“Was he violent?”
“I never saw him hit her. But I saw the bruises.”
Daisy remembered the yellow-green marks on her mother’s arms, a few split lips she’d blamed on a cabinet door. Once, she even had a bandage wrapped around her forearm. She said it was from work, but when he would come around, she missed work most days.
She never understood how anyone could appear to despise someone but also crave their undivided attention. “I was too young to understand what kind of man he was.”
Emotional detachment made it much easier to discuss her dad. But anger always surfaced whenever she thought back on the ways he treated her mum. He would always be her first impression of man.
“Do you understand now?”
She thought for a moment, then confessed, “No. I don’t think I’ll ever understand what makes a person inherently mean.”
Her answer made Dr. Kawanja smile. “You have a good vocabulary.”
“I like to read.”
“Me too.” She wrote another word down in the notebook. “When did you last see him?”
Daisy shook her head, struggling to calculate a loss so irrelevant in comparison to the loss of her mother. “I was maybe nine or ten.”
Dr. Kawanja was quiet for a moment. “Daisy, the experience you’re about to have is intense—physically, emotionally, and psychologically. Participants are placed in situations designed to make them feel vulnerable. Do you feel prepared?”
Her stomach twitched as if swallowing back a laugh. How could anyone prepare for an experience designed to make them feel anything but? “I’ll be fine.”
“Will you? Because I need to be certain that you’re entering this with realistic expectations. That you understand you may be chased, caught, restrained, and touched intimately by strangers. Tributes often experience emotions such as fear, arousal, shame, and exhilaration. Sometimes all at once. I want to warn you that the emotions won’t stop when the hunt ends.”
Daisy didn’t take her warning lightly. Meeting her kind, dark eyes, she confessed, “I’ve been scared my whole life, vulnerable since the day I was born. The only difference is, this time, I’m choosing to put myself in the situation. Nothing is forcing me. I know what could happen. I’ve imagined the worst scenarios. But I still choose this—whatever it ends up to be—because I believe there’s something on the other side worth reaching for.”
Dr. Kawanja studied her for a long moment. Then she smiled, the expression warm enough to soften her professional features. “You’re stronger than you know, Daisy Burdan.”
“I hope so.”
“I believe so.” She clicked her pen closed and withdrew a small card from her clipboard. “Here’s my personal number. If you ever want to talk after all this is over, you call me.”
Daisy took the card. The paper was thick and smooth. “Thank you.”
She stood. “Take care of yourself.”
“I always do.”
Chapter Six
The Room
“What do you think, Jackie? Is the room to your liking?”
Jackie stood in the doorway, small hands curled stiffly at his sides, and stared at the newly appointed bedroom that Chancellor Aurin called a gift. The ceiling soared overhead, painted with clouds and fat little cherubs that reminded him of the ones he’d seen in churches depicting gods. But there was no god here.
A room for a prince. No rats. No leaky stains where the rain dribbled through the walls. No escape. A golden cage. A prison dressed in glitter meant to distract from the hideous truth.
“I asked you a question, Jackie.” Chancellor Aurin’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder, not aggressively, but enough to make Jackie flinch.
He needed to answer, but couldn’t find the words. A terrifying gift. A sentence. One he didn’t know how to escape.
“Cost more than most people’s houses. More than your whole building or entire block, for that matter.”
The bed frame coiled in gold twisting vines that climbed toward a canopy of velvet so red it looked like wine had bled on it. The dresser had gold handles shaped as lion heads with rings through their mouths. The mirror stood in a gold frame carved with more angels, more vines, more hideous wealth that only reminded Jackie of how little power he had by comparison.
