Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,42
he drove home, the last sliver of sunlight smoldered behind a storm cloud, withering away to nothing—like his dwindling hope that she would be okay.
Once again, Aaron counted down the hours until he could see her. From his room, he watched the trees darken across the street, denied a sunset as rain clouds blackened the sky prematurely.
By midnight, though, the storm had blown south. After an evening of overcast sky, the stars were teasingly bright. Aaron parked on Loma Sierra drive and leapt from his Mazda, and Amber appeared in his arms. Her silken hair swirled around them.
Holding her was euphoria. The cool feel of her skin and the hot, summery smell floating off her body was enough to make his head spin. But best of all, she was safe. For now.
“If you kept me waiting thirty more seconds,” she whispered, “I would have left.”
“With who?” said Aaron. “Your other boyfriend?”
She gave him a slow, teasing smile. “Who said you were my boyfriend?”
Aaron winked and deposited her in the passenger seat. “I have a surprise for you,” he said. “Buckle up.”
“Where are we going?” she said.
“You’ll love it, buttercup.”
She glared at him. “If you call me buttercup one more time, you lose all boyfriend privileges.”
“Oh, so I am your boyfriend?” he said.
“No.”
“Right . . . ” Aaron felt a smile tugging at his lips. “I just have the privileges.”
Instead of driving back down the ridge, he took them farther up Loma Sierra drive. The street narrowed, and they flew around corners, blew through stop signs. He yanked the wheel and they spun onto Gibraltar road—the same road they would take to the Chamber of Halves on their birthdays.
For a moment, they glimpsed the Chamber between two peaks, white adobe towers drenched in floodlights, before they streaked out of view. Almost imperceptibly, they both tensed.
Aaron downshifted and carved his Mazda around switchbacks. As he shifted gears, Amber played with her hair and stared out the window. He floored it after the corners, burnt rubber, and sank the RPM needle deep into the redline. The engine screamed.
“You drive like Dominic,” she said, taking her eyes off the window.
Aaron smirked, overly aware of her gaze, and jammed the stick into third on a straightaway. “The road’s familiar.”
He veered off the pavement and skidded to a stop, his headlights illuminating a patch of grass at the edge of a cliff. His door swung open.
“That was close,” she said
“Nah, we had a few feet.” He got out and circled to her side to help her out. “Now close your eyes.”
She was completely trusting as Aaron led her forward. He held her waist and stood her at the edge of the cliff.
“There,” he said, and when she opened her eyes, she gasped and squeezed his hands.
From the cliff, they could see the entire valley, the harbor, the islands—a hundred and eighty degrees of moonlit Tularosa. The sea glittered in the moon’s violet wake. Silver rain clouds billowed on the horizon. The city lights shimmered below them.
While Amber took in the view, Aaron unloaded a blanket from his trunk and spread it out on the grass. He lay on his back and waited for her to join him.
A breeze rustled the grass, infusing the air with the smell of sage, and a moment later, she lay back on the blanket next to him, shivering. He hugged her until she was warm. They watched the vast, calming reach of the constellations.
But tonight, solace evaded him.
“Have you ever wondered why halves exist at all?” said Amber. “I mean, why we’re even entangled in the first place?”
“That’s all I used to think about,” he said. “Stuff like that gets to you when doctors tell you something’s wrong with your half. You drive yourself crazy asking why this and why that . . . and why me.” The stars winked out as a line of dark birds passed overhead.
She squeezed closer to him. “What do you think it is?”
“Maybe something out there.” He nodded to the sky. “ . . . or maybe we caused it.”
“Do you think there’s a loophole?”
“I think we’re missing something obvious. Like why don’t animals have halves?” he said. “There’s a simple answer . . . I know there’s a simple answer.”
“You just reminded me of this quote I really like,” she said. “‘The task is not to see what no one has yet seen; but to think what nobody has yet thought about that which everybody sees.’”