“Not that easy.”
“Is that why you lied to him?” she asks. I give her a pointed look to let her know the topic is off-limits, but she leans toward me, looking earnest. “You could have just told Jackson he was indanger,” Marcella says. “But you chose to lie. To end it completely.”
“I had no choice,” I say.
“You have choices now—we’re not at the academy anymore,” she says. “You can still call him—I’m not sure why you haven’t, but I’m guessing guilt. Is that what you’re feeling?”
“I feel a lot of things,” I say. “I feel the fear of the Guardian coming into my room at night, the pain of Anton sticking a needle behind my eye. I can feel the stickiness of the blood on my hands the night we left the school. All Idois feel, Marcella. All I do is hurt.” I shrug miserably. “And all I want in the world right now is for it to stop.”
Marcella’s lips pout slightly. “Well, you can’t stop feeling.”
The constant ache in my chest proves her right. She exhales and stands up.
“I’ll let you get some rest,” she says kindly. “But I want you to think about it—think about protecting yourself.”
I thank her for checking on me before she walks out. When she’s gone, I go over to the door and push in the lock. I stand there for a moment, my palm against the cool wood door.
I keep the light on and climb under the sheets of my bed. I stare up at the ceiling.
We left Innovations Academy in the dead of night, covered in blood and gore. Jackson drove, and when he asked me where we were going, I told him we were going to take down the corporation. He always knew the end goal. I’m not wrong for leaving him. Isavedhim.
I close my eyes, knowing I’m being defensive. Jackson wouldn’thave stopped us. And he wouldn’t have wanted me to save him. He’d have been here now, helping us find the investor’s son, if I would have let him. And part of me understands that letting him go was letting go of my vulnerability. My own humanity.
And yet, the throbbing in my heart bangs on. I lie here now, in my temporary apartment, staring at the ceiling. I’m lonely, suffering in a bed of my own making. I’ve closed myself off to feel safe. But it’s come at the cost of comfort.
I’m angry with myself. And that’s just one more emotion I can’t control.
8
Brynn has breakfast on the table when I come out of the shower in the morning, dressed for school. I smile gratefully and round the table. After a bit of sleep, my headache is gone and the absence of pain is euphoria in itself.
“You know you don’t have to cook for us,” I tell Brynn, taking a seat.
“Are you kidding?” Brynn asks. “This is what I enjoy. Being able to make life nice for us. Besides, I’m the best cook here. Marcella almost put ketchup in the scrambled eggs before I slapped it out of her hand.”
Marcella grins at her from the other end of the table, sipping her juice.
The other girls walk out. Annalise is still in her pajamas as she yawns and looks over the plates of food.
“What? No bacon?” She winks at Brynn and sits in front of her eggs and toast.
Sydney pauses at the table and models her uniform for us.
“Is this long enough?” she asks. Last night she’d let out her hem to deal with the skirt-length issue.
“I think it looked great before and it looks great now,” I tell her, earning a smile.
Sydney grabs some toast and sits down.
“I wish we didn’t have to go to school,” she says. “But I did hear in class yesterday that there’s a rugby game immediately after. We should go to it.”
“That sounds fun,” Marcella says dryly.
“I don’t know, watching boys beat each other with sticks holds some appeal,” Sydney says.
“Don’t think rugby has sticks,” Marcella points out.
“Too bad.” Sydney grins and continues to her point. “From everything we gathered at school yesterday, the boys on the team have all the power, although I guess it extends to their friends as well. Still … it seems more likely that one of the actual players would be the investor’s son. If we show up at a game, they might take notice.”
