“From your room,” Sydney says.
The answer shocks me, and I start to read through it again. But then there is the sound of a door closing in the hallway. All of us quickly jump up, and I slide the book under my shirt.
“Take it back to your room,” Sydney says. “Read it. I’ll find you in the morning.”
I do just that, saying good night as the Guardian makes his rounds to drop off our vitamins. When I get into my room, I put the book under my mattress, the action highly familiar.
I’m just settled when the Guardian comes in and sets my vitamin cup on the nightstand. I smile gratefully, but he doesn’t bother to return it. Guardian Bose must be distracted, because he leaves without making sure I take my vitamins. Or maybe he just expects me to obey.
He reminds me of the controlling men in the poem. It’s so confusing, the contrast between what I read and what I’ve been told. I turn and stare at the bars on the window. Meant to keep people out. Meant to keep us in.
I take the vitamins to the bathroom and flush them down the toilet. Once they’re gone, I return to my bed and wait for sleep.
When I finally drift off, I’m plagued with nightmares. Violent, horrific, suffocating nightmares.
I dream that I’m dragged out of my room and forcibly lobotomized. I dream that Guardian Bose comes in while I’m asleep and stares at my body. I dream that Anton whispers that he loves me more than any other girl.
And I dream of ice picks and wires.
I have so many nightmares that when I wake up gasping in the morning light, I know they’re not really dreams at all.
They’re memories.
I remember. I got an ice pick jammed behind my eye, Anton telling me that my parents want results—they want a perfect girl. I remember him whispering to me, controlling my thoughts.
I remember the week before, when Lennon Rose disappeared without her shoes. I remember Mr. Wolfe and Rebecca. I remember meeting Jackson and how he was worried about me. How he said the investors at this school are powerful.
And I remember that they touch us even when they know we don’t want them to.
It has to stop, but I’m not sure how to get us out of here. If we show distress, Anton will bring us in for impulse control therapy—I see that now. Even if Annalise kills off the plants needed for the formula of the paralytic, it won’t be enough to matter. They’ll perform the lobotomies without the juice.
Anton has the ability to control our minds. But only if he gets close enough to try. We’ll have to behave, just like Valentine suggested. We can’t let them see that we know.
Wewillget out of here.
And yet, even as I think that, I know they’ll never let us go.
22
It’s barely light when I slip into Sydney’s room, waking her. I tell her we all have to talk. The Guardian isn’t up and about yet, and we end up getting the other girls and going to Valentine’s door, knocking softly.
When we walk in, she’s just stirring awake. But when she sees us, she sits up quickly and asks if everything is all right.
“I remember,” I say, looking at each of them. Sydney clutches her chest with relief, happy to have me back. Valentine’s eyes flash with something else—hunger for the knowledge.
As we sit there, I tell Sydney, Annalise, Marcella, Brynn, and Valentine everything I remember about impulse control therapy. It’s even more terrifying as I say the words out loud. How I couldn’t move. How Anton hurt me, shoving an ice pick behind my eye. How he had wires and a syringe, infectious thoughts.
“He lies,” I say. “They’re controlling us with lies and a mix of something else, something in that syringe.”
“They’re experimenting on us,” Marcella says, swallowing hard. “I have to get inside that lab. See what the doctor has been doing in there.”
Brynn nods, even though she looks afraid.
The horror of what the school has done lies in the fact that they forced it on us. Part of it is physical abuse, absolutely—but there’s emotional manipulation, as well. They’ve tried to convince us that if we don’t do exactly as they tell us, we’ll disappoint our families. That we’re useless without the love and admiration of the academy and the men who run it. They manipulate us with lollipops and guilt.
I can see it all now. Even the food is used to punish us. Keep us from desire. It’s why Anton asked about my attraction to Jackson. He didn’t think I should be allowed such agency.
Jackson.
