Chapter 34
WORTHY OF TRYING
I prod at my half-eaten muffin, searching for more chocolate chips. It’s the only thing they’re good for when they’ve grown this stale.
It’s evaluation day again, and this time, I’ll actually be worthy of trying. Four long weeks of working almost exclusively with V have left me exhausted, but I just have to manage for today.
Since the whole “residuals” incident nine days ago, I’ve mostly been left alone.
V’s been trying to make things up to me, in his own way.
He pulls me from classes often, pushing my training until I can hardly stand.
Then he offers breaks, helps me through my workbook, or lets me play whatever I want on the piano.
It’s hard to thank him after everything, but I can’t deny it’s been helpful.
The breakfast table is silent, as is most of my life nowadays.
Not much to talk about, I suppose. We used to dream about graduation, the world outside, freedom.
Now I consider myself lucky if any of the other girls even give me the time of day.
The realization of it stings. Hope is a slippery, fragile thing, and sometimes I’m not sure I have the strength to keep holding onto it.
I don’t have the luxury of worrying about the future anymore. I just have to perform today.
Brielle taps my shoulder hesitantly, fingers hovering a beat too long.
“May?” Her voice is meek, eyes downcast on her bowl as she pushes around something that claims to be yogurt.
“Hm?” I try to sound light, but my cords sound strained after the four hours of torture that V disguised as eloquence training yesterday.
“Are you nervous?”
“A little,” I confess, underselling it.
“Yeah, me too.” She offers me a small smile. “I thought about playing sick if we’re being honest.”
“Not a bad idea. Is it too late to try that?”
Before she can respond, Mister M clears his throat from the head of the table, ready to kill the mood.
I’ve barely spoken with him these past few weeks.
He only makes the effort to pay attention to me when I’ve done something wrong.
Granted, about everything I do is wrong in his eyes.
He sends a spine-stiffening smile my way, sickly fake. So very him.
“Brielle, 214, do you have something you’d like to share with the table?” I cringe at the use of my number. I can’t quite remember when he decided I wasn’t even worth the name he gave me himself.
“No, sir.” Bri’s apology is quick. She shifts in her seat, biting her bottom lip. I nod in agreement, not averting my eyes from his.
The sneer he sends back is small, as if it were only meant to be seen by me. By design, I’m sure, the dining room is too crowded for him to break character.
“Then stop prattling. It’s unbecoming and horribly irritating.” His hands grip the table, knuckles whitening. “Besides, you have nothing to talk about. Or have you forgotten what today is?”
We shake our heads slowly, as does Ivy. She hasn’t spoken a word all week, at least not while I was around, which thankfully isn’t much.
I used to dread the attention I would get when V pulled me away from social blocks or enrichment.
I felt like I was missing out on everything.
Turns out all I was missing was the slow, painful unraveling of our collective sanity.
“Good.” Mister M releases the table, holding his crystal glass up to his lips. He takes a long, drawn-out sip before meeting my eyes again. “You don’t want to find out what happens if you step out of line. Do you, 214?” His gaze is fierce, but I hold it anyway.
“No, sir. I look forward to making you proud.” I plaster on a pretty smile that he clearly despises.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I don’t.” V approaches, tablet clutched in one hand. I swear this man materializes from the shadows. He looks immaculate today, not a single strand of dark hair out of place, pants perfectly pressed, tie perfectly set. He’s the picture of a perfect mentor. Something he’s not.
“Pardon?” There isn’t enough fabric in this facility to veil the threat behind Mister M’s words.
“I don’t believe I need to repeat myself,” V says, perfectly calm.
“You’re looking awfully sharp for someone who wasn’t invited to the festivities,” Mister M sneers, shoulders raising in amusement.
“Funny you should say that,” V retorts, a careful grin gracing his face. “I’ll be escorting Maysie today.” He gestures for me. I move to stand, my muffin discarded on the table. But a rage-filled glare from Mister M keeps me planted in my seat.
“I don’t believe I called for the hound,” Mister M seethes through gritted teeth. “Perhaps you should stop sniffing around where you don’t belong.”
“You flatter me.” V’s tone suggests otherwise. He removes a note from his pocket, tossing it Mister M’s way. “Carr’s orders. Surely you understand?” Mister M grabs the note, unfurls it, then simply tosses it onto my plate.
“You really are a dog.” He waves me off. “You’d better hope 214 performs perfectly today. I’d hate to see what Carr does to a hound that can’t fetch.”
The slightest clench of his fist tells me the comment struck too close—and that he can’t afford to show it.
I’m on my feet before I decide to be. June narrows her eyes, and I immediately hate myself for how easily I chose him—how quickly I ran to V’s side like a coward. He settles a hand on the small of my back, guiding me out without so much as a glance.
“Where are we going?” We hang a left at the enrichment rooms, past the piano rooms, the posture studio, and everywhere else I thought we might be headed. V’s quick, weaving through the halls like he could navigate them blindfolded.
“The board values presentation,” he says simply. We hang another right, and it clicks. The dressing rooms. I think of the fine dresses the other girls were wearing. Uniform standard, yet vibrant and pretty. I wasn’t brought anything else to wear.
Shocker.
The worn regulation white dress I’ve been wearing for three days straight is starting to fall apart at the seams. I did everything I could for it—I even scrubbed it in the bathroom sink this morning, but it’s certainly not my best finery.
We stop short of the only open door down the stretch. The room is incredibly small, just a full-length mirror and a small chair with a royal-blue dress draped over it.
“I have an errand to run. Get changed quickly, I’ll send an attendant to fix your hair.” He slips through the door, letting it fall shut.
Sensing his urgency, I make quick work of changing, taking a moment to admire the short blue satin dress he selected for me. It’s uniform standard, but polished. Not too flashy, not too boring.
I zip the side, reveling in how blissful it is to wear something clean.
The attendant arrives shortly after, arranging my hair in an updo that’s elegant yet soft, with ringlets that frame my face.
I wait until I’m sure she’s gone to peek at the mirror.
A challenge, considering it frames most of the back wall.
Sure enough, it’s perfect.
I hate the smile that falls over my face. I’m comfortable, and that’s a danger I can’t afford today.
Frustration builds behind my eyes as my emotions twist. I ball my fist, nails biting into my palm, grounding myself before I do something I can’t undo. I’m eager and terrified by the opportunity I have no choice but to want.
If this is what being chosen feels like, I’m not sure I’d survive what happens when I’m not.