Her Rebel Read online

  In troubled times, look for a light that won’t be overtaken by the darkness.

  My mother said that to me many times before she was taken.

  I watched her live by that idea. She lit candles in the window, and over time people gravitated to the light and to my mother. She was the light.

  Childhood memories swirl through my thoughts as I tuck myself in for the night. My mother, in her small way, attempted to lead by enlightenment. People came to our shabby little apartment to talk, to comfort each other, or to leave their sad lives behind, if only for a few hours. She played music, and some of the people who came tried teaching me to play instruments. I loved the music as a little girl. We might not have had a lot, but I remember being happy and not feeling so alone.

  While some people revolted with their fists, their anger overpowering everything, that wasn’t my mother’s way. She wanted peaceful gatherings to share ideas and talk about change. At the time I didn’t understand it, but my mother explained it was her way to work through the hard times.

  I’m exhausted by the time I lie down on the bed, and I fall asleep almost immediately, the light in the window at the forefront of my thoughts.

  I’m playing with a boy who’s kind to me. I don’t know his name, but I’m so young there’s no way I can remember it. We’re running through the streets and he’s holding my hand so tightly, like he’ll never let it go. He’s looking after me while we chase sparrows. I laugh and smile at my protector. We run together for blocks, away from buildings and going past the area my mother told me not to go beyond. I want to chase the birds so bad, and I know he’ll keep me safe. We pretend to be monsters as we chase them, raising our arms high and scaring them. Laughing and playing. When the sparrows fly away from us, they disappear over the wall. The wall that’s meant to keep us out. I watch them disappear and feel the boy squeeze my hand again.

  “Don’t cry. We’ll fly out of here, too.” His dark eyes are locked on me.

  I wake up with a start, feeling wetness on my cheeks. The echoes of the dream still linger in my mind as I wipe the tears away. I close my eyes to see how it ends.

  “But where will we go?” I ask him.

  “Anywhere we want. I’d take you anywhere you asked,” he answers and smiles at me.

  Chapter Two

  Minnie

  My Sunday shift was thankfully uneventful and by the time I clock out, I’m tired in my bones, but my mind keeps wandering back to the brewery. Back to the light. I walk alone just as the sun begins to set. I follow its path westward toward the checkpoint. By the time I make it through and scan my pass, it’s dusk and getting darker by the minute. I feel eyes on me once again and I know where they are coming from.

  Without giving it much thought, I walk over toward the brewery and to the large steps out front. I don’t know what pulls me in this direction, but I know I have to go. I feel it deep inside me. Everything in me is telling me to see it through and so I listen to that voice in my head.

  When I get to the metal slab that’s supposed to be a door, I knock. There’s a slight echo, but there’s no answer. I look around, checking for a knocker or some kind of bell, but there’s nothing. I decide to knock again, and this time it hurts my knuckles, but I have to assume someone inside must hear it.

  The soft glow of the light is flickering against the window, giving me a sign that someone is in there, but they must not want to talk to me. It’s getting so dark. I shouldn’t be out this late, but I wait just a little longer hoping that someone will come.

  Finally, I hear the sounds of bolts moving and slowly the door opens. It’s hard to make out what lies beyond the shadows, but I gasp when I see the man standing there. He doesn’t look anything like a hermit. He’s huge, with dark eyes, tanned skin and a muscular frame. His long dark hair is pushed out of his face and goes almost to his shoulders. He’s lean, but I can see his exposed arms and legs are clearly defined with muscles. My heart flutters as I look him up and down, then try to find my tongue. He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. He feels familiar.

  “I’m, um, Minnie. I need to speak to the teacher,” I request. If that light means what I think it means, there must be a teacher here. A teacher like my mother.

  He stares at me for a long moment and I can’t read his expression. His dark eyes are surveying me just as I did him, and it feels like every inch of my skin burns with his perusal. I have to tighten my fingers against my palm to keep from reaching out and touching him. How could someone so big and powerful look so enticing at the same time? Everything about him is calling to me, and I want to press myself to him and have him hold me in his arms to dispel my loneliness.

  Something passes in his eyes, and I wonder if he’s deciding if he can trust me or not. But thankfully after a moment he steps aside and flips another bolt so that the door can open all the way to allow me to step inside.

  As I walk through, I brush against him. I feel his whole body tighten for a moment and he pulls in a deep breath. The door creaks as it’s closed and bolted back. The sound echoes through the industrial space and for a moment the otherwise quiet room is filled with noise.

  When the door is locked, he comes over to me and I watch as he licks his full lips. I look up into his eyes, swearing I’ve seen them before.

  “Wait here for a moment. Then you can enter.” His deep voice leaves no room for argument as he points to a silk curtain that sections off a part of the huge room. He pauses for a moment, glancing back at the door he just bolted closed as if he thinks I’m going to run for it.

  “I’m not going to leave,” I tell him. His body relaxes a fraction.

  “You wouldn't make it to the door before me,” he says before disappearing behind the silk curtain. His words should scare me, but they don’t. In fact, they only pique my interest.

  I wait as instructed then pass through the dividers and into the dimly lit space. He’s there on the floor seated around some pillows and a low table. The room is tidy and smells clean. It has a scent of something woodsy and warm, and again I have the need to rub against him and cuddle in his lap while he talks to me. I don't know why I feel so safe here. It’s a sense of belonging like nothing I’ve ever felt.

  Instead, I take a seat across him and lay my hands in my lap, clasping them together to keep myself from touching him. I’m worried I’ll come off creepy or over eager. I don’t want him to think I’m here to find out his secrets to relay them to the other side of the wall or to get him in trouble. I don’t want him to be taken like my mother was. The thought makes terror rip through my body, but I keep my face passive and calm. I’ve gotten good at that over the years.

  “Why are you here?” he asks, getting straight to the point. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands are clasped together and I can tell he’s tense, as his knuckles turn white. I want to do the same just so I can be closer to him, but I restrain myself.

  In a society where no one trusts each other, I somehow feel the need to tell him everything. To open up my heart and pour out my truth. Show him I’m here to help. That I want to be in that light he puts in the window.

  “I want instruction on how to teach the peaceful ways of protest.”

  He looks me up and down and his eyebrows draw together as he studies me. “Why?”

  It’s a fair question, but I feel myself become defensive.

  “I have to fight back in some way. I don’t condone violence, but I need to do something. I want to plant seeds of change.” I want that so much. I just don’t know how to do it. Like him, you never know who you can trust. I saw my mother get taken, but I also saw her bring so much joy to others and make them smile. I want to heal in ways other than physical.

  “And you think that’s what I do?” His tone of voice hasn’t changed and it’s a little maddening. His eyes are intense and never leave me. For a moment I feel trapped in them, and the sensation is all too familiar.

  “I saw the light in the window. I know that it used to me
an anyone burning that kind of lamp offers a peaceful place to gather and help to those who need it. They were considered teachers. People who taught others how to cope,” I push, desperate to know if that is what this is, praying that it is. I need this. For the first time in forever I feel alive. I feel like I can make a difference, a real one. I don’t want this taken from me.

  He doesn’t correct me or clarify why he has the light burning. Instead he asks me another question.

  “Why would you risk everything you have?”

  I look down at my scrubs. It’s an obvious sign that I have a good job on the inside. Risking it in some way would be stupid to a lot of people. I’m tired of moving through the motions and keeping my nose down. I’m not living. I’m existing, trying to survive, not living. I want more than that. I want change for everyone. I don’t want other girls to end up trapped, being controlled like I am.

  “Because if I don’t do something to help, then nothing will get better for the girls who come after me. I don’t want them to be forced to marry if they don’t want to. Forced to live lives they don’t want.”

  Those words make him lean even more towards me, and in the light I can see something in his eyes. I don’t know what it is, but he looks me up and down and I feel exposed somehow.

  “You’re married?” This time the question is accusatory, and he sounds angry. His whole body is tight, his breathing erratic. Anger permeates the room and it feels as if the place could ignite. “When did this happen?”

  “No, not yet. But my twenty-fifth birthday is months away and The Regime is preparing me for marriage.”

  “You’re not going to.”

  I don’t know why his response sounds like a command, but it sends a thrill though my body. I try to ignore it.

  “I have to get married. I don’t have a choice. I’m one of them.” I have to push those last words out of my mouth because it feels like a lie. It feels wrong.

  “You live here.” His tone is dismissive.

  “I’m a scholarship student. Every year they choose an ‘illegitimate’ girl to go to one of their schools. I was one of the lucky ones.” My voice is flat, because somehow it doesn’t feel as if I’m lucky. Can I really be considered that if the people I live around are all suffering while I advance? What makes me so special?

  “Why did they choose you?” He leans forward farther, and he’s so close I can smell his deep, earthy scent.

  For a second I’m caught up in his dark eyes and I don’t remember to respond. When his eyes travel to my mouth, I lick my lips. I briefly wonder what it would feel like to have his mouth on mine. I blink and swallow before I realize I’m supposed to answer him.

  “To keep me quiet about my mother. She disappeared. Well, they actually took her. She was a peaceful protester, but she had a large following. She was a teacher of our history and the truth. The Regime didn’t like it.” They didn't like anything but obedience.

  “And now you want me to help you do the same.” He studies me like I’m some kind of complex theory. I can’t be the first person to ask him for something like this.

  “I’ll be married soon and I’ll have to live over there. I won’t get the chance to learn any more about our ways here once I’m on the other side of the wall permanently. I want to know everything I can before it’s lost. Before I’m lost.” A hard ball sits in my stomach at my own words. Lost. That is what I will be when I’m on the other side of the wall. The Regime built those walls to keep people out, but I always feel trapped when I’m on their side.

  The last words are the truest ones I’ve spoken in a long time. And it’s the root of my fear. That once I’m beyond the wall for good, I will be gone inside.

  He shakes his head and looks away from me. The dim light shows off the edge of his jaw and I wish I could touch it. I wish I could touch him. Maybe it would wash away the emptiness I feel more and more at the thought of having to marry. Of being trapped on the other side forever. No longer able to help my own kind.

  “It all sounds pretty noble, but you realize learning our history and finding peaceful ways to resist aren’t going to change anything. A bunch of privileged elites who indulge their rebellious streak once in a while aren’t going to help our cause. The only real change that can happen will be through actions, and those, princess, won’t be peaceful.”

  He looks back at me and there’s anger in his eyes again. I have the urge to slap him. It’s an unfamiliar feeling. He doesn’t know anything about who I am or what I’ve been through. He’s ignorant to the inner battle I fight every day.

  “We can only be passive for so long. Sooner or later we will have to take up arms.” I see the truth in his eyes and it’s ripping at my heart.

  “I don’t have that in me,” I say, and my words are softer than I mean them to be. I’m a healer. The thought of hurting another makes my skin crawl with unease.

  “I hate to break it to you, princess, but we all do.”

  I sit up straight and cut to why I’m here. I don’t want to argue with him, I just want the help I know he can offer. There aren’t many people like him left anymore. Most of those who surround me are trying to survive the same as I am. We look out for ourselves and our families now. We can’t afford to help our neighbors. These are dark times, and when I saw his light, it was the first time I had hope in what felt like forever. I’m not ready to let that slip through my fingers. For the first time in forever, I don’t feel so powerless.

  “Are you a teacher or not?” My question is direct, but if he can’t give me what I’m after, then I don’t want to waste my time. I’ll find another way. My time is running out. I can’t get lost to the other side. I could end up like my mother, never seen or heard from again.

  “I am,” he finally admits.

  He reaches out and takes my hand in his. The instant his big rough palm wraps around my hand, I feel heat slide down my body. I’ve never been touched by a man, and he does it like he’s been touching me his whole life. That he has the right to. He turns my hand over and runs his thumb up my palm to the inside of my wrist. He holds it there like he’s feeling my pulse. I’m scared to look up into his eyes, because I know if I do, he may see how much I like what he’s doing to me.

  “I can tell you what I know. I can give you all the information you’re after. But I can tell you right now, there’s a fire inside you. And once you find it, I can’t put it out.” His thumb slowly runs back and forth across the delicate skin there. “Once you find it, it will set you free.”

  A familiar warmth spreads in my chest, but I don’t speak. I soak it in, feeling a little freer already. I only nod as he releases my hand and gives me back my sanity.

  Chapter Three

  Owen

  When I saw Minnie at the door, I hesitated to answer. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was shocked she was here. All this time watching her. Trying to find a way to get her to come to me willingly. Without force. I couldn’t believe the lamp in the window worked. It almost felt too easy. But I wasn’t going to question it. I’d been looking for her for years and waiting months to get her closer to me once again. My first attempt worked and it only hardened my belief that she was meant to be by my side. Meant to be mine.

  I’ve watched her walking every Friday morning on the way to the checkpoint, making sure she made it safely. And then again every Sunday evening on her way back home. I’d put word out that no one harms a hair on her beautiful little head. That she was mine.

  From the moment I found her again I couldn't stop watching her. I wondered why she was alone, how someone hadn’t bound her to them by now. I’m thankful no one has. I don’t want to think about what I might have done if I’d found her with another. I’m willing to give everything for the Insurgence, for my kind. Anything but her.

  I’ve spent years looking for her. She disappeared as fast as her mother had. I had no idea she’d been offered a Regime scholarship. It was only luck I’d seen her walking by the old brewery that I’ve taken up r
esidence in. I felt like I was being ripped in two as I watched her cross to the other side. I sat for days waiting to get another glimpse of her.

  Then on Sunday, finally she walked back. As the sun set behind her, I noticed two sparrows behind her fly up to the top of the wall. I knew in that moment for sure it was my girl. She was the girl who was etched in my memory as a child. Even at that tender age I knew she was my destiny. I wasn’t shocked that she was a nurse. She was like her mother, always wanting to heal and to make things better.

  That day I couldn’t walk up to her on the street and tell her what she was to me. I didn’t want to scare her away. And I knew she worked on the other side, so I had to be careful about who was watching. I didn’t know at first if I could trust her. I needed to keep up the facade of the local hermit to keep my cover. The only thing I could think of was to put the oil lamp in the window like her mother used to do. To lure her to me.

  It worked quicker than I thought, and through the hidden camera, I watched her come to me. I shouldn’t have touched her like I did, but I couldn’t help myself. It had been so long, but the camera didn’t prepare me for the goddess she’d become. The shy smile and freckled face from childhood had grown into the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. When I opened the door and I saw her in front of me, I knew I was in trouble. It would be impossible to keep myself from touching her.

  “This place is actually kind of beautiful,” she says when I take her through the open space of the old brewery. “You’d never think it from the outside.

  There’s no sarcasm to her voice, and her smile is kind. I feel pride in how I have taken care of the place and I’m glad she likes it. Since I’ve found her I’ve been trying to make it more welcoming. I wanted her to want to stay here.