“You think we don’t see,” he says. “See the wheels turning.” He makes a motion near his temple. “The girls who wrote those kinds of poems were wicked. They were corrupt. Girls were put on this planet for the benefit of men. And you—” He whacks Annalise again, on her arm this time, and she cowers away from him. “You are here to serve at our pleasure. There is no other way for you girls—know that. Outside these walls, without our grace, you are nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Brynn is crying next to me. Several other girls are trying to hold back their tears, afraid of being next in line for his cruelty.
The professor squats down next to Annalise. He raises his hand, and she flinches away. But to our horror, he runs the backs of his fingers along her neck, down to her collarbone. And the intimate touch is more horrifying than any slap. She moves away from him, but his threat is enough to break us all down. Highlight our vulnerability.
Every night we sleep behind unlocked doors in a school where the men hate us.
When the professor stands up, Annalise wipes her cheeks, quickly clearing the tears. He holds out his hand like a gentleman, and Annalise has no choice but to take it and thank him for the chivalry.
Professor Penchant smiles and watches her walk back to her desk, limping.
I hate him. I hate the professor with a fire I never thought was possible. And I know why we should be outraged.
•••
We’re not allowed to close our doors anymore. That’s the new rule Guardian Bose has enacted. We can’t be in each other’s rooms, we can’t sleep with our doors closed, we can’t go outside.
This lockdown goes on for days, and it begins to work on our sanity. The isolation is torture. And it leaves me feeling sick and worn down. I just want to talk to the girls for a minute. Make sure they’re okay.
At night there are vitamins—one pink, one green, one yellow. Guardian Bose waits for us to take them. Several times, I had to throw them up after he didn’t leave fast enough.
I stare out the window in the evenings, confined to my room alone. I wonder if Jackson has come by the school. If he’s worried. I regret pushing him away, even if I’m angry that he lied to me. In the end, he could have helped us. I should have let him. I should have run.
Of course, every time I think that, I start crying. So I try not to think about that anymore.
And I start to think that Jacksonhasbeen worried. For example, one afternoon, I notice a police cruiser leaving our gates—leaving us here at the academy, unchecked. The professors don’t mention it, and I haven’t seen Anton or the doctor since Mr. Petrov talked to us about the poems, but I doubt they’ll tell me either. Jackson must have called them, but it was for nothing.
He was right—the men are too powerful.
There’s no one coming to save us. We’re alone in our penance.
And none of us has seen Valentine.
Whenever I get the chance, I go by her room and peer inside. It’s just as she left it: a book about plants open on her desk, her makeup scattered, and a pile of laundry waiting to be washed. I’m devastated with guilt, wishing I’d done more.
But I keep walking past, hoping each time that I’ll find her. But I never do.
•••
It’s Sunday evening and campus is quiet. We no longer have movie nights. I’m cleaning the kitchen on my own after dinner, not allowed to work with other girls. I’m finishing up the last of the dishes, and when I pull open the wrong drawer, I see the keys again.
I stare at them.
“Looking for a way out?” a voice asks. Startled, I look up as Leandra enters the kitchen. It occurs to me that I haven’t seen Mr. Petrov’s wife since we returned from the field trip.
She turns before I see her face and walks over to the stove, picking up a kettle. She’s wearing a fitted black dress, her hair hanging long. She wags the teapot and sighs.
Leandra moves past me to fill the kettle at the sink, the water loud in the silent room. She sets it back on the stove and lights the range.
When she turns around, she leans against the cabinets, her face on display.
Her left eye has a bruise underneath, the white of her eye turned bloodred. She lets me look. She wants me to see.
“Are you okay?” I ask, unsure of what else to say.
She smiles. “Anton and I had a very intense therapy session. I’m one hundred percent now. I’ve made him very proud.”
My heart dips, and I look between her and the door before I step closer.
