I’ve shut the girls out. I’ve shut everyone out.
My fingers graze the screen, until suddenly, I dial Jackson’s number. I squeeze my eyes shut and bring the phone to my ear, listening as it rings. I don’t even know if he’s okay. If he hates me for telling Quentin the truth about us.
And then the line clicks.
“Hello?” Jackson says in his raspy voice. He sounds miserable and tired. “Hello?” he repeats, followed by a sudden intake of air. He pauses.
I hear the phone shift against his face, his gentle breathing. He doesn’t say anything else. He just listens.
I want to tell him that I miss talking to him. I want to tell him that terrible things are happening to me. I want to tell him how scared I am.
I want to tell him everything.
But I hang up instead and set my phone aside. Tears spill onto my cheeks, and I get up to check the lock on my bedroom door one more time.
There are voices in the living room. That’s my first thought as my eyes open, blurrily searching for the clock. It’s just past four a.m. I quickly bang my hand along the nightstand, looking for a weapon of some kind. The best I can do is the alarm clock, and I get out of bed and quietly yank the plug from the socket. I wield the clock in front of me and go to stand beside my door, listening.
I’m confused at the sounds until I realize the male voices I’m hearing also have car horns behind them. The sound of traffic. A woman.
I relax slightly. Someone left the TV on. I set the clock aside and open the door to head out into the living room. The room is lit up from the television screen, and I notice Annalise immediately.
She’s wedged against the corner of the couch, her arms wrapped around her knees as lights from the television play across her face. She stares at it, almost dazed.
“Annalise,” I call softly so as not to startle her. She glances over at me but doesn’t register surprise. “What’s going on?” I ask. “Why are you up?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she says dreamily. Her eyes drift back to the television.
I walk over to the couch, worried, and wonder if I should wake the other girls.
“They won’t leave me alone,” Annalise whispers, staring straight ahead.
“Who?” I look around the room, but when I turn back to Annalise, she closes her eyes.
“The memories,” she says. “The memories won’t leave me alone.”
I ease onto the couch beside her, and she rests her head on the arm of the sofa.
“I see him still,” she murmurs, her voice thick with tears. “The Guardian. I feel his hands in my hair, slamming me against the wall. I can still feel …” She touches the scar on her face, running her finger over her closed eye. “I can feel the sharp porcelain tearing through my skin.”
She begins to cry, and immediately, I cry too. I was there. I saw what the Guardian did to her, did to all of us.
“Why did he hate me so much?” she asks. “Why do they all hate us so much?”
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head.
Annalise sniffles. “Why are men obsessed with controlling us? Is it because they created us, and now they think they should own us?”
I stare at her for a long moment. “It’s not just us,” I say. “They treat human girls the same way. And, in fact, they created us so they could have even more power. Somewhere along the way, their society taught them that cruelty was mandatoryto be a real man. They even train women to believe that.”
“So how do I make this stop?” Annalise asks, tapping her temple. “How do I stop their cruelty? Kill them all?”
I swallow hard. It’s not the first time she’s suggested it.
“That would make us no better than them,” I say. “No, we fight back by holding the evil ones accountable. And then, we change society. We show them that teaching cruelty and dominance is harmful to both them and the world. They have to learn.”
“They’re not going to listen to us,” Annalise says bitterly.
“Not yet,” I agree. “But if we push enough, if we demand hard enough, it’ll happen.”
