Too bad I’m not a braver soul. Because I can’t take another minute of everyone staring at me. It’s too much of a reminder of when I was in high school, when I was the weird kid at the back of the class that wore all black and never spoke and…
Oh my god. I just had a high school memory.
It’s a tantalizing glimpse of who I was, and far more important than anything out here by the fire. I need to concentrate. Frantic, I turn and race away from the group, looking for a quiet spot. The tent we’ll be sleeping in looks empty and I head straight for it. Let them think I’m sulking over resonance. I need to get my head back—my me back—and they can think whatever they want.
I crawl into the tent, flopping onto my back in the tumbled sea of furs that we’ve all been sharing. Someone joked last night that the tent was like a big slumber party. It was probably Sabrina trying to cheer us all up, actually. But if it was a slumber party, that still makes me the weird kid at the back of the class. I press my hands to my brow, trying to force memories free from my foggy brain. I picture…boots. Not cowboy boots, but black leather boots. Boots with lots of shiny silver buckles and thick rubber tire-tread soles.
Another memory flashes through my mind. Of picking mud out of those huge treads with a stick and cursing the entire time.
“If you weren’t such a stubborn ass, you’d wear the proper footwear to go camping.” The words are harsh but there’s amusement threading through his voice.
“When you’re me, this is the proper footwear for camping, Dad.”
I remember him laughing. Dimpling. Oh my god, do I have dimples? Frantically, I smile to myself, feeling my cheeks to see if there’s an indent there. When I don’t find one, I want to cry. I play that same tiny tidbit of memory through my mind over and over again, hoping that my name will pop up. Hoping that his face will be more than just a blur and a memory of dimples. There’s sandy-brown hair and a red and black checkered flannel shirt, but I might be self-inserting those at this point. A quick tug on a long hank of my hair shows it’s sandy-brown, too.
So me and my dad went camping? Despite me being a goth-girl, I was into that sort of thing? Was it because Dad was? I’m hungry for more memories, and at the same time I’m hit with bitter loss, mourning a person I never met and wouldn’t want to meet me. I’m a clone of his real daughter, and I don’t know what happened to her.
I just know I’m not her, and these memories, however much I might want them, are as borrowed as the clothing I wear. A frustrated tear escapes my eye and slides down my cheek, and I angrily dash it away.
“Knock knock,” calls out a voice. Flor. The petite woman has been nothing but friendly since I first met her, doing her best to be the voice of knowledge for us. I’m not surprised that she’s come to seek me out. “Thought I’d check on you. Want some dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.” And then because that statement makes me sound like a petulant child, I add, “Truly. I don’t think I could eat.”
Flor sits down on the furs near the entrance of the tent, giving me space. She crosses her legs and makes herself comfortable. “Look. I get it. I know what you’re going through. Resonance can be difficult.”
That makes me sit up in surprise, because she and I’rec are clearly in love. They’re a strong, unified team together. For all that he’s all cranky and alpha male, when Flor barks an order, I’rec doesn’t argue. He just gets to work. It’s clear he respects and adores her, and she does the same for him. I can’t imagine them ever being at odds like myself and Skarr. I study her face. “You and I’rec…it was like this?”
She blinks in surprise and then bites her lip. “Well no, actually. We’ve been all over each other since we resonated. But we’ve been friends for years so we knew we liked each other’s personalities. My point was that I’ve seen a lot of resonances happen over the last while, and there have been several that weren’t happy campers. Everyone—even the ones that don’t dislike each other—seems to struggle with it at first.”
“Everyone except you two.”
She grins, her expression downright impish. “Everyone except us, yeah.”
That doesn’t help me much. “So how did the others turn out? The ones that didn’t like each other? Did they figure out how to turn it off?”
Her grin turns into a grimace. “Actually you can’t turn it off. But if it makes you feel better, everyone else fell in love with their partner and they’ve all been extremely happy.”
“All of them?” I’m suspicious.
She nods. “Every single one.”
“Was anyone’s personality like Skarr’s?” When she hesitates, that tells me everything I need to know. “So I’m just the lucky one, then. It figures that I’d end up with the guy that was spliced with a lizard and a…a…peacock!” The moment I blurt it out, I know it fits. Skarr is exactly like a peacock—all strutting and prancing and wanting everyone to look at him. He’s absolutely a peacock. I snort at my own imagination, picturing him with a fan of feathers for a tail instead of his gator-like one. “He’s a peacock,” I state again, proud of myself.
“I have to admit that he’s…a bit special.” Flor manages an awkward smile. “But look at it from his point of view. He’s just as lost as you are. The gladiators are brought up with very specific memories and all he knows is how to be a fighter. If he’s retreating into showing off and picking fights, it makes sense. It’s not fun to be around, but in his weird way it makes sense. He’s never been taught how to be friends with people, just how to fight them. We had a few gladiators with us when we first arrived here and they were absolutely clueless. No idea how to survive in a wilderness situation. All they knew was battles and glory.” She tilts her head, regarding me. “So be patient with him while he tries to develop a personality.”
Me. Be patient with him. Understand that he’s a jerk and…what? Be his mate anyhow?
I laugh, because it’s so ridiculous. No one’s telling him to stop being a jerk. I’m just supposed to overlook that he’s a perfect ass and just…what? Fall into his arms anyhow? My laughter continues, growing higher-pitched and slightly hysterical.
I’m trapped. Everywhere I look, every way I turn, I am absolutely fucking trapped.
I’m stuck on this planet.
I’m stuck with Skarr.
I don’t even know my own name.
“I’m supposed to wait for him to develop a personality,” I manage between gasping, frantic laughs. “And I don’t even know my own name? Is he going to wait for me to get a personality too?” I laugh harder. “Wait, I don’t think it matters. He doesn’t care if I have a personality as long as I jump his bones.”
My laughter is turning dangerously close to tears.
“I’m sorry, Vivian,” Flor’s tone is gentle. “I know it’s a lot. I wish I could help you with the memories thing. Maybe more will come to you as time passes, maybe not. But as far as personalities go, I like you.”
“What’s there to like? I’m a blank slate.”
She shakes her head. “You say that, but I see someone that’s strong in the face of all kinds of shit thrown at her. You aren’t flinging yourself off the nearest cliff. You aren’t weeping about the cruelty of life. You aren’t scared of your shadow. I’ve been watching all of you over the last few days and you’re one of the strongest here. Not physically—mentally. You’ve got your shit together even if you think you don’t. And you’ve tried to help out around camp. Have you seen anyone else helping with the fire?”