I wash my face and get into my pajamas, dreading the Guardian coming to my room with my vitamins. I fill up my glass of water in anticipation and wait for him. I haven’t talked to him since the ballroom, and I’m not sure if he’s angry with me.
To comfort myself, I think about the poem again. I think about taking over the school and teaching the men how to behave.
My door opens suddenly, startling me, and I sit up to see Guardian Bose. He walks over to my nightstand and sets down the white cup with my vitamins. I take them obediently, or at least pretend to. When he’s not looking I spit them into my hand and shove them under the blanket.
I’m setting the glass of water back on my nightstand when the Guardian steps forward to place a small white pill next to it. I don’t know what it is, and I look at him questioningly.
“Anton sent it,” he tells me. “He says it’ll help you sleep.”
A sedative?My heart begins to race.
“No, thank you,” I say. “I’m fine. I—”
“Take it, Mena,” Guardian Bose says impatiently. “After today’s events, the analyst wants you resting soundly.” His expression leaves no room for argument. But I don’t want to go to sleep. Guardian Bose sighs at my hesitation.
“Take it or I’ll shove it down your throat.”
His threat is simple. He doesn’t even raise his voice. It’s the simple fact that he is physically stronger than me. That he’ll use that physical strength, and there is nothing I can do about it.
I have no choice. This time, he waits for me to take it, watching closely. It’s not suspicion—he looks pleased. I can’t hide the pill under my tongue or spit it out. I swallow it, squeezing my eyes shut the moment it’s down. I hold the glass of water with a shaky hand.
“Anton let you off easy, you know,” the Guardian says, taking the glass from me. Confused, I look at him and ask him what he means.
“I told him what you said to me earlier,” he says. “Told him you needed impulse control therapy to set you straight, but he declined. Guess he was playing favorites.”
And I am suddenly so tired of the Guardian—his constant possessiveness, his threats. I can’t stop myself when I reply, “It’s not really any of your business, since you’re not the analyst.”
Guardian Bose flinches, and then he takes an angry step forward like he’s mad I saw his reaction. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” he says. “Who do you think you are?”
And maybe it’s the poem, or the grief, or maybe I’m just sick of being pushed around, but I sit up straighter and stare back at him. “I know I’m not yours,” I say, “so back off.”
His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, I think he’s going to punch me like the violent men in his movies. Fear streaks through me, but I don’t back down. Instead, the Guardian lifts his hands, taking a step back.
“You’re turning into a real bitch, you know that, Mena?” he asks. He tells me to have a nice rest before walking out and slamming my door.
The moment he’s gone, I double over, shocked at how close I came to violence. Both proud and frightened of my bravery. It was stupid, standing up like that. But at the same time, I feel powerful.
Iampowerful. I smile at the agency of it. I look around my room, thinking about what else I can control. But the idea of the sedative in my system freaks me out. I grab the vitamins and run to the bathroom.
Nothing comes up, though, and the chalky taste of the sedative rests on my tongue. It’s too late. At least it’s not the yellow vitamin. I flush those pills down the toilet and go back to my room.
I sit on my bed and reach under the mattress, where I had stowed the book of poetry, to pull it out. I turn to “Girls with Sharp Sticks.” I read it again and again until my eyes start to feel heavy—the effect of the sedative. Before I get too tired, I hide the book under my mattress again, the same place Lennon Rose hid hers. And then I lie back and think about her. Hoping she’s happy, learning exciting subjects. Evolving.
My eyelids flutter closed, but I fight to keep them open a little longer. I think about the girl who must have written those poems, wondering where she is now. Wonderingwhoshe is.
And I fall asleep imagining she’s me.
•••
I’m sedated, my entire body heavy with sleep, when my door opens well after lights out. I turn my head, fighting to open my eyes to see who it is. There’s a sudden jolt of shock when I find Guardian Bose standing there in silhouette.
Dread curls in my stomach as I try to sit up. My head is stuffed with cotton; my arms are rubbery. I fall back in the bed. Guardian Bose steps into my room, his lack of boundaries terrifying.
I feel defenseless and I pull up on my sheets, trying to cover my body, but I’m tangled in the fabric. My bare leg is exposed on top of the blanket.
The Guardian comes to stand next to my bed. He doesn’t say anything right away. I might as well be naked for the way he’s examining me. And I shake my head, trying to clear the sleep that wants to pull me back under.
“How are you feeling, Mena?” he asks. His eyes travel the length of my body.
