Only Ever Yours by Louise O'Neill Read Free Book Online Page A

think I’m best suited to, then of course,” I say, although I would rather die than become a concubine.
    “No interest in joining the chastities?”
    As if anyone would want to become a chastity, faced with a lifetime of caring for newer, more nubile students as you grow old and decrepit, without the luxury of a Termination Date appointed to preserve your beauty. My eyes are drawn to the laughter lines scoring into her skin. I imagine her at forty, at fifty, at sixty , and I shiver.
    “I didn’t think I would be a chastity, at first,” she says, oblivious to my thoughts. “But, well . . .” she looks sad for a moment. “Anyway I liked spending time with theyounger children, and I, well, I didn’t think I would be able to fulfill the duties of the other thirds so it was for the best, in the end.”
    We both look away, the suggestion of sex looming between us. “I felt safe in the School,” she adds hurriedly. “It’s peaceful here.”
    “That’s what isabel said. Maybe she’ll join agyness,” I joke. “Imagine! Two chastities in one year. I bet that has never happened before.”
    “Oh, isabel will never be a chastity. There are much greater things in store for her,” she says, her voice oddly sad.
    But you thought it was an option for me? Why aren’t there “much greater things” in store for me? Why does everyone always think isabel is so much better than me?
    I touch the poppies at my feet, rubbing the fabric petals between my fingers. In the center of each flower is a miniature mirror, big enough to hold your eye if you lean in close. I crush it, the cloth tears easily, the glass bud shattering, breaking my reflection.
    “Time for bed, freida.”
    We walk in silence back to the dorms. The others are still sleeping deeply, my absence unnoticed.
    “May you get what you wish, freida,” she whispers as I lie down on my bed, turning in the doorway as she leaves. “May you be the mother of a hundred Sons.”

Chapter 6
    January
    Six months until the Ceremony
    I loved Fridays as a child. I remember being obsessed with these ancient picture books we had in our dorm, which we were only allowed to look at on weekends. I spent hours constructing detailed plans to make sure I got my hands on them before the others. Not that they ever wanted them anyway, preferring the interactive ePad games. Every Friday evening I would sneak into one of the blocked-up window frames in the cloisters, leaning against a painting of sea cliffs or the pyramids, pretending the windows were merely closed, that I could look out if I chose to. That the world outside still existed. While the other girls were playing Be a Stylist and Plan a Party! on their ePads, I was poring over fotosof princess sparkles, a skinny lady with big breasts, long legs and blond hair. She had a pink car and a pink house and there were little pink buttons on the page you could press to make her speak in an Americas-Zone accent. Pink’s my favorite color. You’re my best friend. Math is hard. Wanna go shopping? Then I made the mistake of asking one of the chastities what math was and they confiscated the books. Weekends were never the same after that. All we seem to do is burn through the hours between Organized Recreation sessions as fast as we can, listening to celebrity gossip on Artificial.com or updating our MyFace photos, trying to forget about what happened in that Friday’s Comparison Studies class.
    “#755 and #734, please leave your desks and come to the front of the room.”
    The rest of us exhale in relief as the chosen two walk to the front of the room as if their feet are made of lead. They step into the glass boxes flanking the chastity’s desk, and magnified fotos of the two girls are projected, side by side, onto the mirror-board behind them, each image eight feet tall. Within seconds they appear on our desktops. cara’s image is on the left, her dirty-blond hair skimming past her elbows, full eyebrows framing sky-blue eyes. naomi