Chapter 31 Thea
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THEA
My knees hit the concrete with a startling smack, and I let out a whine.
They tossed me back in here like I was some sort of escapee.
I shiver, the cold from the floor seeping into my stripped body.
I’ve been left in my bra and underwear, but the light blue bubble dress I’d put on in hopes Slade might make it home for lunch was taken from me.
A bunch of fabric smacks me in the face before I can stand, and the guard who threw it chuckles. “Put these on. Back to real life, darlin’.”
I scramble up, gripping the standard-issued clothes to my body.
“Screw you!” When the steel door shuts, I huff a curl out of my face.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Ms. Too-good-for-us. What … did Congressman DuPont get tired of you and throw you back here?”
I spin on the balls of my feet.
Juliette approaches, looking gaunt as ever, the hollows of her cheeks too defined, eyes sunken beneath pale skin.
She looks me over. I hadn’t realized how much sun I’d gotten, how healthy my skin was until what it used to be stares back at me.
Her lips curl. “Don’t look at me like that.
Tomorrow they’ll plaster the makeup on me and fill out my bra—I’ll look as good as you.
Maybe even better once we’re done with you. ”
Done with me? Several other girls creep forward. I look around. “Where’s Beth?”
Another woman in the back speaks up. I forget her name and instantly hate myself for it. “She was Culled, along with Tonya.”
I let my eyes rest closed for a moment, saying a silent prayer, most likely in vain, that they’re not hurting or in pain.
“It should’ve been you,” Juliette snaps. “I was ahead the night of the Culling. If it wasn’t for Slade seeing his chance to sleep with you flash before his eyes, you’d have never been saved.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and I take a moment to pull on the outfit in my hands.
“I-I know,” I say when I pull the last of my shirt down over my stomach.
Except Slade hasn’t tried to sleep with me once.
In the beginning, he avoided me, like he wasn’t even sure why he’d taken me.
He’d confused himself. But then he opened up to me, and I got to see a side of Slade no one here knows. Pretty sure he shocked himself.
I smile thinking about what we’ve shared and the connection we’ve made despite the horror of this new life.
“You find it funny?” Juliette seethes. “She finds it funny!”
The other girls taunt and growl.
“No! No, I don’t.” I seek out the cameras in the corners of the room. I wish I could tell them. How kind, how unlike the others he is. That he’s in this for the long haul to undermine EV, but that it takes time.
But what have you done? Nothing. I flinch at my own thoughts.
When I look around the box of a room with tiny beds and women barely holding on, I can’t believe I did so little.
Coward.
“You probably think he’ll save you again tomorrow night,” another girl snips.
I shake my head, moving toward my old bed. “I told him not to. I don’t want to be saved over you.”
Juliette cackles, and the hair on my arms rises at her condescending tone. “You think he’ll listen to you. He’s a powerful congressman, and you’re nothing but red-headed trash.”
Okay. This is getting ridiculous. I sit on my bed. “Whatever, Juliette.”
She looks past me, her chin raising just enough to catch my attention. But before I hear the shuffling of feet, a shadow stretches in my periphery. There’s a quick dip to the bed, a sharp laugh, and then my head snaps back as my hair is yanked. It’s forceful and stings.
“Hey!” I cry, but then another set of hands pushes me off the bed, and I tumble to the floor. My shoulder slams into the bedrail of the bed beside mine, jarring a hiss. I twist, but the fingers still caught in my hair yank my head back again.
Juliette’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Thought you could just walk in here like you didn’t hang us out to dry?”
Another girl slaps my cheek, her breath sour as she breathes a “yeah” across my face.
I stagger upward, feet scraping the jagged concrete.
The girls circle me, and a fist jabs into my ribs.
Then another lands on my cheekbone. The brutal thud cracks near my eye socket, and white explodes behind my eyelids.
Needle-like pain radiates out, and I stumble back into the corner of the room, shrinking to the floor once again.
“Okay. Juliette that’s enough,” a girl says.
“Enough? It’s not nearly enough. She took what was supposed to be mine!”
My vision splits as I’m kicked in the side of the head, and the yells and screams morph into a muffled slog.
“Stop! That’s enough.” It seems to be the only voice of dissent in the room.
Pressure blooms deep in my side, and my pulse runs away with itself, galloping with the need to fight back. Swing. Punch. Something …
But I do nothing. I stop trying to explain my way out.
Not because I’m brave, but because part of me thinks—good, I deserve this.
Each shove, every cruel word—it’s not their fault.
They’ve been conditioned and broken. Can I blame them for needing an outlet to release their pain and devastation? I let them down.
In a convoluted way, it makes sense.
I’d hate me too.
Cradling my head, I thread my fingers together at the nape of my neck.
There’s a ringing in my ears as several more kicks land.
I think back to the dock, the lake, but even those thoughts roil my stomach.
Instead, I transport myself back to my old room, in the worn house, and for the first time in a long time I think of Phil.
Is this what he saw for me, and chose it anyway?
Or was he manipulated? Fed some lies about the “safety” of his daughter and decided he didn’t love me enough to warrant any more questions.
The sound of steel grating over rock trickles in through the grunts and cracks connecting to my bones. Shouts and movement, then nothing.
I peek out from the defensive ball I’ve shoved myself into in the corner. The girls have backed off, their eyes glassy, mouths set into bloodless thin lines, ire dripping from their expressions.
Before I can move, a rough, deft hand latches onto my upper arm and yanks me up. Pain shoots through my shoulder as it drags me upright, and I let out a whimper, to which Juliette smirks, her upper lip curling. “Saved again, huh?”
I don’t have time to meet the faces of the other girls as I’m hauled out the door, feet slipping, trying to find a balance on my wobbly legs.
“Get moving,” he mutters. My head lolls back as I try to get a good look at the man. I recognize him … it’s the guard from the night Slade took me home. He escorted me to the limo.
“Knox,” I croak, and his iron grip digs harder into the flesh of my arm. He drags me through the dim hallway, every few steps glancing toward the cameras pointed in our direction. We weave through hallways I’d forgotten about until we’re in the one with all the rooms.
He opens the door to one and, without a word, pushes me inside. My arm drops to my side, and I bend forward, sweaty hands fighting to stay braced over my knees.
“You’re to stay in here until Market tomorrow,” he says. Then he looks at the camera on the back wall. Lips barely parting, he whispers, “He can’t get you out right now. He has to play by the rules.”
I attempt to stand, wincing in pain, and palm my ribs. “No. He promised.”
Knox’s pierced brow darts up, but he doesn’t respond.
“He promised,” I mutter again. Then, rubbing at the spot on my arm where he held me, I sidestep to lean against the papered wall.
“Slade has asked Graves for you to stay here until Market.”
I look around the empty room. It’s just like before, with no furniture.
Knox follows my gaze and grimaces. “I’ll see if I can get you a pillow. You’ll be picked up in the morning for prep.”
“Take me back,” I say. “Please.”
“I can’t do that. I have to go.” Then he shuts the door, and I hear the electronic lock click into place.
Tears spring to my eyes as I limp toward the door and attempt to open it.
Dang it!
I don’t want special treatment. Or maybe this is EV’s way of keeping me alive to make more money tomorrow at the Market? But he promised.
The silence is thick and the room lights bright, which somehow feels worse than the darkened room with yelling girls. It feels wrong to be alone and relatively safe for the night.
I thought I was going to do more. That being stuck with Slade meant I could help get the other girls out or turn EV on its head with a statewide dismantling. While I was falling for Slade, they were being paraded under crystal lights. Still being sold.
Piper. Did I miss chances to contact her? She seems like someone who might believe me when I accuse some of the most affluent men in Chicago.
I told myself I was surviving—when the guilt was too much—but maybe I was too complacent. I’m not sure if there’s anything I can do to make it right.