Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
GIRL TWO
Years Later
I’m sick again. I can’t stop coughing and my chest burns every time I breathe. My sister, One, kneels over me with a washcloth, swiping it across my forehead.
“You’re burning up, Two,” she whispers, fear for me, for her, fear for how Father will react to this bout of illness showing on her face. “We don’t have a lot of medicine left and Father hasn’t been home for a few days. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll be alright, One,” I promise her. “I just need to sleep a little bit longer.”
“Okay, you sleep and I’ll do your chores.” My sister is too good to me.
I’ve always been weak and sickly, and she’s always been strong and healthy.
I never go without, she sees to it. She puts me before herself.
One day, I hope to be like her. I wish I knew what was wrong with me and why I seem to be the only one who’s always running fevers.
One thinks it’s because of our environment, but I think it’s because I’m always so sad.
Our chores are minimal. We keep our space as clean as we can, do the laundry that’s piled up on the floor, and every once in a while, we get to go upstairs and teach ourselves how to cook for Father.
We’re getting better at it. We’ve taught ourselves how to measure, follow recipes, and gather ingredients.
Father promised us that one day, we’ll be able to eat our food at the table.
It’s a goal of ours to sit in real chairs instead of the balled up blankets we use to sit on now.
“What do you want me to put on the television for you to watch while you rest, Two?” she asks.
Licking my dry lips, I ask her, “Can I read instead?”
Father came home with a stack of books one day out of the blue, saying that since we’ve taught ourselves how to read, we deserved a treat.
He teased saying he gave us an A for effort which made no sense to me because effort starts with an E, not an A.
I don’t know a lot compared to most people, but I do know that.
Maybe we know more than he does.
He’s mean, not smart.
I was suspicious because we never get presents, and I was right, he wanted us to know how to read better so that we could start making his meals because as Girl One says, he’s lazy and doesn’t like to do things for himself.
To him, it was a punishment, for us, it was a gift.
“Sure,” she answers. “A learning book or a fantasy one?”
“I’m too tired to learn how to write.” That's something we still struggle with. Composing letters and turning them into words is harder than we thought it’d be when Father gave us those books.
We can read on a basic level, we can add and subtract if it’s simple, and we can even draw a little bit, but everything else is too hard to understand.
“We’ll practice making words when you feel better,” she concludes. “Want to read that new book he got at the thrift store? The one about dragons and riders?”
“What’s a thrift store?” I inquire. Father has told us that it’s where he buys things, but he never tells us more about it.
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s magical,” she determines. “It must be wonderful because it’s how we get new clothes, blankets, and books.”
“Do you think one day he’ll take us there so we can see it for ourselves?” I question, crossing my fingers that she thinks he will.
“I don’t know, Two, but we can dream that he will,” she replies. “Dragon book or no?”
“Yes,” I answer. When she hands it to me, I smile.
The cover is bent as if it’s been read many times, which means it’s special.
Somebody loved it like I know we will. It says on it that it’s for young adults, and I wonder if that means we’re qualified to read it.
“What does this mean, One?” I point at it and look up at her with inquisitive eyes.
“Don’t know.” She shrugs, examining it as she leans in further. “But it has to be alright for us or Father wouldn’t have gotten it.”
“You say that like he cares about us,” I scoff. “He probably saw the cover and grabbed it thinking it’d keep us happy.”
“I don’t think he cares if we’re happy, Two. He uses these books to keep us in line. He knows we like reading and it gives him something to hold over our heads.”
“Something he can take away if we’re bad and don’t do as we’re told,” I whisper, clutching the book closer to my chest to keep it safe. These are my treasures which is why I do everything he tells me to—even if it hurts.
“Don’t be scared, Two. When he gets back, it’s my turn to help him,” she reminds me.
“I don’t like cuffing the women to the bed. It feels wrong, One.”
“It is wrong. I don’t like it either, but we’re not strong enough to fight him, Two.”
Both of our shame sours our mood and thickens the air.
We’ve tried to help the women Father brings here, but we aren’t shrewd enough to not get caught and the reprimand we receive is severe.
I still have laceration marks on my back from the last time I snuck his friend some water after she begged for some.
He calls them friends, but I don’t think they are.
I think he hates them more than us which is why we never see them again after they are disciplined.
We run out of things to say and One gets busy separating the laundry while I turn onto my back, lifting the book into the air so I can read.
I get drawn into the make-believe world and before I know it, I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open and drop the book onto my chest, opened to the page I’m currently on.
I’ll rest my eyes for a little bit and then pick the story back up.
Heavy breathing wakes me up and when I look upward, Father is standing over me, his face pinched and his hands fisted on his hips. Sneering at me, he asks, “What’s wrong with you now, Girl Two?”
“I’m alright, Father,” I fib.
“Don’t lie to me, girl,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “I’ll draw my belt if you do.”
“I had a small fever. I feel better now that I’ve had a nap,” I tell him. Hoping he doesn’t call me out on this untruth.
“You better,” he says, grinding his jaw.
“Your sister is taking care of my friend, I need you to come upstairs and deal with the groceries I had delivered. The ones on the floor are for you two and the ones on the counter are for me. Put everything away then get back down here. After the last time, y’all will stay locked up until I need you again. ”
“Yes, Father.” I scurry to my feet as fast as I can and follow him up the wooden steps and into the main house. It’s dirty again, wrappers are strewn across the floor and dishes are piled up in the sink. “Do you want me to clean while I’m up here?”
“No,” he growls. “Once my friend is settled and I can keep an eye on you, I’ll bring you up.
” I nearly groan out loud because if the food sits on the dishes longer, they’ll be harder to scrub and we’ll get into trouble if we can’t manage to make them sparkly clean.
But I know better than to voice my concerns to him so I clamp my lips together and begin stocking the pantry and fridge before gathering the bags meant for us and carting them downstairs.
By the time I’m done, sweat is beaded on my forehead and I’m dizzy.
As my sister comes inside our cage, Father is behind her, locking us in.
He whistles and I glance up wondering what he wants.
He doesn’t say anything, but what he does do is launch a bottle of pills at me.
It smacks me in the eye and it instantly waters.
“Fix yourself. That fever better be gone by tomorrow.”
“Yes, Father,” I say, bowing my head. I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping that these are miracle pills and do his bidding so I don’t suffer at his hand for disobeying a direct order.