The Separation

Published by Evernight Teen ® at Smashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright© 2016 Stormy Corrin Russell

ISBN: 978-1-77233-820-1

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: JC Chute

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For mom—thank you for being my best friend, an open ear, and an ally in everything. And, you know, giving me life.

THE SEPARATION

Stormy Corrin Russell

Copyright © 2016

"As a direct result of the Gender War, we the first Matriarchal Council of Genesis decree that every woman and man shall live in segregated, mutualistic compounds for the foreseeable future. We deliver this ruling to promote the separation of hormonal influence from procreating, the elimination of hostility between the genders, and the liberation of human beings from unattainable and unnecessary relationships."

Chapter One

I'm not old enough to remember a time when love existed, a time before The Separation. Women and men have lived apart for almost a century now, and most people who could remember otherwise are dead and gone. But not Grace,

At 102 years old, she can remember what it was like before the war. This means that she's old enough to have given up parts of her mind to dementia, which is why today is so hard for us both.

When I ask her whether she wants a sweater, she doesn't bother to even glance at me. She stares out the front window at the snowflakes floating down, her watery blue eyes glazed over.

Grace? She doesn't respond, and I glance at the clock. I've spent ten minutes trying to get her attention, with no success. This is my duty. To take care of her, even when she doesn't want me to.

Get in the chair, Grace. I brace myself, holding the handles of her wheelchair tightly. I know that if I drop my politeness, she'll respond. It goes against everything I've been taught to speak to her without perfect respect, but lately that's what it takes. She turns to glare at me.

No, she responds. We'll walk.

I sigh with relief. We'll still be late––really late––but at least now she's speaking. I pull a cardigan over her spindly arms and then bundle her in a heavy winter coat. With slow, unsteady steps, we make our way out the door into the snow.

The air is frigid as it whips snow into my face, which is typical for Compound A in late winter. At least it's the norm for our side of the city, Genesis. I don't know what the other side is like.

Compound A was the first male-female segregated compound established after the war, and because of that, we have what the Matriarchal Council calls a symbiotic relationship with the men on the other side of the wall. The other compounds aren’t so lucky. They’re still adjusting to our way of life. Still, I get sick of walking these same streets, day after day, never knowing what it's like to see anywhere else. I was born here, and I'll die here because most other compounds are too dangerous for us to visit. Even if they weren't, I'd never get into the visitation program. It's nearly impossible. The fact is I'll never get to see anything but Genesis, its layout etched in my brain forever.

I can see our destination long before we reach it. Most people go to sleep soon after dark to save money on power, but one shabby house in the western part of the city is all lit up. I can see a face peeking out the window, then a wide, white smile. Luna. I smile back and hurry Grace along. Luna is my best friend, and tonight is her night, in many ways. The only problem: it's also Carolyn's night.

Carolyn was Grace's best friend and Luna's Elder. When Luna was twelve, Carolyn chose her as a Youth the same way Grace chose me. Our jobs as Youths are to take care of our Elders for their more vulnerable years, until they pass away. At the point of passing, the Youth inherits everything the Elder owns. In the eyes of the Council, this is done to grow confidence and responsibility in the Youths. What they don't mention is that it also cuts down on the cost of assisted living for the elderly. Even though I know that's true, the partnering system is the one and only thing I agree with the Council about. It brought Grace and I together, which means it's the reason I met Luna. It's also the reason we're here at Carolyn's house tonight: the inheritance ceremony.

As I push through the door, the scent of warm vanilla and brown sugar swallows me up. It brings a smile to my face: it's the smell of my second home. Even though it smells right, everything is different inside. The little house is squeezed tightly full of people, most of whom are seated in the threadbare living room, which has been rearranged to accommodate them. Lights are on everywhere, and I shudder to think what the bill will look like, especially now that Luna alone is responsible for the whole house.

Eroyn! she waves to me from across her crowded living room and rushes over. She looks absolutely beautiful in a long gold dress, the fabric of which I recognize. Carolyn was a talented seamstress, and she created this dress out of a set of curtains that are now missing from the living room. My stomach twists when I realize she must've made the dress knowing its purpose long before she died. Despite the fact that it was once curtains, the gown clings to her, a shimmer shooting across in every direction when she moves. She folds me into a warm hug, the lustrous fabric surprisingly scratchy against my collarbone. When she pulls back, I twirl a lock of her dark, wavy hair between my fingers.

I'd say congratulations, but it feels wrong, I say quietly to her. She smiles sadly as I let go of her hair and gesture to Grace.

Sorry we're late ... it's been a rough day. She nods knowingly. I don't have to elaborate.

I found these upstairs, Luna says, handing me a stack of papers. They're drawings that Grace must've left here. I thought you might be interested in this one. She withdraws a sketch of me, except I have my long hair cropped close to my skull and a strong, angular jaw. I burst out into laughter, wondering what kind of dementia-induced haze she was in when she created this one. Our amusement is cut short as a firm voice echoes out.

If you could take your seats, please.

I stiffen, laying the drawing on top of the pile. The Matriarch of the Council of Elders, Priscilla Buchanan, stands behind us, eyeing Grace and me with contempt. We've obviously held the ceremony up, and she's unimpressed. I incline my head to her in a gesture of respect, though it pains me to do so. I can't stand her condescending nature and the way she watches the city like we're all about to do something wrong. I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid of her. She holds the most power that one woman can. She points to two seats in the very back of the room, obviously meaning for us to sit there. Grace acts as though she doesn't notice and makes her way to the front row, seating herself next to her younger sister, Cadence. Cadence is part of the Council and third in line for the position of Matriarch, so she is allowed to sit in the reserved seating. Priscilla's eyes bulge for a moment at Grace's indiscretion, but she chooses to coldly ignore our position. She seats herself at the end of our row of chairs, looking forward with regal bearing.

At the front of the room stands Myra Lee. As adviser to the Council, her job is to conduct ceremonies like these, or at least organize them. It's rare that she personally attends an inheritance ceremony––especially now that she's five months pregnant––but Luna is special. She basically embodies everything Genesis loves. She is short and womanly, with full breasts and wavy hair to her round shoulders. She's quick to smile and has a little gap between her front teeth that shows up when she does. She's sweet and polite, but more importantly, she's brilliant. She is a medic-in-training at the medical facility downtown––the youngest one to ever test into the program. She is my perfect opposite. I have what my mother disdainfully labels an athletic body, which means I lack any semblance of a womanly shape. At least I have her hair, straight as an arrow and white-blonde. My eyes, though, don't match her light brown ones. Unlike my mother, mine are a washed-out blue, like a wolf's. And unlike Luna, I don't smile much, and I'm too impatient to be polite. And of course, I work as a security officer, not a medic. It's safe to say that I don't quite fit in the same way they do.

Myra claps her hands enthusiastically, pasting a brilliant smile on her lightly freckled face.

"Now we will begin," she announces, her voice overly sweet. I fight the urge to glare at her as her too-wide green eyes sweep in my direction.

Tonight, she continues, is a very important night. Tonight is the night we say goodbye to a valued member of Compound A. It is also the night when we gain a new one. She smiles at Luna, stroking her swollen belly. Tonight is the night when Luna Lephilia becomes a woman. The women in the room clap. Grace starts, as if she weren't expecting it. Luna stands up and walks to the center of her living room.

At this point in time, anyone who wants to can say a few words about Carolyn to celebrate her life.

All of the women in the audience take care not to make eye contact. The moment is long and uncomfortable. These women didn't know Carolyn––they showed up for free food, and a chance to mingle with the Council. They showed up because they know Luna is important, and they'd like to be important, too. I slide my sweater off. These doughy, greedy women make me overheated and angry. Myra's smile fades almost imperceptibly, but Luna takes over with her usual poise.

I'll start. Carolyn was the kind of woman who couldn't play just one role in life. She was my Elder, yes, but she was much more than that. Luna's eyes look shiny, like they might overflow, and she bites her lip to stop it from trembling. She was my mother when I couldn't be with my own, she was my sister when Talia couldn't be with me, and she was my best friend when Ero was busy.

She smiles first at her family, then at me. I smile so wide it hurts, even as my throat aches from withheld tears. Carolyn really was the beautiful person Luna is describing. The audience of women applauds, some of them dabbing their eyes with tissues. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at them, knowing they have no idea who Carolyn Lephilia was. One of them, a round brunette of about fifty-five, gets up silently and heads to the kitchen. I watch as she gluttonously loads her plate up again while Carolyn's true friends, the ones who saw her wither away from the cancer that ate her for two years, sit with empty stomachs. Priscilla Buchanan had cancer once, about a year ago. It was detected early, and with her kind of money, the cure was easy as snapping her fingers. She was healthy again within a month or two of intense treatments. Carolyn was not so lucky.

I am so busy fuming at the horrible woman in the kitchen that I almost don't notice the applause has died down, and someone else has taken the space to speak. Grace. My eyes widen, and I grimace. This is going to be bad. Grace smiles and looks out over us with her cloudy, hooded eyes.

Very few of you knew Carolyn the way I knew her. She points a gnarled finger at the crowd accusingly, and I stifle a laugh. The Carolyn I knew was a sweet woman with a talent for sewing and cooking. She was beautiful and full of life, and, uh ... she... Grace looks around, confused, and I stand up to collect her. I knew this would go badly. I knew. She waves her hand at me to sit down, and I do so hesitantly.

Carolyn, she says with conviction. I remember now. I get mixed up sometimes, now, with the ... anyway. What I mean to say is that Carolyn was a sister to me. Perhaps, actually, closer: We had nothing we could not discuss. Nothing at all. Not even the bad, or the ugly, or the forbidden. She laughs harshly, almost hysterically, at the last word. And wouldn't you know it, she agreed with me. On everything. Her gaze sinks to the floor, and she starts to mumble. "Especially those things. She told me to be quiet about it. Yes, she did... She told me to be quiet ... about him."

The gasp is collective. One woman starts to fan herself. I'm out of my seat and grabbing her arm, but not fast enough. Smile widening, she finishes her speech––with a bang.

But you can't keep quiet when you're in love.

Priscilla Buchanan rises, eyes wide and threatening.

That is quite enough, Ms. Fairchild. Grace looks at her in confusion, as if she doesn't know what she just said. Then she looks at me, and my heart slowly breaks.

We're going to get some air, I mutter to no one in particular. I practically drag Grace behind me, trying to shield her from the comments women are making.

Indecent... that's all there is to it...

...Can't actually mean what she says...

...Needs to learn to control herself. That last one is a voice I know all too well. The only question is whether my mother is referring to me, or my Elder. I practically shove the brunette out of my way as she returns from the kitchen. She squawks like a chicken as I push my way through the door and out into the snow. Only now can I let go of Grace's upper arm, which she rubs absently. After a moment of staring at our cloud of breath hanging in the air, she speaks.

Did I ... say something wrong? I think I said something wrong. Oh, I did it again, again... again... Her lips tremble and tears roll down the creases in her aged face.

No, no, no. I take her bony hands in mine, and smile as big as I can manage. You did well. You did. Carolyn would have loved it. And the rest of them can just ... go to hell. I grin, and even though it's artificial, Grace smiles at my cursing.

You shouldn't curse, she says quietly, some of her former spunk returning.

You shouldn't have taught me, I retort playfully. She swats me.

You're getting too big for me to punish you right.

I let out my breath slowly, evenly, and try not to pay attention to the faces peeking out Luna's windows. Without a backward glance, I steer her to the sidewalk. It's time to go home.

As soon as Grace is in bed, I sink onto the couch with a sigh. I am just about to put my head in my hands when my cat Almond deposits himself in my lap, purring loudly. I scratch him behind the ears, and he flops down in pure bliss. I scoop him up with one arm and, eager to forget the day, go to my bedroom.

****

The next morning, I wake with a jolt. Almond looks at me with angry slits for eyes and snuggles into my pillow. I'm pretty sure we look the same right now. I hear a knock from downstairs and realize that must have been the sound to wake me up. I barely have time to straighten my clothes–– I’ve slept in the ones from yesterday––before the knocking starts up again. Luna never knocks, and I'm not expecting anyone until eleven or so. Who could possibly just drop by, at seven in the morning? As I pull our heavy front door open, I get my answer: the Matriarch.

Miss Fairchild, she says as she pushes past me into the house. I look behind her and discover that, strangely, she is alone.

I'm sorry, Matriarch, but right now isn't really a good…

We need to have a visit. Her tone leaves no room for argument, so I offer her a chair and cross my arms.

To what do I owe the pleasure? I ask blandly. There isn't a single mark of sarcasm in my voice, and I'm proud of myself for it. Priscilla folds her hands in her lap, and takes a breath.

I'm going to try and make this brief, for both our sakes. What happened last night was enlightening, to me. I have never seen a woman in Genesis suffer so keenly. Ms. Fairchild is ... digressing, is she not? She looks me dead in the eyes.

Uh, the medics say, well ... yes. Her memory and emotional stability are worsening in many ways, I recite with difficulty. I don't like talking about this. Grace is 102, and I don't know how much longer I will have her. I'd rather not be reminded of that fact.

And treatment is out of your budget. This is a statement, not a question, so I hardly feel like I can answer with anything but a nod. I look at my feet, face burning in shame. It's quiet for a moment.

I have been trying, I mean, with her medication. That much we can afford from my job, but the medicine isn't enough…

I understand that, Priscilla interrupts. "I'm referring to the Cerogen injections, the only proven method of treatment. It works 98% of the time, or so I'm told."

I know, I say lamely. I know all about Cerogen. I know that it's only ten years old, and that it works by somehow stimulating the growth of new brain cells. Most importantly, I know that it is expensive. We don't ... we don't have that kind of money.

My dear Miss Fairchild, I am aware of that. She laughs a little, and it comes off as condescending. I don't know if she meant it that way, but I can feel my hands balling into tight little fists.

I came to make a proposal to you. As Matriarch, it is my duty to look after the residents of the female half of Compound A, and when I see a problem, I fix it. This applies to everyone, but it especially applies to the sister of a Council member. I must make a face, because Priscilla backtracks.

Make no mistake, Cadence did not send me to take care of her sister. I came to the decision to help Grace on my own, in the moments after last night's fiasco. In any case, what I'm proposing is that the Council pays for Grace's treatments and her aftercare. That way, you are no longer burdened with this financial responsibility, and Ms. Fairchild can regain her former mindset. Priscilla smiles, and I think it might be the first time I've ever seen her do it.

You would ... you would do that? My voice comes out as little more than a breath of air. I would love to give Grace the cure myself, but I can't. I am stubborn, but I'm not too proud to accept help when I know it's best for her. Tears spring into my eyes, and I raise them to look at my Matriarch with new respect.

Thank you ... thank you so much.

It's my duty, she says stiffly. And let's not get too hasty. There are some things I need you to do, as well.

Sure, whatever you need, I manage, trying to ignore the nagging sensation in the pit of my stomach.

During Grace's treatments, she will be housed at the Medical Center. When she is finished, I would like her to stay there. She waits a moment for this to sink in, and my hands twitch back into fists. I knew there had to be a catch. There always is. I stay silent, trying to focus on my fingernails stabbing into my palms.

Obviously you may still visit, when appropriate. This will probably be about once a month, possibly holidays.

And what happens to the house? I ask in a low voice. Calm. I need to be calm.

Grace would no longer need it, so it would be for sale. Many people would like it, given how close it is to the Council homes. Perhaps even Ms. Lephilia would consider moving in. I'm sure it will fetch a good amount for your Elder. Then, if she'd like to reimburse the Council, she can. She says this all as though it is already done, as though Grace is already in that tiny, sterile room away from me.

And where does that leave me? I ask, a hint of desperation creeping into my voice this time.

With your mother, I suppose, Priscilla answers. Possibly a housekeeper for Ms. Lephilia? Even a small place on the outskirts of town may be affordable with your pay grade. You have many options.

"None of these options lets me do my real job, to take care of Grace," I sneer through gritted teeth, emphasizing the word out of sheer frustration and anger.

You were unable to do that to begin with, Priscilla shoots back coldly. I wouldn't be here otherwise.

Without another word, I get up and swing the door open.

Out, I growl.

Excuse me? Priscilla rises from her chair, eyes blazing. She is practically a foot shorter than me, but she's terrifying. I don't care.

I'm saying no. Turning down your proposal. Call it what you want. I wave my arm at the door again. She shakes her head with a sigh.

The only person you're spiting is Grace. You're depriving her of what's best. She steps so close that I can smell her breath, and I hold mine, just to avoid breathing the same air as this monster. Let me be clear. If you don't fix this, I will.

And with that, she leaves. I doubt that she's out of earshot, but I slam the door anyway. She's already threatened to ruin my life––what more can she do to me? With a groan, I lean against the door, rubbing my temples. My head is pounding.

Did your mother come early? Grace's voice pulls me out of my thoughts and makes me jump.

No, she... I stop and grin. You remembered today's Sunday.

Yes. Today's Sunday. She looks at me like I'm the one whose mind is slipping. And your mother visits on Sundays. Am I missing something? I chuckle and turn to the kitchen.

Nope. But just as I say it, I hear the house videophone announce a call coming in. The name of my mother, Adeline Tilot, is announced through the old speaker. With mixed feelings, I press the button to answer. The screen on the wall of the living room hums to life, its color a bit greenish from age. My mother stands there, unsmiling as usual.

Eroyn, I can't make it today, she announces bluntly, and I try to keep myself from sighing with relief. Grace shuffles back to her room slowly, giving my mother and me some privacy.

Okay. I shove my hands in my pockets and smooth my still sleep-tousled hair. She stands there awkwardly for a moment as I rock back and forth on my heels. So ... is that all you called for?

No. She sighs. "I don't think I need to tell you that what happened last