Chapter 26 Rosabelle
Rosabelle
Chapter 26
“No,” I say.
“Okay. Well, we’re about to conclude our morning session, and so far you’ve shared only your first name with the group. What about your full name? Do you feel ready to share your full name? First, middle, last?”
“No.”
“What about your age? Would you feel comfortable helping us understand how long you’ve been struggling?”
“No.”
“I see. Rosabelle, do you have any I statements you’d like to share before we wrap up? How about an I feel ? Can you complete that sentence? How are you feeling today?”
Heat coils inside my chest, brazing my lungs together, unfurling up my throat. This is worse than a high-security prison cell. Worse than physical torture. I’d prefer solitary confinement to this—this—therapy circle—
“That’s all right, you don’t have to share anything today if you’re not ready,” says the group leader, a wiry man who introduced himself to me as “Ian Sanchez, I don’t perform miracles, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
I close my eyes, unclench my fists, exhale steadily.
“It took me a long time to open up, too,” he’s saying now. “We’re in no hurry to force healing.” He keeps saying that. We’re in no hurry to force healing.
Inside, I scream for a full three seconds.
I imagine exploding out of my body, running straight for the wall and then straight through it. I haven’t decided yet whether this is an elaborate set piece, whether I’m a pawn being moved across a chessboard. If the rebels have done this to me on purpose, I have no choice but to acknowledge their skill. If, however—
A hand goes up in the group.
Ian nods at the large man in the small chair. “Jing. Yes. Did you have something you wanted to share this morning?”
“The Reestablishment killed my family.”
A murmur goes through the group, people nodding. Ian nods, too, as if this is brand-new information. “You’ve shared that with us before, Jing. Are you ready to talk about what happened?”
Jing shakes his head.
Jing is a liar. Jing claimed he was a soldier serving under the chief commander and regent of Sector 18. He’s claimed twice now that The Reestablishment murdered his entire family, and he further claims to have killed his CCR in an act of insurrection, in the interest of revenge and justice. He claims to have been reformed ever since.
I happen to know that the ex-CCR of 18 is comfortably situated on the Ark, alive and well. Jing thinks this is a joke. I saw him snickering with Aya, the two of them whispering in the hall outside this infernal session.
In my head, I’m making my own lists.
It’s possible that someone here, in this circle, might be the very operative I’m looking for. There might be eyes on me right now, watching my every move. It’s also possible that these idiots are entirely useless. It further occurs to me that there are other, more valuable opportunities in this ring of hell. The Reestablishment would potentially reward information on traitors—those who might be selling secrets to the enemy. I could buy clout back home, exchanging information for security. But when I remember how their family members will pay the price for their treason, the instinct in me goes cold.
Ian clears his throat.
Another hand goes up.
“Yes, Elias,” he says to an older, bearded man. “Do you have something you want to share?”
“I do,” he says with a thick accent. “There is a fungus on my foot. All of my foot is fungus, nails falling off.”
“I see. And is there a reason you wanted to share that with the group?”
“Yes,” he says, and points angrily at Jing. “I hope Jing gets a fungus on his foot, then his legs, then his whole body. I hope his skin rots and falls off his body!”
“I hope you get fungus!” Jing shouts at him.
“I already have fungus!”
“Elias,” says Ian, exhibiting remarkable restraint. “You still seem to be harboring frustration toward Jing after last week’s incident. Let’s solve to resolve this.”
Jing begins to protest, but Ian holds up a hand. “Jing, you’ll have an opportunity to respond in a moment. Elias, go on.”
“He stole my slippers and still denies it!” Elias says, standing. “I have a fungus on my foot! All of my foot is fungus! I hope he gets my foot fungus and dies of fungus!”
Ian nods. “Okay. These kinds of elaborate visualizations can be useful, helping us process anger in the safety of our imaginations. I hope saying it out loud helped exorcise some of that emotion so that we can begin to move past this. Jing,” says Ian, turning. “How does that make you feel?”
“The Reestablishment killed my family!” Jing cries, lunging for Elias.
I sit back in my chair, looking around the room.
If you’re smart enough , the agent had said to me, you’ll see it coming.
The group does not react to Jing’s absurd outburst, making me think it happens with some frequency. As if on cue, Jing’s sponsor appears, conjuring a band of electric light with her hands. She uses this light to lasso Jing, who’s still shouting at Elias, and drags him away on a veritable leash, muttering an apology to Ian. Ian looks tired.
“Anyone else?”
He waits another minute, making eye contact with each of us before finally concluding the interminable session.
There’s a slight lift in mood as the sounds of movement susurrate through the room. Ian is loudly encouraging everyone to journal, talking over the din of dismissal. “Tomorrow we’ll be discussing survivor’s guilt,” he says. “Think about what you want to bring to the group, okay? I’m sure we’ll all have a lot to discuss.”
I drag myself upright, my patience for this spectacle already thinning. I can’t believe I’ll be forced to endure this over and over again. I can’t believe I might, at some point, be forced to participate.
It almost makes me miss my time with Soledad.
In the proceeding moments we gather up our journals and head to our respective sponsors, like children being returned to their parents. The sponsors follow us around everywhere, hovering nearby at all times. Listening. Watching.
I haven’t been assigned a permanent sponsor yet. So far I’ve been shuttled around by an interim attendant named Agatha, a petite woman with a neat Afro and an affinity for turquoise, who sat me down last night and told me that true courage was saying yes to life when it offered you a hug, but if I tried anything with her she’d melt my mouth off with her hands. With a sigh, I scan the room for her, coming up short at the sight of a familiar face.
At once, my body flushes with heat.
It’s automatic, instinctive, and unprecedented. I’m not this kind of person. I have never physically reacted to another human being before, and right now I feel as if someone has flipped a switch inside of me, flooding my veins with light. It’s so foreign a sensation I have the sudden desire to examine it, to search inside myself for the cause and kill it.
James is standing by the exit.