Ruby

There’s a knock at my bedroom door. I brace myself, ready for another lecture. I get a lot of those, and they're really starting to get to me.

"Yes?" I call out cautiously. Maybe I should pretend to be asleep.

The door opens and my mother comes in. She doesn't look mad. "Your grandmother wants to see you," she says. "Use the speed-rail system and go straight there, understand? The streets are too dangerous to walk at this time of night."

I frown, standing up. "Why does she want to see me now?"

This isn't the norm. She knows how my mother is.

Mother shrugs, not meeting my eyes. "I don't know, but she's your grandmother and you should go. Just be careful. Alright?"

I nod, grabbing my red, hooded jacket. "Alright."

Gives me an excuse to get out of the house at least. I'll take anything right now.

She walks me to the door, leaning out into the hall as I step out. "The speed-rail system! Not the streets!" she calls out after me again. "She's expecting you in thirty minutes!"

"Got it," I call back over my shoulder.

I walk fast, turning the corner with a sigh of relief. It's probably not a good sign that I feel so much better leaving the apartment than I do going back to it. But I can't do anything about that right now so I shove it to the side.

I take the elevator down and walk out onto the street. I immediately head down the one that will take me to the closest speed-rail terminal, walking quickly so I make the next one. But my pace slows as I reach the block that has the high end storefronts. I sigh at a full-length, faux fur that looks ridiculously warm. And then a pair of glittery heels that look almost too delicate to walk in.

There's so much out there that I'll probably never experience.

I stop in front of a store selling the latest in automated domestic help, my eye drawn to the full service laundry set up. God, I hate folding clothes. One of those things would be amazing. As I take a step closer, I set off an ad for one of the new ALWs, the air, land, and water vehicles that cost more than an arm and a leg. Maybe a first born thrown into the mix.

I shake my head, forcing myself to move on. I need to keep it moving.

But then I slow again at a jewelry store, the glitter of diamonds drawing my eye. This time the ad that targets me is one for engagement rings. I watch the handsome man and beautiful woman look at each other longingly, her elegant hand set carefully on his arm to show off the sparkle of the ring on her finger.

It looks perfect. Just like a fairy tale.

Seems just as attainable.

I shake my head. Maybe get the boyfriend and then worry about rings. If I ever even get one. I'd have to hide him. Just the thought of it gives me anxiety.

I sigh, walking forward once again. I can't lie. I sometimes dream about having enough money to buy all of those things and more. A better place for us to live. More reliable transport. Nicer clothes.

It's nice to think that those things don't matter, but when you're too poor to have them, they do. They're symbols of a better life. A life where you don't have to worry about making rent or paying for the utilities. A life where the necessities don't have to be worried about. That life probably wouldn't be perfect either, but at least it would be less stressful.

I know Mom never regrets her decision to marry Dad. She loves him. It's clear that they have a bond that nothing can break. She would have married him eventually even if she hadn't gotten pregnant, though there's no avoiding the fact that definitely sped things up.

But even though they do love each other, and neither of them would admit to any desire to change the sequence of events, there's no denying the decision to be together came with a sacrifice.

A large sacrifice on my mom's part.

Grandmother wanted her to marry well, marry into wealth. Be with someone who had the same amount of money and power that she herself collected in her own life. Be with someone who could provide for her, give her the same lifestyle she was accustomed to.

She wanted her daughter to never want for anything.

For all Grandmother's faults, of which there are many, I know she did want what she thought would be best for her daughter. But life isn't always predictable and doesn't always fall where you want it to. Mother went and fell in love with an artist who didn't have a penny to his name.

Needless to say, Grandmother did not approve. And that disapproval came with real world ramifications, consequences that she made sure Mom was aware of before she made the final decision.

And Grandmother doesn't make empty threats.

Mom knew that too. She chose Dad anyway. She chose love over money. And because Mom didn't choose the life Grandmother wanted her to, she was cut off, told to make her own way. To live with her own bad decisions.

Harsh.

Sometimes I wonder if Grandmother thought Mom would eventually give in, leave Dad, fall back into the life path laid out for her. But though they are vastly different in many ways, I'm pretty sure Mom inherited her stubborn streak from Grandmother.

So they both picked their sides, and have stayed there ever since.

Mom doesn't talk about it much, but I've pieced together the story from snippets I've heard here and there. It's still painful for her. Not because of the money, though. She never suggests going to Grandmother for it, even when things are more than tight.

No. It's painful because of Grandmother's continued lack of acceptance. But that's neither here or there right now. I shake my head as I check my watch.

"Oh, crap," I mutter, realizing that I'm not going to catch the speed-rail in time even if I run. I shouldn't have dawdled at these stores, gawking at things I can't have!

I break into a run just in case I'm wrong. Maybe there was a delay and by some miracle I can make it in time.

Grandmother hates it when anyone's late. Says it shows a lack of respect. One of the many rigid rules she lives by. I really don't want to see her disapproving face if I walk in late. I've already endured one lecture today, my quota for the next twenty-four hours, thanks very much.

I reach the stairs and jump down them three at a time. But it's no use. I land on the platform just in time to catch a glimpse of the train barreling away through the tunnel, shooting almost straight up as it catches the rail that winds through the buildings in the city like a snake.

"Oh no."

I stare at it, the platform almost empty, everyone who was waiting already on that train. I consider my options. The next speed-rail isn't for another twenty-five minutes. I'll definitely be late if I wait.

I glance back at the stairs that lead up.

Or I could walk and be there in time.

Biting my lip, I remember Mom's directive. No streets. She's not wrong, they can be dangerous. But it isn't like everyone who goes out at night gets murdered.

I take a step towards the stairs. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, right? I take another step. There will be hell to pay if she finds out. I can't even imagine the intensity of that talking to. So I'll just make sure she doesn't. And if she does, at least I’ll have earned whatever punishment they come up with this time.

Decision made.

I run back up the stairs and settle into a brisk walk. No dawdling like before. There's no time for it and I'm going to be going through a shady area anyway. There's still people out. The streets are never really truly deserted with so many of us packed into the city. I don't really feel unsafe and I make good time for the first three blocks.

I check my watch. I'm still cutting it too close. I automatically attempt to pull up my HUD, but only a message displays.

Unauthorized use.

Great. They really did cut me off.

My HUD would really be helpful right now, but I've lived in the city my whole life. I have a mental map of where I am. Thinking of the streets and where they intersect, I realize if I cut through an alley, I can save myself about a block and a half of walking, hopefully landing me at Grandmother's just in time.

Turning into the narrow space between two high rises, I quickly walk down, my mind occupied with what Grandmother could possibly want from me. It isn't usual for her to summon me at night, or for Mom to urge me to go like this. I didn't miss how vague she was about it or that she wouldn't meet my eyes.

Suspicious.

I turn left at the next fork. This one should spit me out right next to the street that leads to— I slowly come to a stop as a group of men seem to simply appear out of the shadows that line the alley.

This isn't good.

I swallow, glancing back over my shoulder to find them stepping out from their places behind me as well.

Surrounded. Like they were waiting for an opportunity like this. And I doubt they just want to pass the time with some intelligent conversation.

My heart starts beating double time as I register the wolf tattoos on their cheeks, the canines sitting with their heads tilted back as if howling at the moon. Simple but identifiable. And worrisome.

Face tattoos are a statement. One that says you don't even want to try to fit in with the fabric of society, that you've decided to stay apart and are willing to stay there for life.

I turn slowly, trying to keep an eye on all of them at once, knowing it's futile. And screaming won't do anything.

I'm too deep between the buildings. Almost every window in the city is soundproofed or everyone would be driven crazy by the sounds of so many so close together. Even if someone heard me, they wouldn't know where to find me fast enough. Assuming they even want to help.

I'm not in the best part of town. This might be an area where people deliberately keep their head down and move on when they hear a woman scream.

Why did I choose to do this again? And why didn't I listen to Mom?

She was actually right this time. Worrying about another lecture seems like a stupid consideration right about now.

One of the shadows breaks away from the group. A man.

The leader?

He swaggers closer, a stray beam of light hitting his face. Long, black hair, that same wolf tattoo on his face and a scar runs down the right side of his face, through his eye and down his cheek. Someone who has a scar like that has been through stuff. And might not think twice about hurting a woman out on her own.

I swallow, the clicking of my throat loud as multiple pairs of eyes watch me. The man with the scar smirks, his eyes scanning my body slowly.

Not good. Not good at all.

I take a step back, but there's nowhere to go, no help to be had.

"Hello there, beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes meeting mine. "What are you doing out here?" He takes another step closer. "All. Alone."

His smile widens, taunting. He has all the power here and he knows it.

My heart is going to jump right out of my chest as my stomach turns over queasily. There's nothing I can do. I'm screwed.

Guess I might never get to live my life after all.