Juliette butts in. “Ugh. Seriously, just stop. It’s not our fault you ran out.” She snaps her mouth closed, and my eyes dart between the two of them before I step forward, next in line.
The EV staffer gives me a once-over and hands me the pre-bottled green sludge meant to keep us alive. I’ve lost weight, not a ton, but enough to notice my sharper jawline and hip bones. Surprisingly, my hair is full and longer. Mercy says it’s because of the vitamins they add to everything.
It’s weird. To be physically healthier than I’ve been in a long time, considering I’ve been deprived of sugary coffee and cheap takeout, but mentally worse off. Which is saying something.
I turn around, twisting the top off my morning meal, and attempt to defuse the tension. “I don’t think Tonya will make it through another week if she goes through this again.”
Sarah nods. “Graves is a vile, soulless asshole. She’s lucky, though. The last girl he ruined like that didn’t make it.”
I recoil, and a slow burn of horror tightens in my throat. “What do you mean?”
“I mean … she was badly assaulted and took too long to recover. They never allow more than a few days. They dragged her out the moment it was clear she wouldn’t sell well at the next Market.”
The pit in my stomach grows. “What did they do with her?”
Juliette laughs. “What do you think? Sold her. They Cull girls to cycle them out, or in this case, don’t recover enough to function the way they need. Only it isn’t rich American men with kinks, fetishes, and money to burn. They traffic useless girls overseas. Instead of mattresses, you sleep on the stone floor. Forget showers, you sit in your own waste. And assaulted once a week in a mansion? Nope. Try daily, violently. Until you’restarved down to nothing and dropped in a hole to be buried alive.”
Sarah whimpers and cracks her knuckles.
Juliette’s face hardens. “So don’t be useless. It can get worse. Much, much worse. While there isn’t a new girl this week, there could be two the next, and they won’t keep us all. Which means someone will be shipped off.” She looks over her shoulder at one girl tucked in the corner and sipping her juice like a chipmunk.
I’ve been told she hasn’t been bought in three weeks.
I fight the itch to pull up my mattress and dig for my vial of GHB. How I’m going to hide it while they poke and prod me during prep is beyond me. I’d ask another one of the girls, but I’m not supposed to, and while I’m not privy to the congressman’s plan or reasoning behind it, I’m not willing to spoil it.
I drag a hand over my face and pad to the water fountain to get a cup to help wash down the thick glop I need to consume. My stomach flips and dips, and by the time I sit back on my bed, I’m not sure I can even “eat.”
I’m not the new girl this week. I’ve been given my shot, the free pass. This time, I need to prepare myself.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEA
Gold. They dressed us in gold sequined lingerie.
I stare at myself in the mirror as the plump woman who preps me finishes applying the rouge lipstick to my lips. She’s blown out my hair and curled it in thick beachy waves instead of the tightly wound spirals that come naturally. Makeup sits dewy on my face, pressed into every crease and smoothing out every imperfection. Dark lines carve the edges of my eyes, and a smoky blend of gunmetal-gray and metallic-bronze eye shadow shimmers under the lights of the prep room.
Unlike the concrete box we live in, this room is vast and white with prep stations lined up one after the other, like a hair salon. But instead of chairs, there are tables. Long stainless-steel gurneys, padded with red tufted cushions.
I’ve been waxed, scrubbed raw, tweezed, and shoved into a color that doesn’t belong on me. Red, burgundy—those are the colors associated with EV and the club. Between the leather and velvet, the club is draped in a fitting color.
I’m ushered to stand in the line of girls who are also confused and studying the gold outfits they’ve squeezed us into. Sarah stands beside me, and Tonya is on my other side.
Where Sarah garnishes an updo to rival all updos, Tonya’s hair is down, like mine.
“Tonight must be a special occasion,” Sarah mumbles, smirking down the line at the ten-plus girls in front of us.
“I-I-I can’t do this.” Tonya clutches her stomach, and I can count the ribs showing on her side. She’s refused to eat this week, and her already tall, lanky frame has shrunk further. Her dirty blonde hair is pin straight, grazing her shoulders—they’ve cut it. It’s been wavy all week, but even then, it hung past her shoulder blades.
A tear trickles out of the corner of her eye, pooling in the sunken hollows underneath. Her face has been plastered with makeup, but I can still make out the bruising on her cheekbones and the pigmented blue hovering above them.
“It’s okay,” I say. But it’s a lie. It’s not okay. I can’t keep the wavering out of my voice, or the golf ball–sized lump in my throat from sending a shudder down my spine as I swallow.
“No talking!” A guard marches up and down the line of us like we’re some sort of criminals. “I don’t want to hear another word from you all. In fact, don’t squeak a peep until you’re crawling back tomorrow.” He laughs, and several more do as well.
My jaw locks and I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms. Heat floods my face.
Tonya lets out a loud whimper that makes me wince and glance toward the nearest guard.
