Chapter 8 Jo
eight
Jo
Therapy had consisted of me staring off into space for twenty minutes before West sighed, telling me that if he doesn't have something to put in his notes, they might transfer me to a different doctor.
So that's how I ended up describing every single boring detail I could think of regarding my life up until I murdered Daddy, hoping he'd decide that my silence was better than my rambling.
He didn't.
I kept Mabel out of everything, which was difficult, considering she's my better half, but I can't afford to be too trusting right now.
Immediately after therapy was lunch, where I ate my fill of carne asada tacos.
I had been a little sour that the meal didn't require utensils, so I was unable to swipe one to make a shiv to replace the paring knife I left lodged in the Russian Giant, or, as Adela oh-so helpfully informed me after I detailed our encounter… Kole.
I'm sure he's fine. I'm sure the little stab wound I left him with didn't kill him. If it did, I would have been hauled into Zombieland…er, the Cathedral, already.
"Jo?" Adela's voice startles me, and I jump slightly, dropping my cards on the table.
"Crap on a cracker," I mutter, quickly picking up my cards again. "What was the number?"
"I asked if you have any twos." She looks at me quizzically.
"Oh." I scan my cards in my hand as Not-Cheddar starts to squeak in my pocket. "Go fish."
The “Game Room” is just a regular room with a bunch of tables, chairs, cards, and board games where the patients can spend their free time. Though, Adela was very convincing when she was trying to get me to come play cards with her and some other girls.
Despite my worry about scent, Kole seems to be the only one who's gotten a whiff so far. At least, as far as anyone’s told me.
"You alright, Jo?" Adela asks, her brow furrowing. "You seem a little…distracted."
I give her my best smile. "Oh, yeah, Addie, I'm peachy-keen. I was just thinkin' 'bout some stuff, that's all. No need to worry your pretty little head about it."
Adela frowns at me as she pushes her glasses up her nose. "What were you thinking about?"
The other girls—all betas—eye me curiously.
They haven't been frosty, per-say, but they haven't been exactly warm either.
When I asked how they keep control of the betas, because obviously, they don't have instincts, I was informed that they are given the same injection as the alphas, but nobody could tell me why.
It only took me a second to figure it out.
The betas act as the control. If they start reporting loss of smell, then they know that the alphas loss of smell isn't due to instinct tamping, it's due to something else.
And we're all just lab rats. Maybe I should name Not-Cheddar, Jo two-point-oh.
"There aren't many omegas here, are there?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
They had given me the dirt on most everyone in Thornfield.
Turns out, when it comes to confidential information, these ladies' lips are looser than a goose.
Apparently, whenever there is a new arrival, someone—though I'm not sure if they're protecting them or if they genuinely don't know who it is—steals a copy of the most incriminating parts of a patient’s file and makes photocopies before hand delivering a copy to each person here like some kind of fucked up, HIPAA-violating postal delivery service.
For all I know, it could be Dr. Brooks, doing some sick psychological experiment on how people are treated based on their perceived crimes.
I say perceived, because I know the only "crime" Adela truly committed was falling in love with someone her daddy didn't approve of.
The brunette next to me—Patty, I think?— shakes her head. "There are…I think two other omegas but they're in the Cathedral. They…" She visibly shivers. "They were scary. Out of their minds. Feral. That's why Doctor Brooks put them there, so they wouldn't be a danger to the rest of us."
My brow furrows. That information does not match what he told me. He said "you'll see."
But…now I have the perfect opening to ask my next question. "Did you ever see 'em in person?"
The girls shake their heads. I frown. "Then how do you know they were feral?"
"We got a whole presentation on it, pictures and everything." Adela says quietly.
There are many reasons an omega might go feral, but Mabel couldn't have been. She was as sweet as sunshine.
Is. Is sweet as sunshine. More mild than an April day. Gentler than a summer breeze.
"Did…did any of them have white-blonde hair?" I ask hesitantly. "Sky-blue eyes?"
Adela's eyes widen in surprise, but she shakes her head. "No, why?"
"I…" The girls look at me curiously and I wonder just how much I can say without arousing suspicion. If this place is like any of the others, one of the girls is surely in a doctor’s pocket, and will report back anything I say.
Lucky for me though, Not-Cheddar chooses that exact moment to scramble out of my pocket and climb up my shoulder, making the rest of the girls scream and try to leave the table.
"Hush! You'll scare her!" I chastise, bringing my finger up to rub under her chin.
"That’s…that's a rat!" Adela squeaks, looking squeamish.
"Ain't she just the prettiest thing?" I coo.
"She?" Patty asks incredulously.
"I mean, I'm assumin', considerin' her collar is pink and sparkly. Though I 'spose it could be a boy…" Not-Cheddar squeaks in defiance. "Nope." I nod once. "Definitely a girl. Though we're still working on a name. Cheddar was quickly vetoed."
The girls, sensing that Not-Cheddar is not about to launch herself at them and gnaw on their faces, cautiously sit down. I pick up a cracker from the snack plate and break a piece off, handing it to her. She takes it in her little claws and nibbles on it happily.
"Havarti was just hungry," I say, testing the waters, but Not-Havarti-or-Cheddar chitters in protest.
"Are you going to stick with cheese names?" Adela asks, a small smile on her lips as she watches the rat on my shoulder.
I snort, taking her off my shoulder and setting her on the palm of my hand. "What am I 'sposed to name her after? A vegetable?" I meet the little rat's eyes. "Do you like that cracker, Turnip?"
Her head tilts like she recognizes the name, and she lets out a little chirping sound. "Well I'll be! I guess her name is Turnip. That was a lucky guess."
The girls look at me like I'm crazy, but I'm not the one who stalked her ex-boyfriend so hard he had to change his name and flee the country.
No, that would be Linda, the judgmental little bitch sitting diagonally across from me.
"Well, ladies," I sigh, tucking Turnip safely back in my pocket. "It's been my absolute pleasure, but I think I'm gonna try to catch a nap before dinner."
Adela pouts slightly, but I give her a tight smile. "I'll see you at dinner, Addie?"
Her face lights up. "Alright, see you!"
She really is adorable. I need to figure out how to make sure her and her baby are out of harm’s way when I take this place down.