Trigger warning: Abuse

  Meili's Journal

  Entry #14:

  Dear future self,

  As I write this, I'm twelve years old, and I've been in this world for just over two years.

  My social instincts are becoming increasingly accurate over time, which is an incredible development for someone of my mental age and a good sign for the efficacy of this journal. Unlike when I first arrived, I don't get whole crowds of classmates staring at me like I've grown a second head after saying something (that I think of as) completely innocuous.

  So, instead of continuing to focus on common sense in conversation, it might be time to switch to 'behavioral common sense.' In other words, you should start learning what it means to 'act normal' in this world.

  I'm twelve years old, and you, my 'future self,' are (by definition) older than I am. That means it's about time to understand how romantic relationships work here. In this entry, I'll describe what it means to have a 'normal relationship' or an 'abnormal relationship.'

  Let's start with some statistics. There aren't many good things about living in an authoritarian dictatorship, but at least they know how to ensure every citizen responds to yearly demographic surveys. Unfortunately, the Authorities aren't so great about releasing their data to the public, which is why the data I reference in this entry is fifteen years out of date. For today's topic, it doesn't matter, but it's something to keep in mind.

  1. The average difference in power level between a married couple is 0.084. Your parents, with their levels of 4.6 and 4.7, are just about as different as the average couple.

  Here's a moderately clever analogy to the marriage standards in your old world:

  A difference of 0.5 is this world's version of interracial marriage.

  A difference of 2.5 is this world's version of interspecies marriage.

  Even though my parents don't talk about it explicitly (I'm twelve), they almost definitely expect me to marry somebody within 0.3 levels of myself. Just to make a crude generalization, a gap of 0.3 or lower is the standard for being 'non-spicy' with your choice of partner. And I say partner, not spouse, because the same standards apply to people in committed relationships who aren't married.

  They're relatively progressive people, so your parents might not be too troubled if you end up with someone outside of that range, but… try not to push it too far, alright?

  More important than the data are the reasons behind it.

  2. Strength is status. Adults don't marry people with a far lower level because they want their children to be of at least the same social class as themself.

  Just think of it like this: imagine a pro basketball player wanted his future kids to become basketball superstars. All else being equal, would he marry a 6'1 girl or a 5'1 girl?

  The 6'1 girl, obviously. And if he really, really cared about his kids' futures as basketball stars, he would choose the 6'1 girl even if he liked the 5'1 girl significantly more.

  Supercharge the incentives in this analogy (ability level determines your life success even more than height decides how good you are at basketball), and you get the state of marriage in this world. If you want your kids to succeed in life, why not marry someone with a decently high level? Marrying someone with a level much lower than your own might be a disservice to your future children!

  And, when everybody thinks in such a way, it boils down to nearly every marriage pairing up two people of similar ability levels.

  3. Excessive differentials in ability level tend to result in highly unhealthy power dynamics.

  Pretty self-explanatory, but you need to remember this. Being at a higher level than your partner means more physical power, material wealth, social power, and connections with The Authorities. A significant gap in power level sets up the perfect conditions for physical and emotional abuse, exploitation, cheating - even human trafficking and marital rape.

  Yeah. Of all the strict social limits and inequalities that result from ability levels, I think the standards around marriage are actually kind of reasonable.

  ***Beautiful***

  The earrings felt oddly hot against my skin, wearing them to school for the first time. My rounded side bangs were just a bit too short to cover the bottoms of my earlobes, and the pair of shiny blue studs peeked out into plain view whenever someone looked at my face from the side.

  According to Arlo, they were incredibly hard to make, sourced from a particular type of turquoise gemstone from the northern reaches of Scandinavia. It was a 'great privilege,' he'd said to me, that I could wear them a mere week after becoming a clan affiliate.

  But as I walked through the hallway, they didn't feel much like a privilege. I was only trying to make it to my locker and retrieve my supplies for English class, but I could feel a ridiculous number of gazes aimed at my face... More specifically, at my earlobes. Nearly every student was whispering, whispering behind my back as I walked past.

  I groaned quietly in embarrassment as I opened my locker and shoved an English textbook into my bag. It wasn't as though I'd never worn earrings to school before. No, this new pair was special. They were the exact same shape and color as the ones Arlo wore to school daily.

  Of course they are! Every important member or affiliate of the Lingard family wears the exact same pair, from high-tier hired muscle to the clan patriarch and matriarch!

  But of course, 99/100 Wellston students had no idea about that. Instead, the prevailing rumor was that Arlo and I had started dating. Even worse, after a measly three periods, I had heard several people saying that we'd gotten to know each other in the 'biblical sense.'

  Evidently, high school word-of-mouth gossip was no less demented in this world.

  (Sex with a fourteen-year-old boy was not on my to-do list).

  The walk to my English classroom was a long one, and I sighed, heaving my backpack to the floor beside my desk with a dull thud. Can we just end the day already?

  Ventus was already at his desk beside me, looking his homework over one final time before he turned it in. At the sound of my backpack hitting the ground, he turned to me, eyebrows rising as he glanced at my -

  "Those earrings look great on you, Meili. Are they a new pair?"

  I nodded, relieved that he hadn't heard yet. "Thanks, I just got them made just a few days ago."

  I glanced at the clock at the front of the classroom, deciding that the four minutes left before class would be enough to explain. "Um, by the way, have you heard any strange rumors today?"

  "Other than everybody thinking you and Arlo are together for some reason?" He grinned knowingly. "No, I haven't. Did you hear something even weirder than that?"

  "Screw off." I punched him lightly on the arm. "So you did hear about it!"

  "Kind of hard not to unless you're blind and deaf or something," Ventus snickered. "Not that I believe in the rumors, of course. You're already occupied with someone else, right? The Abbie girl you told me about..."

  "No! Stop saying that!" I protested, then quieted my voice to a whisper. "I already told you - we meet alone on the roof so she doesn't get turned into a vegetable for talking to me. Not because of 'rooftop romance vibes' or whatever weird ideas you store in your head."

  He shrugged, but at least had the decency to whisper back. "You do have to admit there are some 'rooftop romance vibes' going on, though. I mean, just the two of you up there alone, watching the clouds drift through the air and the Wellston City skyline-"

  I glared at him.

  "-But if you say there aren't, there aren't," he concluded with an easy smile. "Maybe I should just hurry up and become an elite-tier to see what the vibes are like for myself."

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I gave him a thumbs up, burying my head between my arms into the desk. "You do that. In the meantime, I'll take a nap for the period. It's been exhausting dealing with this immaturity."

  "About that - why do you care so much if people think you're together? It's not like they're putting you together with Kralik or something."

  He shuddered like the thought itself was disgusting. "My point is: Arlo's super strong, he comes from a great family, and you're already friends. What's the big deal?"

  I frowned. "People's levels and families aren't all that important to me when it comes to deciding who I like. Didn't you just say that I liked Abbie? She's barely a mid-tier."

  "I guess when you put it like that, I sound kinda dumb," Ventus conceded.

  "Also, Arlo's level is a little too much higher than mine, to the point where we would be getting into the range of some pretty bad connotations. I mean, you know the stereotypes, right? When a far higher-leveled man has a relationship with a lower-leveled woman..."

  Ventus winced, his mouth widening in realization. "Oh, that's right. I forgot about that whole dichotomy for a moment. You're strong enough that I thought you wouldn't ever have to deal with it, but I guess he'll be an absolute monster as an adult, huh?"

  He rubbed his chin, thinking. "Wait a second. Doesn't that mean Arlo has zero options? His family probably wants him to marry a girl about his level, but how many girls like that even exist in our sector?"

  "Well, assuming Arlo reaches 7.3 like his mom and dad..." I shook my head in a 'it's not good' gesture. "In our sector, there'll be maybe three to five girls who fit his profile in terms of age and level. He'll probably marry a woman he doesn't know, whose name he'll barely be able to remember."

  "Damn," he said. "Depressing much? Arlo's not even a bad guy; a bit too proud, sure, but who wouldn't have an ego with his kind of future?"

  Ventus sighed. "Whatever. It might be too late, but if you want to mitigate things, you should probably just take the earrings and never wear them again."

  "I wish, but I can't."

  "What? Why not?" He slapped his hands on his cheeks and widened his mouth, faking an expression of exaggerated shock. "No. Are they really couple earrings?"

  "Of course not." I rolled my eyes. "Remember last week, when I told you I would be away from campus for an evening? I was signing an affiliate contract with Arlo's clan. Every important affiliate or member can only appear in public if they wear them."

  I ran my index finger over the piercing's smooth surface. "I guess it only took them a week to decide that I'm valuable enough."

  "Oh," he said. "So that's why Arlo wears the same pair day after day. I thought he just liked the way they looked."

  "Hey, wait a second..." Ventus's eyes widened, this time into genuine surprise. "Did you actually go to Lingard Mansion? What was it like? Do they really have fourteen elevators?"

  "I didn't count them or anything; how would I know?"

  "Holy shit," he said. "You have to tell me everything. Arlo never says anything about it!"

  I thought about it for a second, but then our teacher started talking.

  I smiled maliciously. "No. I'm going to take a nap, and you'll be my lookout. Do a good job, and I'll show you some nice pictures I snapped with my phone."

  He looked at me miserably, but I was already dozing off.

  ***Beautiful***

  "Zeke? Zeke? Can you hear me? I swear, I was never this bad with technology when I was young…"

  "I can hear you, Mom," he said, chuckling into his phone. "I'm all the way in the Great Lakes Sector; we're thousands of miles apart. I think there's a shaky connection and some lag, that's all."

  "...Oh! Great! That's great. I would've hated to spend the money on a new phone."

  There was an awkward pause. "How has school been going? Everybody says Wellston High is one of the best boarding schools in the world, but I've never been in the city before, and you know how I like to agonize over things."

  With practiced experience, Zeke detected a hint of strain in his mother's voice. Was it just the quality of the call, or did she sound rough?

  "I'm doing just fine," he replied. "You don't have to worry about me. Everything is high-quality here. The teachers, the food... even the bathrooms. But hey - are you all right, Mom? On my end, you-"

  "I'm glad," she interrupted him, her voice high with a hint of a raspy undertone. "And how have your classes been? Is your ability development going well? It's been a little lonely in the house with only your father and me, but I don't want to bother you with too many questions. You can tell me to stop if it gets too much, okay?"

  His lips twitched upward into a smile. "I've been doing alright in class. Science and English have been as good as always, and the workload isn't too much to keep up with. Math has been a small issue, but I managed an 89 on the last test, so things are improving."

  "And your ability...?"

  "My ability projections are also looking up. They're saying I'll be a 4.2 by my senior year. Becoming a high-tier is going to be a coin flip, but-"

  "But it's much better than the news we got last time!" His mother finished. "Oh, I'm so proud of you, Zeke! Your father will be so happy to hear the news!"

  "You haven't been going too far in your fights, right?" Her voice became questioning. "I'm happy that you're taking the initiative to grow your ability, but breaking people's bones all the time is no way to make friends! We don't want a repeat of what happened in middle school."

  He sighed. "I know, I know. I'm not attacking people when they're unconscious or when they've surrendered. It's been months since it last happened, okay? I've learned my lesson after what happened last time."

  Zeke got distracted. There was an odd noise from the other side of the phone. It sounded like…

  "If anything, I think I just miss you." He snapped himself out of it. "It's been months since I last saw your face, Mom. Do you think we could do a video call?"

  "Oh, I want to see you too!" she cried. "It's just - I'm using the bathroom right now, and I'm not sure right now is the best time."

  Usually, she would have jumped at the chance to see him. He felt a sinking dread in the bottom of his stomach.

  Still, after some verbal wrangling, Zeke got his mother to agree. They switched to a video call, and he sighed in relief at the sight of her. Her wavy silver hair was pulled into a messy bun, a few strands slipping out and framing her forehead. She was slightly disheveled, especially for the afternoon - but she looked healthy. It seemed like he'd been suspicious for no reason.

  Wait. Why is she positioning her phone to the side like that?

  He could only see half of her face.

  "Zeke!" She smiled, a large white one full of teeth. "My boy! Oh, I haven't seen you in so long. Are you eating alright? Your hair's grown out so much… I'll cut it for you when you're home for winter break!"

  He grimaced, pressing his lips together into a crooked, conflicted line. "It's nice to see you, too, Mom. But isn't it hard to keep the phone balanced there? Why don't you move the camera so I can see your face better?"

  "Zeke? Did you say something? I think the signal's breaking up!"

  "Mom." He stared into her eyes through the phone.

  His mother's smile shifted - shifted very slightly - but the slight change in her expression was enough for him to understand. She complied, moving the camera, and Zeke felt an awful shudder creep up his spine.

  A large bruise ate up the entirety of her right cheek. Her face was split into two discolored halves. One side was healthy tan skin, the other a sick and greyish blue.

  Stop. Don't jump to conclusions.

  "Is your face alright, Mom? What happened?"

  She shifted her shoulders, fidgeting. "You wouldn't believe it. A group of kids was playing baseball in the neighborhood, and one hit the ball with his ability. It rocketed straight through our window and…"

  She was crying. Pill-sized tears began streaming down the sides of her face in the middle of her explanation, but she kept on talking - smiling and talking about this and that, but none of it was the truth. None of it was truly important.

  He sat there for minutes, completely silent, as his mother rambled on and on about life, friends, workplace politics, fun new recipes, the neighborhood association. Anything but what had actually happened to her face.

  Finally, in a moment of silence, he had his chance. "Mom. Mom, please. You need to-"

  "There's no need. I'm just happy to see you." Her smile became genuine again. The wrinkles at the sides of her eyes, the angle of the corners of her lips - every instinct in Zeke's body told him it was real.

  More likely, she was better at faking than he was at detecting it.

  "You don't have to worry about me, okay? You know I can take care of myself... Oh. Looks like I need to hang up now. It's time for me to get a start on dinner."

  She hung up the phone. In West Coast time, it was 3:10 in the afternoon.

  Zeke tried to convince himself that he hadn't heard his father's voice in the background. He ignored the heavy footsteps in the background, which grew slowly louder during the final few seconds of the call.

  An anger reappeared in him, a frustration he had felt many times before. But it wasn't a weak feeling, not numbed by experience, much closer to water accumulating in a dam.

  The dam broke.

  The brown-haired girl standing next to him -

  Corrected me in class yesterday, he thought. She'll do as well as anyone.

  Zeke clenched his fists.

  It's not your fault. That house isn't your fault, he thought blankly.

  A punch to the back of the neck. This wouldn't have happened if she weren't so careless, marrying a man two whole levels above her. If she just married another 3.8, she would've had the power to protect herself.

  A kick to the stomach. If Dad got with someone his own level, like every other high-tier on the planet, he wouldn't have been able to be such a piece of garbage.

  An elbow to the temple. And if you were the child of Dad and another high-tier, you wouldn't have to work so hard to reach high-tier. You wouldn't have to fight to the death every single day to improve your ability.

  A stomp to the anklebone. So it's not your fault for enjoying this, not when your life is so fucked up. You don't deserve any of it. And why did you ever think that you could stop? Why did you ever think you could resist? You're your father's son, aren't you?

  It's not your fault.

  He felt two of the girl's ribs crack in half.

  Zeke sat up, straddling her body as he stared up at the ceiling. Faintly - very faintly - he realized that a crowd of students surrounded them.

  But he didn't care. All he could hear were the girl's anguished screams.

  They were loud enough to drown him out.