Chapter 12 The Becoming #2
“I’m Maggie,” she whispered, before Daisy could ask. “I know we’re not supposed to share names, but... Feels strange to think of ourselves as numbers.” Her hands trembled as she quietly rambled. “But I’m 1938, in case you were wonderin’.”
“I’m Daisy. 1922.”
They ate in silence, small hums of pleasure escaping from both of them here and there.
“Food’s really good,” Maggie said, and Daisy nodded, afraid that if she tried to put it into words, she might cry.
“These eggs,” Maggie managed between bites. “What are they?”
“I don’t know.” They had a sharp tang about them, addicting and different than anything she’d ever tasted.
“Something with truffles, I think,” Maggie said, examining her next fluffy bite before popping it in her mouth. “I had an uncle who was a truffle farmer when I was young.”
It angered Daisy that she couldn’t appreciate the food with as much zeal as everyone else. But her stomach was already starting to knot.
A waiter appeared. “Coffee? Tea? Juice?”
“Juice, please.” Maggie eased her glass forward.
Daisy watched him pour. Every cautionary tale warned her against accepting food from strangers. But the temptation was too grand. “Thank you. I’ll have the same.”
Maggie set down her fork and glanced at Daisy’s half-eaten plate. “Are you nervous?”
“I think anyone who says they aren’t is lying.”
“I’m terrified,” she whispered, her wide eyes glistened. “I keep thinking about tonight. About what might happen. I don’t want it to hurt.”
The admission hung between them, raw and honest. “Have you ever...?”
“A few times.” Maggie’s cheeks flushed. “You?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She dropped her gaze. “That does complicate things, I suppose.”
Was she crazy to think there would be any way out of this unscathed? “I have a plan.”
“Oh?” Maggie’s big, brown eyes lifted. “What is it?”
Daisy shrugged. “Evade. Stay hidden.”
“Oh.” Her tone dropped, laden with doubt. “I was thinking the same. We just need to make it to mornin’ in one piece. Then the money’s ours. Can you imagine? I wouldn’t even know what to do with that much.”
Daisy smiled just as Aunt V’s voice rang out across the room. “Attention, my little does. The Becoming will commence in five minutes. Please finish up and join me at the double doors.”
From the ballroom, they were led through another labyrinth of white corridors to a spa that occupied an entire floor.
The air smelled of eucalyptus and beauty products.
Attendants waited, positioned at stations, each one consisting of a sophisticated white leather chair, a vanity, a tall, gold-framed mirror, and tools Daisy had no idea how to use.
Maggie stayed by her side, but they were eventually sorted by their numbers, identifiable by the gold stitching embroidered into the plush white robes they were ordered to change into. Luckily, they had deep pockets and she was able to sneak her locket into one before they took their clothes away.
“Will we get our clothes back?” one woman asked.
“You’ll have everything you need,” Aunt V explained, not quite answering the question.
Once the tributes were assigned a station, the attendants cycled in a sort of dance, each one boasting a title Daisy hadn’t realized existed as a job. Nail techs, lash techs, color specialists, estheticians. They even had someone who specialized in color analysis.
“You’re a light summer,” the color specialist declared, draping a smock sewn in a rainbow pinwheel across her chest. She examined the thin blue veins in Daisy’s wrist. “I see champagne and ash rather than honey. Low-to-medium contrast. You’d sit naturally in pearls, icy pinks, and misty greys.
Maybe a seafoam mint or a light teal, but anything more severe would wash you out. ”
Another man circled nearby, slowly, lifting strands of her limp hair. He was beautiful in an almost aggressive way, with sharp cheekbones, perfect skin, and eyebrows groomed to mathematical precision.
“When did you last have a proper cut?”
“I...” She recalled the last time she held those kitchen scissors, thinking back to when her mother had the job. “Never.”
He released her hair. “That explains the damage and split ends.” His fingers combed through her dull, wheat waves. “We’ll need to take at least three inches. Possibly four. For the color—” He held a strand up to the light. “I see icy beige and opal with fine baby-lights in pearl—not platinum.”
“Perfect.” The stylists exchanged glances as the female made a note in Daisy’s chart. “I’ll put in the order for after her visit to the spa.”
The next few hours passed in a blur of sensation and movement. Once Daisy met with several specialists, she was shuffled off to a small, clinical room and told to wait.
The clinical lights and furniture reminded her of a doctor’s office. “Excuse me?” She opened the door, looking into the empty hall. The soft scent of lemon and eucalyptus tickled her nose.
“Hello?” A woman in a white lab coat appeared, cheerfully following her back into the room. “Did you need something?”
“I…” Daisy looked back at the table covered in paper. “I’ve already done the physical.”
“Mm-hm.” She pointed to the table. “You can have a seat.”
Daisy reluctantly scooted onto the table as the woman gathered supplies at the counter, her back turned.
“So, what are we thinking?” She turned and cocked her head. “First time?”
Daisy blinked. “What are we doing?”
The woman smiled. “Your wax. I typically start with your legs.”
Only then did she register the pots warming on the counter and the wooden sticks in various thicknesses. A stack of fabric strips waited on a tray.
“You start with the legs? What else do you do?”
“Oh, we do all of it.” She laughed. “If it grows, it goes. Unless you prefer the hair, that is.” She lifted Daisy’s arm and drew back her sleeve. “You’re fair, so…”
Daisy didn’t know how to respond, and the woman laughed again.
“There’s no need to be nervous. It looks more painful than it actually is.”
She didn’t know how anyone could make such a claim when they were asking to cover her body in hot wax and rip out her hair. She silently climbed onto the table and stiffly reclined, disassociating as much as possible.
“How’s that temperature?” she asked as she spread wax over Daisy’s calf.
“Good, I guess.” It was more warm than hot. It actually felt kind of nice—” Mother fucker!”
She pressed a cloth over the area, soothing away the sting. “You okay?”
It was more shocking than painful. Daisy nodded, and the process continued, uncomfortable but bearable. The underarms were more painful than her arms and legs.
“Bikini area next.”
“Wait.”
She paused, wooden applicator in the air. “Problem.”
“Maybe I keep my hair.”
“Okay. I’ll just clean up the perimeter.” When Daisy pressed her thighs together, the woman laughed nervously. “You need to at least get the back.”
“The back?”
She nodded, and two minutes later, Daisy somehow ended up bent over, holding her ass cheeks. Profanities flew and, in the end, she wound up with smooth lips and a severe blush. It didn’t matter because once she did her eyebrows, her face was redder than a sailor’s sky.
“Beautiful,” she declared when finished. “Smooth as silk. After Damon’s done with you, the esthetician can do a treatment to bring the rosiness down.”
Daisy stared at her like a cat after a cold bath. “Great.”
“I’ll let him know you’re ready.”
Daisy didn’t know who Damon was, but she assumed anything would be better than this sadist with a wax kink. As soon as she was alone, she traced a delicate finger over her now bare parts. She had to admit, it was pleasant to touch skin that smooth.
“Knock, knock.” The door opened, and a man in scrubs stepped in. He had an easy smile, beautiful skin, and full lips under a five o’clock shadow. “How are we doing?”
“Oh…you know.”
He chuckled, his kind eyes creasing with an apologetic smile. “I know. This is the part no one tells you about. But I promise to make it as painless as possible.”
Her expression fell. “Make what painless?”
He held up what looked like a medical kit. “The enema.”
Daisy sat up so fast she nearly fell off the table. “The what?”
“It’s standard procedure for all tributes.” Damon’s voice was gentle and matter-of-fact. “Tonight’s activities can be...vigorous. This ensures you’re comfortable and prepared for anything.”
“No.” The word came out harder than she intended. “Absolutely not.”
“Should I call Aunt Vanessa?”
Daisy’s eyes widened. “Why would you involve her?”
“She has a calming effect. I’ll give her a quick buzz and see if she’s busy.” He was already reaching for the intercom on the wall.
A moment later, Aunt V entered, her expression sympathetic but firm. “There’s my skittish little doe.” She settled into a chair beside the table. “Now, I know this seems invasive—”
“I can’t.” Daisy’s voice shook. “I signed up for a lot of things, but not…not this.”
“You’re right. You didn’t sign up for this specifically.” Her tone remained calm and warm. “And you have every right to refuse. We’ll just retrieve your personal items and arrange transport—”
“What? You’re saying if I don’t do this, I can’t stay?”
She offered a regretful smile. “No one will think less of you.”
“But…”
Aunt Vanessa waited quietly as Daisy thought over her options.
“Why is this necessary?”
“Well,” Aunt V continued gently. “Tonight’s activities can get…physically demanding. This preparation ensures not only your comfort, but your dignity.” She reached out and squeezed Daisy’s hand. “The first time I went through this, I was so nervous I cried. But afterward…I was grateful.”
Daisy rubbed her forehead. No part of her would have chosen this, so as much as they pretended there was a choice, there wasn’t. “This is coercion.”
“I just don’t want to be...” Daisy couldn’t find the words.
“Everything here is a choice. Your choice. Always.” She looked at the intercom on the wall. “One call and it can all be over. But only you can decide what sacrifices you’re willing to make.”