“Go away,” I tell him, my voice slurred with fatigue. But I’m feeling a crushing fear of my vulnerability.
There’s a small laugh, low and guttural, from Guardian Bose’s throat. And then to my horror, he reaches to run the backs of his fingers along my thigh. I try to roll away from him, but he grips my leg then, holding me in place. Squeezing hard enough to make me cry out in pain. He licks his teeth.
“Don’t ever talk back to me again, Philomena,” he whispers, leaning toward me. “Or next time, I’ll fucking kill you.”
He lets go of me then, and I curl up on my side, starting to sob. My skin stings where he grabbed me, and the idea that he might not be done is a terrifying possibility.
“Leave me alone,” I whimper, trying to gather the blanket over me again. The Guardian lowers his hand to my cheek, holding it there until I turn out of his touch.
“Remember what I said,” he says, and then he walks out of my room, quietly closing the door behind him.
I’m left to sob into my pillow, dipping in and out of consciousness. Too weak to get up. Too weak to fight. He violated me, openly and with malice.
Any power I felt earlier is gone. And maybe that was his point. The Guardian proves daily that he can act without repercussions.Overzealous, they explain.
We’re going to change the rules, I think desperately.
The idea offers me a small bit of comfort. A hope I cling to as I’m submerged again, sucked under by medication. By trauma. Sleep crashes over me in a heavy wave.
But I’m plagued with nightmares. Violent, horrific, suffocating nightmares.
I dream that I’m in a cold room with Dr. Groger and Anton standing above me. I’m lying on a table, unable to move, unable to speak.
“You’re so beautiful,” Anton whispers admiringly. “We couldn’t just let you go.”
Inside I’m screaming for him to leave me alone, but instead, he leans down and puts his forehead against my temple, like he’s overwhelmed by his love.
“Welcome home, Philomena.”
•••
I wake, sitting straight up and then immediately regretting it. My head is pounding with a headache. It takes a moment for me to remember why, and then the events come back to me. The sedative. The Guardian putting his hand on my leg—he threatened my life. He made me weak, helpless, and then he exploited that to punish me. He just didn’t think I’d remember it, because of the vitamins.
He’s a monster. He’s a danger to all the girls.
With that being said, I’m not sure how to get us out of here. If we show distress, Anton will bring us in for impulse control therapy.
But the question is... what does that do? Whatisimpulse control therapy?
I wonder if Valentine remembers from her last session. She might have some insight. I quickly get out of bed and ease open my door, peering into the hallway. I feel a flash of anger when I look at the Guardian’s door, but I can’t focus on that now.
I have to find evidence to prove what’s going on here.
I dart over to Valentine’s door, knocking softly before slipping inside. She sits up, blinking against the morning light, surprised to see me. “Mena,” she says. “What are you doing? Don’t break the rules.”
“What happens in impulse control therapy?” I ask her. “You just had it done. What did Anton do to you?”
Valentine waits a moment, and then brushes her hair back from her face. “I can’t remember,” she says, disappointed. “I hadn’t been thinking clearly, then. I didn’t play the game right, and they caught me. After impulse control, they upped the vitamin dose. Before I could remember not to take them, I’d gone two days. And once I stopped, the memories were completely erased.”
My heart sinks. “So you don’t know what Anton does in there?”
“I don’t,” she says. “But...” She pauses a long moment as if debating voicing it.
“What?” I ask.
“Ifyou went in, and afterward you didn’t take the vitamins, if we all helped you to not take them... maybe we could find out.”
My lips part, the idea of sending myself to impulse control therapy, something I fear, is outrageous. Dangerous. I take a step back, not sure I can do it.
