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And on second thought, maybe I would have bought these jeans on my own, becausedamn,they look good on.
Wandering out of my bedroom, I turn down the hall and enter the loft, plopping down onto the comfy couch and turning on the massive television.
I’ve been avoiding any media since I used Brock’s computer a week or so ago, but it’s been long enough.
I need to keep up to date.
Warily, I switch from a cooking show to an international news channel.
Any relief I had from touching myself dissipates, replaced by cold, stark reality.
Security footage fromEdenwas leaked, and it’s disturbing.
The grainy image shows an Omega thrashing and being held down by two nurses, a needle entering her arm. Once she’s sedated, they strap her to a gurney and wheel her away.
The camera picks up her pleas.
“I don’t want to feel anymore!”
They flip to another news story, covering asylum in other countries for Omegas.
Mexico announced they won’t grant asylum to any fleeing Omegas.
And Canada…
Canada thinks it’s a great idea to build their own version ofEden, and a vote is expected soon.
I change the channel to American news.
A woman who found housing two Omegas illegally in Colorado dies in a standoff with the police.
Protests erupt all over major cities.
People are fighting the good fight, at least.
The majority of people don’t want this.
But the elite do.
I absorb as much information as I can until my vision becomes foggy with tears.
I let them fall down my cheeks as I listen to the pleas of families to bring their mothers, wives, and friends back home.
Eventually, a rich aroma fills my senses, with a thick undercurrent of cognac and dark chocolate.
Brock stands near the entrance to the loft, staring blankly at the television screen.
“Hey.” I sniff. “Just looking at my future.”
He doesn’t find the joke funny. His eyes flick to mine, and he walks over to the couch, sitting on the far opposite side of me.
“Still thinkEdenis a great place?” I choke out as the grainy footage of the woman replays on the screen.
He clenches his jaw but says nothing.
“I can change the channel,” I offer.
“It’s fine,” he mutters, as another story comes on. We sit in silence, but the intensity of his scent increases as we both pay attention to the news.
