The Last Housewife (64)
It was a small, homey space, with a black-and-white checkerboard floor. In the corner, Katie was curled into a ball, rocking.
“Are you okay?” I flew to her, falling to my knees. She was still naked, though she’d draped her dress over her body like a blanket.
She jerked back. Her whole body was streaked with blood; she reeked of it. Some of it was hers—a bleeding lip, and dark bruises already forming from all those hands.
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “Let me get a washcloth.”
“I’m fine,” she said, wiping at her eyes and sitting taller. “Really. Please, I’m embarrassed.”
I rose anyway and pulled a towel off the stove, running it under warm water. “Can I?” I gestured at her arms.
She crossed them over her chest. “I’m just emotional because that was such an experience. So enlightening.”
“Mmm. Well, it feels better to be clean, so…”
She held my gaze, and for a moment, I was sure she’d deny me. Then finally, she nodded. “I guess. Thank you.”
I worked the towel, gently removing blood while she hissed and squeezed her eyes shut. I returned again and again to the sink, until the towel was stained pink and she was scrubbed clean.
“I really am embarrassed,” she said softly. “I swear I wasn’t upset.”
“Can I get you something to eat?” I couldn’t stop looking at her protruding bones.
She shook her head, probably hoping I’d go away now, but I sat on the floor next to her. “Katie, when the Marquis said you were his special daughter, what did he mean?”
She blinked, then offered me a tight-lipped smile. “I’m his. I can’t belong to any other Pater. It’s an honor.”
“Who told you about the Pater Society?”
She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
A different tack, then. “Do you like it?”
At this, she straightened immediately. “Of course.”
“Katie.” My words came out clipped. “Are you a Whitney student?”
She blinked. “Why do you ask?”
She was. The president of Whitney, and one of his own students.
“Are there other Whitney students who are daughters?”
She eyed me warily—and then, without warning, her face fell. “I never do anything right. That’s why he chose me as Eve. They say it’s an honor, but it was a punishment.”
I wanted to press her on the Marquis, but I knew better. “What made you join?” I asked instead. She looked hesitant, so I added, thinking of what Nicole had said: “Between us girls, it was the perks for me. All the fancy parties and presents.”
To my surprise, her eyes filled with tears. “My mom lost her job, and I was going to get kicked out of school. I didn’t know what else to do, and then I met the Marquis. He saved me.”
The pieces locked together. “Katie, is he covering your tuition?”
She gave a slight nod and another watery smile. “I owe him everything.”
The sheer audacity. It would create such an obvious paper trail.
“But—” Her eyes tracked to the door, as if someone would burst in. “At first it was just sex. Now it’s more like tonight. And he wants me all the time.” She looked at me hopefully. “How do I make him happy? What do you do?”
“You’re saying the Marquis is making you do things you don’t want to do.”
She touched her fingers to the bruises on her knees. “I just have to get used to it.”
I clutched her hands. “Katie, it doesn’t matter what he’s giving you. You have to leave him.”
She jerked back, staring at me in shock. “What? I can’t.”
So young. “Come with me, right now. We’ll go together.”
“No. I like it here. Really, I’m grateful.”
“Katie—”
“They’ll find me if I run.” She shook her head violently. “I don’t want to be like the others.”
“What others?”
She curled into herself and looked at me with wide eyes full of fear. “The ones they send to the Hilltop,” she whispered. “The girls who never come back.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I stood in Jamie’s shower and let the scalding water wash away the stench of iron. Blood curled down my legs, snaking through the drain.
Don’t remember, I warned myself. Not a single second.
But when I closed my eyes, there she was: Katie, rocking on the floor. A convert at war with herself, just like we’d been. She’d made mistakes, but she didn’t deserve this. She was young, and now she would be scarred forever. Now even the shape of her mind would never be the same.
I laid my forehead against the tile.
For the rest of her life, she would be a mystery to herself. Hungry for the things that hurt her.
The water lanced my skin, hot as a strike from a whip.
There would never be another antagonist more insidious than her own mind.
A phantom hand brushed my leg. My throat throbbed where the pearl necklace had bitten into me. I touched it, feeling each perfect, round indentation, hearing the man’s voice: You’re here… Which means you’re exactly like the rest of us.