Torn (Cold Awakening) Read Online Free

Please come again.”
    I smiled like I meant it. “Anytime.”
    Maybe I was the better actor after all.
    Day fifteen.
    “You survived.” Kiri swept me off as the interview ended. That was code for
You didn’t screw up.
I didn’t know whether she meant the interview or the whole two weeks; I was too tired to care.
    One more night and I was free.
    I couldn’t thank her for the save—not without revealing her interference to the vidlife audience. So I just raised an eyebrow, and she mirrored the gesture with her own.
You’re welcome.
    “She wanted me to talk about myself,” I chirped. “What’s better than that?” Code for
I know I’m already dead … but kill me now. Please.
    “Ah, the Lia Kahn we all know and love,” she said. “Sure you’re not too tired to hit this gala tonight?”
    A star-studded night with the crème de la crème of high society, pretending not to notice that the crème was made with soured milk? We both knew there was only one acceptable response.
    “Me? Miss a party? As if.”
    • • •
    No one told me the party was underwater.
    A transparent bubble sucked us below sea level. The orgs were intrigued, pressed against the clear walls, watching fish meander by and algae lick at the glass. This was all new to them, an adventure. But I’d stroked through the deep; I knew what it was like to lose myself in the silent dark of the water.
    I knew what was hiding beneath the ocean’s surface—I’d seen the dead cities and their bloated bodies, and I knew that only algae and jellyfish could survive in the bath of toxic sludge. But the transparent dome was surrounded by an elaborately fake ecosystem, sparkling water clear enough to show off rainbow coral reefs and fluorescent schools of fish. It was the perfect match for the garish undersea spectacle that lay
within
the dome, synthetic algae undulating from the floor, sparkling lights floating in midair, stars hung so low you could flick them with a finger and watch them float across the room, as if we were all buoyant, gravity temporarily suspended. Holographic reefs and ridges projected from every surface, the illusion broken only when the occasional dancing couple floated right through it. Literally floated, thanks to the buoyancy generators beneath the floor that lifted them on a cushion of air. The party was a gala, which normally would have meant fairy-tale finery, but this time, apparently—for those more in the know than I—demanded a more nautical touch. Mermaids drifted by on hovering platforms, their hair architectured to float above their heads. There were org-sized sharks with gnashing teethand of course the obligatory skanked-up efforts, in this case nude body stockings wired to project shimmering scales across bare abs, chests, and asses.
    I wandered, waiting for my orders, wondering what all these people would do if they saw what life underwater was really like, how the ocean had transformed the org world: the pale, swollen flesh, the rusted cars and broken windows, and all the detritus of life interrupted. And then I imagined the transparent dome over our heads cracking, a spiderweb of broken glass spreading across our sky, the water trickling down, like rain, and then breaking through, a hail of glass and a gush of water washing everything away. I imagined the costumed mermaids writhing and flailing, trapped in their tangled hair, their cheeks puffing with one final breath, bubbles streaming out of their mouths and noses until there were none left. I imagined their corpses floating slowly to the surface, leaving me one by one until I was alone with the wreckage. It would be like being the only person left at the end of the world.
    I shoved the vision from my mind. That wasn’t my fantasy; that was
his
. Jude’s. A world purged of orgs.
Purified,
he would have said. I didn’t want to think about the things he would have said, or the things he’d dreamed about, but I did, more than I would have liked to admit.
    Which is