“Oh,” he says on an exhale, nudging the door open wider and bracing a hand against the top of the frame. “It’s you.”
His gaze flicks down my body and back up to my face, searching for something. Maybe he expects me to look different than I did last week. Maybe I actually do.
“Hey,” I say, immediately hating how small my voice sounds. “Can I come in?”
He frowns slightly. “That depends. Is the real Ava still in there, or have the Kings finally succeeded in brainwashing you?”
“Ha-ha,” I deadpan.
He cracks a grin and bumps the door open the rest of the way with his hip, stepping aside and gesturing for me to come in.
The room is a disaster, but in a comforting way. It smells the same as always– faintly of weed, instant ramen, and men’s cologne. Clothes are draped over the desk chairs, a lava lamp bubbles lazily on top of the mini-fridge, and a giant poster of Lana Del Rey in a black veil stares down from the wall like she’s silently judging the entire room. The shades are pulled, but thin ribbons of fading twilight slip in around the edges, painting everything in a soft blue haze.
I drop my backpack at the foot of the spare bed and sink onto the edge of the mattress. Bryce closes the door behind me, locks it, and pads over to his desk.
He pulls open a drawer and extracts a little ceramic ashtray with half a joint stubbed out inside. Guess that explains the delay in opening the door– and the redness in his eyes.
“I’m really sorry about this morning,” I say, fiddling with the little crown charm hanging around my neck absently. “Ford’s a dick. You didn’t deserve that.”
Bryce drops the ashtray onto the nightstand with a clack, then slides the window up a couple inches. Late-autumn air seeps in through the gap, cold and clean. He drags a chair over and straddles it backwards across from me, resting his chin on the backrest as he looks me over.
“You gonna tell me what the hell happened to you?” he asks, blunt as always. “And I don’t mean the Kings’ PR version. I want the truth, missy.”
I bite my lip, weighing how much I really want to say. How much I want to relive. The memories lurk just beneath the surface, sharp enough that I know once I start talking, I won’t be able to stop.
I take a breath.
“Have you ever heard of the Dollhouse?” I ask.
Bryce picks up the joint, fishing a pink plastic lighter out of the pocket of his hoodie. “Yeah, like the urban legend?” he scoffs, re-lighting the end. “That’s not actually a thing… right?”
I look him dead in the eye as he takes a drag of the joint, and my expression must say enough. He chokes on the inhale, coughing so hard he has to beat a fist against his chest.
When the fit finally passes, the look he fixes me with is pure horror. “Don’t even tell me those assholes sent you there.”
I shake my head. “Not the Kings. My stepfather.”
Bryce goes still for a moment, then lets out a low whistle, slumping forward. “Jesus Christ, Ava.”
I lean over and pluck the joint from his fingers, taking a small hit before passing it back. The smoke burns a little on the way down, but it dulls the sharp edge of the memories just enough to keep talking.
Bryce takes another puff, then exhales toward the open window, blowing a lopsided smoke ring that drifts lazily into the cold air. “You always did have a thing for overachieving,” he mutters.
The joke is weak, but the concern underneath it is real.
“The Kings broke me out,” I tell him, shifting my weight on the mattress. “And now the only place where the Dollhouse can’t get to me ishere. Withthem.”
He ashes the joint, watching me carefully. “And you’re okay with that?” he asks, arching a skeptical brow. “Cause you sure as fuck didn’t look like you were in distress this morning on the quad.”
I look down at my hands. “No. Well… sort of. It’s complicated.”
He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, passing the joint back over to me. “It’s always complicated with you.”
I roll my eyes as I take it. “I don’t want you to think I’m…” I start, then trail off, not even sure how to finish that sentence.
A victim? A liar? A masochist with a Stockholm syndrome punch card?
I take another drag to buy myself time, but Bryce beats me to it.
