Chapter Thirteen
Elliot rolled from one side of the small bed to the other and back again, mood sinking with every hour that ticked past. Somewhere in the halls he could hear the thumping beat of music and was tempted to get up and find the person responsible, so he could yell at them, but it wouldn’t be fair when most of his anger was directed elsewhere. It didn’t help that he knew he’d said something cruel but he told himself he never would have said it if Farlden didn’t always needle him. And he’d actually thought that their recent agreement about magic and protecting each other might mark the start of an improvement in their relationship, that they were actually friends now.
He thumped his pillow and shifted position yet again, dragging his duvet around him. He didn’t really believe Neans might pose some kind of threat to Sapiens. If they had had a way to defend themselves, they would never have allowed Sapiens to enslave them for most of their existence. It was just something bigots – like his mother – said to justify treating them so badly. Now he had said the same thing, so what did that make him?
He turned over and stared at the growing glow of light above his curtains. It wasn’t his fault. Not entirely. Farlden turned every conversation, no matter how well meant, into an argument. He was foul-tempered, bitter and cynical – no one could possibly be friends with him. So why did Elliot feel as wretched over the idea of losing his companionship as Barve’s?
He only realised he had fallen asleep when the sound of his alarm clock drilled its way into his head. He rolled over to turn it off and then just lay there, too exhausted to move or even to think. He was drifting off to sleep again when he jolted awake, some part of his mind sharply reminding him that he had a lecture he had to attend.
He groaned and pulled himself out of bed, heading to the communal bathroom. Luckily it was empty so he turned the shower temperature to cool and stood under the water until he felt vaguely awake. He dressed, skipped breakfast and drove to the campus, not letting himself think about who normally shared the car with him.
His morning lecture was either less interesting than usual or he was just too disgruntled to get up any enthusiasm for it and he headed for the canteen at lunchtime with a sense that at least the day was halfway over.
Hungry after the lack of breakfast, he risked a lasagne with a side-helping of carrots and a mug of black coffee. He sat down at an empty table and began eating. When someone put down a bag at the place across from him, his heart thudded loudly and he tried to search his brain for some way to explain how he had reacted yesterday, but his brain was so empty he could practically hear crickets. When he looked up, though, it was just Callie. He slumped over again and resumed eating.
“Have you sorted things out with Farlden and Barve yet?” she asked, sitting down and placing her tray of food on the table.
Why should he be the one to apologise? “No. It wasn’t all my fault. You heard everything Farlden said.”
She glared at him, expression unusually fierce. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“He just wanted to keep some things personal and private.”
“He’s like that about everything. I was interested in the Nean culture – what’s so awful about that?”
“Elliot, some of my ancestors were slaves and that pisses me off, as do all the racist comments I’ve had flung at me during my life. Imagine what it would be like to have actually been born a slave and lived for the first few years of your life like that. Because Farlden and Barve did.”
He tried to imagine their early lives and, as horrible as his imagination made it seem, he was sure the reality would have been a lot worse.
“If they seem to lack basic human rights now, think about how Neans would have been abused as slaves,” she went on. “White people took everything from them. Now, does it really seem so odd to you that there might be things that Neans want to keep to themselves? They just want to keep or create some cultural identity for themselves and if they don’t want to share it, that’s their choice. And you, who they thought was their friend, insulted them over it.”
He swore and lowered his face into his hands. “I never thought of it like that.”
“Of course not: you’re a rich, white, male Sapiens.”
He winced as he looked up at her. “I didn’t mean to act like one. I’m not good at understanding emotions – I’m a man.”
“Not an excuse. Besides, your magic means you can see into people’s minds. Doesn’t that give you some understanding of how their feelings work?”
“Only for the length of a memory.”
“Talk to your friends.” She waved her fork at him.
“I will,” he promised. “I know I owe them a massive apology. As soon as I see them, I’ll tell them that I was a moron.”
“Well, all right then.” She gave him a slight smile, just a faint warmth in her eyes, but it reassured him. If she thought he was forgivable then perhaps Barve and Farlden would too and he realised how much he needed that.