gone and my attempts at setting Adelaide up with Marcus complete failures.
“An hour,” he replies quietly, and I groan in misery, denial and exasperation.
“Luke, I can’t do another of this,” I murmur, and, much to my surprise, a smile begins to creep across his face.
“I know,” he replies, and I stare up at him curiously. “That’s why I arranged for us to leave early.” He then takes my hand in his and escorts me over to the door Jackson just left out of to hold it open for me respectfully. Pulled up to the curve is an nondescript black car, with no driver that I can see in the front seat, and my heart begins to race as I realize that maybe Luke means for one of us to drive. I haven’t driven anything in almost three months, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed driving myself to school everyday until now.
“Is this for us?” I ask him, not taking my eyes off of the car. Even though my Corvette is much more asthetically pleasing than the black hunk of steel sitting before me, I can’t bring myself to look away from the black hunk of steel that could save me.
“Yeah,” Luke says with a smile. I guess he figured out – I don’t know how, because I didn’t even figure it out – that I missed driving a lot, and he arranged for us to get our own car because of that. “You drive.” He tosses the keys at me and I catch them with grace as I quickly walk around to the driver’s side of the car and slide in.
Inhaling deeply and sighing with satisfaction, I murmur, “I guess that new-car smell is the same in every dimension.”
Luke laughs and agrees, “Yeah, I guess so.” He then buckles up his seat-belt, prompting me to do the same, and I finally slide the key into the ignition to hear the car start up and purr.
“Wow,” I exclaim quietly, feeling the steering wheel vibrate slightly underneath my touch. “This thing sounds like my Corvette.”
“I thought you would like it,” Luke says quietly, his eyes on me and a small smile on his face. Suddenly I realize that we must actually get to keep this car, and that it isn’t just a rental, and I unbuckle my seat-belt and turn to fling my arms around Luke in a rib-cracking hug.
“Thank you so much,” I murmur in his ear as his arms wrap around me. “This is the best present ever.” I pull back to give my biggest, most sincere smile, and his face immediately lights up upon seeing it.
“It’s not just a present,” Luke tells me, his grin seeming to be glued permanently on his face, and I look at him curiously. “It’s a way of getting to our honeymoon.”
Immediately my heart sinks out of my chest to rest in the pit of my stomach, and I have to force a smile back onto my face. I don’t want to go to our honeymoon – I mean, I didn’t even think we were going to have one – because of what’s expected to happen on a honeymoon, which I won’t do. I’ve already made it very clear that I won’t get physically intimate with Luke – I thought I made that clear to him too – but I guess he’s hoping that I’ve changed my mind.
“Here.” He pulls a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, and I unfold it to reveal a map, whose ending destination seems to be outside the city.
“Elizabeth,” I murmur, pronouncing it with perfect Spanish. Suddenly it hits me that, since El Nieve is located in the Rocky Mountains of what used to be Colorado, that could actually be the Elizabeth Luke and I are both from. “Is this…?” My voice trails off as I look Luke in the eye to see him nod slightly.
“I thought you would want to see home one last time,” he says quietly, and, even though I don’t really want to see home if it’s completely destroyed, I can’t help but smile. “If you don’t want to go there, we can always go somewhere else,” he quickly adds, seeing my obviously insincere grin.
“No, Luke. Let’s go home.” I then place the map on the dashboard so that I can see it while driving and pull away from the curve to speed off into the night and towards home, or whatever’s left of it.

[Sonmi-451]

More added.

“This place is really nice,” I murmur appreciatively as I sit down on the huge feather bed and let myself fall backwards to end up staring at the ceiling. The fact that I’m not in my wedding dress anymore – Luke is currently changing out of his tuxedo in the small bathroom – really helps with the niceness of the place.
The small house Luke managed to rent for the night is a relic of the past, one of the very few buildings still standing from our time. I was shocked that Luke originally thought I wouldn’t like it, because it was too small or too old or something like that, when in reality I love it, because it makes this barren, alien plain seem more like the Elizabeth I knew.
“Hey,” a voice from behind me calls, and I turn my head to see Luke, now dressed in a T-shirt and basketball shorts, walking towards me with a smile on his face.
I happen to be wearing the exact same thing, except my shorts and T-shirt are a little shorter and I’m wearing Spandex underneath shorts, so, as he approaches me, I scoot over to give him room to sit down and tell him with a smile, “Nice outfit.”
“Thanks,” he replies, his grin getting bigger. He looks me over for a fraction of a second before adding, “Yours is pretty nice too.”
I answer with my smile growing to stretch from ear to ear, and I lean into him and sigh when he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me to him. I can tell that Luke likes this reply, because his grip on me tightens.
However, he doesn’t say anything, and a few moments pass in an awkward silence before I finally have the nerve to pipe up and ask, “Well, what do we do now?”
“Well,” Luke begins, and he moves his free hand to gently rest it on my thigh, not high enough that I would consider it offensive but definitely high enough for it to be suggestive, “it is our honeymoon.”
“Luke, no,” I quickly reply, more surprised than angry that he would even think of suggesting something like that, and he removes his hand like he’s been shocked.
“I know,” he murmurs quietly, and a sad smile flits across his face for a moment. “I just thought I might as well try.” He then removes his arm from around my waist and looks at me expectantly, as though he thinks I want to get away from him now.
However, I don’t want to get away from him, so I manually place his arm around my waist again, and tell him with a smile, “Luke, just because I don’t want to sleep with you doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be around you.”
“I just thought...” Luke begins, and I surprise us both by raising a finger to his lips to quiet him. Then, before the logical side of my mind can take over again and I can deter myself, I lean up to kiss him.
As soon as my lips have touched his, that hunger, more uncontrollable and insatiable than ever, takes me over, and I find my fingers locking themselves in his hair as he crushes me to him and kisses me back. I close my eyes, wanting to completely enjoy the moment and not let what I see distract me, so I’m incredibly startled when I pull back for a millisecond to get a breath, and lean back forward to find that he’s not there anymore.
My eyes immediately pop open, and I find him staring at me with a small, sad smile on his face. As I realize that we’re probably not going to kiss again anytime soon, I gently untangle my fingers from his hair, and he catches my hands in his as I bring them back down.
“Lizzie, I don’t want to do this,” Luke tells me, his eyes locked on mine, and immediately backtracks to say, “Actually, there’s nothing in the world I want to do more, but I’m afraid I’ll lose control, and I won’t be able to stop no matter what you say.”
In the back of my mind, I idly think that that really doesn’t matter, as I could easily throw him off of me using my powers of controlling air. When I get incredibly angry, frantic or emotional, those powers show themselves in their full extents and I don’t even have to control them, so I think that, if worst came to worst and Luke really couldn’t stop himself, I would be able to throw him off of me or get out from under him very easily.
Of course, it’s not like I can tell Luke that, so I instead stare deep into his eyes and tell him sincerely, “Luke, I trust you.”
“Lizzie, I don’t trust myself, and I don’t want to risk it,” Luke says with a tone of finality. “I’m sorry,” he adds after a few moments, and I shake my head as I smile insincerely. He really is a fan of apologizing for everything, isn’t he?
“Luke, what do you have to be sorry for?” I ask him, and he stares at me blankly for a half a second before I continue. “You’re stopping me – and yourself – from doing something that could potentially have negative side effects or a negative outcome, and that’s nothing to be sorry for. That’s just having a sense of self-preservation.”
“I guess so,” he replies quietly, his head hung low in defeat, and a few moments pass in an awkward silence. Finally Luke pipes up and says, looking over at me with an almost frightening amount of intensity in his eyes and in his voice, “Lizzie, I want to try something.”
He then leans over and gently kisses me on the lips, but I can feel the reservation. He clearly is going to test his boundaries to see what he can do. As I kiss him back and don’t get nearly the reaction I usually do, I idly wonder how he’s going to know when he’s supposed to stop if he loses control at any point of this.
After a few long, blissful seconds, he pulls back to murmur, “I can do that, no problem, but I really, really, really want to do more.”
“So do more,” I tell him, my resolve on not my decision to not get physically intimate with him wavering some. After all, we’re both going to be dead soon, so why does it matter what we do now? It could just be part of going out in style.
“Luke, I trust you,” I say again, my voice quieter and more intense now, and I’m the one who leans forward and kisses him this time.
Luke, much to my satisfaction, isn’t reserved at all this time, and I soon find myself flat on my back, my fingers locked in his hair again, with him on top of me and his arms wrapped tightly around me. I pull back for a moment, as I need to breathe, to have him groan in exasperation, annoyance and anger and roll off of me to lay next to me with a stormy expression on his face.
“I can’t do it, Lizzie,” he says quietly, his tone almost angry as he stares at the white ceiling above us. He then rolls over slightly so that he’s facing me, and tells me, his voice even quieter and more intense now, “I can’t resist you.”
“Then don’t,” I reply, and pull his face to mine to kiss him again. However, he immediately yanks away, and manually removes my hands from the back of his neck.
“Lizzie, no,” he tells me, his voice much firmer now, and, with a sigh, sits up to slide off the bed and stand over me. “I won’t take advantage of your desperation, no matter how much I want to.”
“But Luke,” I begin, sitting up myself, “I’m not desperate. Well,” I concede, when I see the incredibly skeptical and doubting look on his face, “this decision isn’t affected by my desperation. This is-”
“Lizzie, that’s crap,” Luke interrupts. “Every decision you make, whether you realize it or not, is affected by your desperation and the knowledge that you probably won’t be alive in two weeks. I know that as well as anyone – better than you, it seems – so you can’t sit there and tell me that this is a completely rational decision when I don’t think there is such a thing as a rational decision, when you’re in the situation we’re in.”
“Damn it, why do you have to so honorable?” I grumble, and a small, almost bitter smile flits across Luke’s face.
“Lizzie, you have no idea how much I don’t want to be honorable, and how much I want to take advantage of your desperation-” – Luke sees that I’ve opened my mouth to interrupt and keeps on talking – “but I can’t, because my honor and moral code won’t let me. It would just be... wrong, and I don’t think I could live with myself afterwards.”
“Fine,” I say, making a huge show out of sighing. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t actually think that Luke would, considering his previous reactions to similar events, but I thought it was worth a shot. After all, what does it matter what I do now? I’m going to be dead soon anyways, so I can basically do whatever I want, as part of going out in style.
Hell, I might be dead even sooner, since I have no plans of actually cooperating with the Triple Crown committee and shutting up, so they might get rid of me to quiet me and help push the Sections away from the edge of rebellion. They’re fighting a losing battle there, since the Sections have already taken the conscious decision and the leap towards rebellion and nothing is going to calm their desperation now, but I guess the Triple Crown committee could think that they might do some good by getting rid of the Sections’ spark.
I don’t care what they do or when I die, as I’m going to die no matter how it ends, as long as I get the chance to be the spark and the martyr the Sections so desperately want before I die. After all, the whole point of embarking on this quest of martyrdom is to end up dead but a martyr, so it would be a shame if I didn’t even get the be the martyr I’m striving for.
“Lizzie,” Luke murmurs, pulling me out of the world of my thoughts, and I turn to look at him curiously. “Just because I don’t want to sleep with you doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be around you. In fact, I want more than anything to be around you.”