21. Lessons Learned
twenty-one
Lessons Learned
Tulip: 2011 Age: 14
T he wooden chair creaks as I shift, trying to get comfortable. I don’t like the way the straps squeeze my wrists and ankles.
“You broke Sasha’s nose,” Dr. Bolton informs me, sitting across the room from me, crossing his legs like a girl.
The strap around my tummy only lets me move my head. “Did you see the pretty red heart I drew?”
He nods, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I did,” he answers. “Everyone saw what you did.”
“You’re mad. Your eyebrows look weird, which means I did something wrong,” I whisper, hiding the lump starting to clog my throat. “You said I could play make-believe.” My tears make him look wobbly.
He uncrosses his legs, leaning forward. “I did, you’re right. Remember what I told you when we disposed of Hazel?” he asks, tilting his head waiting for me to answer.
“Good girls aren’t greedy,” I answer, happy he smiles.
He leans back, crossing his legs again, smoothing out his long white coat. “Patience, princess. Good girls who have patience always get what they want. Bad girls who are greedy lose. Which is why you’re strapped to the chair,” he explains calmly.
“But she was being mean, trying to take what’s mine,” I whine, arguing my reason.
“What’s yours?”
“B, duh. Dark-haired people are awful. They always want to take what’s mine,” I explain, trying to hide the rage growing in my chest.
He watches me while he thinks for a moment. “This is new. I didn’t realize you felt this way towards people with dark hair.”
“If that means I hate them, then the answer is yes,” I answer, giving him my truth.
He nods slowly, studying me. After taking a deep breath. “You ruined my surprise.”
“No,” I whine, shaking my head. “May I please get out of the chair? I’ll be good, promise,” I beg, tears filling my eyes again as I pull at the restraints. “It’s my birthday,” I plead sadly.
Shaking his head. “This is your lesson on greed. Brock’s already been taken back to his room, and your surprise is ruined. All of this is your fault. No pouting. Learn from your mistakes, so you’ll be smarter next time,” he lectures, making the rage bubble in my chest, tears streaming like lava down my pale cheeks.
My eyes narrow on him when he stands, moving to the door, and slides open the slot in the middle. “Let me out,” he calls.