Chapter 12
AVA
The echo of my footsteps is the only sound in the corridor as I make my way to Bryce’s dorm room on the second floor of Sutton Hall.
I’m clutching the strap of my backpack so tightly my fingers ache, the black nylon digging a groove into my palm.
I tried to shake off my conversation with Wes on the walk over here, but his placating ‘You’re safe, Ava’ sticks in my ear like a parasite.
As if I could ever be safe with the Kings.
I hesitate outside Bryce’s door, then draw a deep breath before rapping my knuckles against the wood.
“One second!” his voice calls from inside, followed by a series of shuffles and clatters.
A minute later, the lock disengages, and the door cracks open just wide enough for his head to poke through.
His platinum hair is a mess atop his head, red-rimmed eyes squinting against the fluorescent hallway lights.
“Oh,” he says on an exhale, nudging the door open wider and bracing a hand against the top of the frame. “It’s you.”
His gaze flicks down my body and back up to my face, searching for something. Maybe he expects me to look different than I did last week. Maybe I actually do.
“Hey,” I say, immediately hating how small my voice sounds. “Can I come in?”
He frowns slightly. “That depends. Is the real Ava still in there, or have the Kings finally succeeded in brainwashing you?”
“Ha-ha,” I deadpan.
He cracks a grin and bumps the door open the rest of the way with his hip, stepping aside and gesturing for me to come in.
The room is a disaster, but in a comforting way.
It smells the same as always– faintly of weed, instant ramen, and men’s cologne.
Clothes are draped over the desk chairs, a lava lamp bubbles lazily on top of the mini-fridge, and a giant poster of Lana Del Rey in a black veil stares down from the wall like she’s silently judging the entire room.
The shades are pulled, but thin ribbons of fading twilight slip in around the edges, painting everything in a soft blue haze.
I drop my backpack at the foot of the spare bed and sink onto the edge of the mattress. Bryce closes the door behind me, locks it, and pads over to his desk.
He pulls open a drawer and extracts a little ceramic ashtray with half a joint stubbed out inside. Guess that explains the delay in opening the door– and the redness in his eyes.
“I’m really sorry about this morning,” I say, fiddling with the little crown charm hanging around my neck absently. “Ford’s a dick. You didn’t deserve that.”
Bryce drops the ashtray onto the nightstand with a clack, then slides the window up a couple inches. Late-autumn air seeps in through the gap, cold and clean. He drags a chair over and straddles it backwards across from me, resting his chin on the backrest as he looks me over.
“You gonna tell me what the hell happened to you?” he asks, blunt as always. “And I don’t mean the Kings’ PR version. I want the truth, missy.”
I bite my lip, weighing how much I really want to say. How much I want to relive. The memories lurk just beneath the surface, sharp enough that I know once I start talking, I won’t be able to stop.
I take a breath.
“Have you ever heard of the Dollhouse?” I ask.
Bryce picks up the joint, fishing a pink plastic lighter out of the pocket of his hoodie. “Yeah, like the urban legend?” he scoffs, re-lighting the end. “That’s not actually a thing… right?”
I look him dead in the eye as he takes a drag of the joint, and my expression must say enough. He chokes on the inhale, coughing so hard he has to beat a fist against his chest.
When the fit finally passes, the look he fixes me with is pure horror. “Don’t even tell me those assholes sent you there.”
I shake my head. “Not the Kings. My stepfather.”
Bryce goes still for a moment, then lets out a low whistle, slumping forward. “Jesus Christ, Ava.”
I lean over and pluck the joint from his fingers, taking a small hit before passing it back. The smoke burns a little on the way down, but it dulls the sharp edge of the memories just enough to keep talking.
Bryce takes another puff, then exhales toward the open window, blowing a lopsided smoke ring that drifts lazily into the cold air. “You always did have a thing for overachieving,” he mutters.
The joke is weak, but the concern underneath it is real.
“The Kings broke me out,” I tell him, shifting my weight on the mattress. “And now the only place where the Dollhouse can’t get to me is here. With them.”
He ashes the joint, watching me carefully. “And you’re okay with that?” he asks, arching a skeptical brow. “Cause you sure as fuck didn’t look like you were in distress this morning on the quad.”
I look down at my hands. “No. Well… sort of. It’s complicated.”
He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, passing the joint back over to me. “It’s always complicated with you.”
I roll my eyes as I take it. “I don’t want you to think I’m…” I start, then trail off, not even sure how to finish that sentence.
A victim? A liar? A masochist with a Stockholm syndrome punch card?
I take another drag to buy myself time, but Bryce beats me to it.
“Not yourself?” he offers, brow raised.
I nod, pulling the smoke into my lungs before passing the joint back to him.
“Well, you weren’t earlier, but you seem to be now,” he says, taking it from my fingers. “So, start from the beginning.”
I do.
I tell him everything– about Gideon’s phone call, the ride back to the city, the ambush at the Dollhouse. About the days of isolation and the way time seemed to stretch on forever. About how Bailey and her guys broke me out, and the Kings brought me back here afterward.
Bryce doesn’t interrupt except for the occasional muttered ‘holy shit’ or ‘that’s so fucked’. At some point he migrates from the chair to the bed, settling in beside me. The proximity is a comfort; a little slice of normalcy that I didn’t even know how badly I needed.
The joint burns down to nothing somewhere in the middle of the story, the haze in my head softening the world at the edges. By the time I finish, it feels like a huge weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.
“So now you’re just… stuck here?” Bryce asks, pushing his hair out of his eyes.
I nod, leaning back on my hands. “Pretty much. But make no mistake, I’m back with a vengeance. I’m done taking their shit lying down.”
A slow grin spreads across his face, the realest one I’ve seen since I walked into the room. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
I match his smile as I reply, “Revolution.”
“Fuck yeah!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together. “Well shit, sign me up. When do we start?”
I laugh, and the sound is so unfamiliar that it takes me a second to recognize it as my own. I let it happen anyway, the giddy energy spilling out.
“Already did,” I tell him proudly.
Bryce clutches his chest dramatically, gasping. “Without me?”
I roll my eyes and swat at his arm.
“Tell me,” he presses, leaning forward eagerly.
“Well, I figure I’m not gonna win against the Kings by fighting them openly,” I say. “But if I play along, let them think I’m content being their Doll, then maybe I can pick them off one by one.”
Bryce studies me, arching a skeptical brow. “You seriously think you can outmaneuver the Kings?”
“Not all at once,” I admit. “But the thing that makes them powerful is each other. Individually, they’re just…”
“Assholes with nice hair?” he interjects, smirking.
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Assholes with nice hair and way too much unchecked power.”
He watches me for a moment, something like pride flickering in his eyes. “You’re a beautiful genius, Ava Morrow. You know that?”
I roll my eyes, but the compliment lands somewhere deep inside me, softening a small piece of something broken there.
“Shut up,” I chuckle. “And anyway, it won’t happen overnight. I have to get close to them first, figure out what makes each of them tick. And once I know that…” I shrug. “Then maybe I can turn them against each other. Cut the head off the snake.”
Bryce nods slowly, digesting the idea. After a moment, he leans back on his elbows, stretching his legs out across the bed. “Are you sure you wanna do this? If they catch on…”
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation.
He grins. “Then fuck it. I’m in.”
“I can’t let you get involved in this,” I protest, shaking my head. “I’m only telling you because you’re the only real friend I’ve ever had, and you deserved the truth.”
“Psh.” He waves that away immediately. “Every revolution needs a hype man. You couldn’t get rid of me now if you tried.”
“Promise?” I ask, a small smile tugging at my lips.
He wags his eyebrows. “You’re stuck with me like herpes, bitch.”
I grimace, and he bursts out laughing.
This time, it’s infectious. The tension in my chest finally cracks, and I laugh along with him, the two of us losing ourselves in it. We sit there for a while afterward, breathing in the quiet, everything feeling lighter than it did when I first walked in.
“Hey,” Bryce says, nudging my thigh with his foot. “You really okay?”
I jerk a nod. “Yeah.” For the first time in a long time, I might actually mean it.
“You ever need anything, I’m here,” he declares. “Even if it’s just somewhere to hide out or someone to talk you down from a panic attack.”
My pulse jumps, warmth blooming in my chest. “Thanks.”
Bryce sits up and grabs the lighter from the nightstand, flicking his thumb against the wheel. The small flame bursts to life in an orange flash that illuminates his face. “Let’s burn it all down, then.”
The words settle deep in my bones, fierce and bright.
I close my eyes for a moment and picture it– a world where I’m not owned by anyone, where I don’t have to sell pieces of myself just to survive, where the Kings are nothing more than a bad memory. I hold onto that vision, breathe it in.
And when I open my eyes again, I say, “Let’s do it.”