This Might Hurt(85)

The abandoned inside jokes, the lost laughs, the late-night discussions—I’d thrown away my friendships with April and Georgina over nothing.

Anger stirred my gut as I paced the second-floor corridor of Teacher’s house a few minutes before midnight. Just because I didn’t see any cameras didn’t mean they weren’t there. On the wall was an oil painting inspired by Munch—a bald woman clutched the sides of her head, face melting, mouth frozen in a shriek. The painting was disturbing enough on its own, made worse by the fact there were six copies of it, three on each side of the hallway. Every time you had a one-on-one with Teacher, you had to walk past the sextuplets with their haunting eyes. Maybe they were a reminder to face our fears—or what would happen if we didn’t.



* * *



? ? ?

I REACHED FOR my own bald head, still not used to it. Teacher had said this was one more way to sever our connections to the past. If I had no hair I couldn’t pull it out. Sometimes I missed the warmth on my neck or the messy bun piled atop my head. I missed matching my hair to my mood. I missed feeling pretty. Plenty of women with buzzed hair were gorgeous, but I was no Natalie Portman. I didn’t need a mirror to confirm the cut was bad for me. I just knew.

Pretty is frivolous, I chided myself. A fear of rejection.

I was waiting to be summoned into a spare bedroom that Sofia used to treat ailing guests. An exam table with leg stirrups stood in the center, surrounded by three rolling cabinets packed with medical supplies. In the corner were crutches that had never been used. Teacher kept the medicines in a locked cabinet in her office. No one could say Wisewood was unprepared in case of an emergency.

I pressed my ear to the door, heard shuffling and hushed tones, but nothing that would give me any clues. I wished Teacher would tell us ahead of time what our quests were; not knowing bred anxiety. Probably this was a pre-quest test. We had to be unafraid before the q’s and during them.

A quiet knock at the door made me jump.

“Kit,” a voice said. “Knock back when you’re ready.”

I stood tall and thumped. On the other side was Sofia, buzzing with excitement. Behind her the room was dim, lit by a handful of candles. I stepped inside.

They had moved the exam table to the front of the room. Pillows covered the rest of the floor: two neat rows of three. On each pillow kneeled an IC member: Gordon, Ruth, and Debbie in the first row; Sanderson, Raeanne, and Jeremiah in the second.

“Kit, welcome to your q2. You will now begin”—Sofia paused dramatically—“the Quest of Pain.”

My insides heaved.

“Throughout life we all suffer emotional pain, but there is physical pain as well. Pain is a fact, an inevitability.” Sofia cocked her head. “Or is it?”

She leaned uncomfortably close. “Want me to go first? I’d die to take mine again.”

All I could manage was a terse shake of the head.

Sofia shrugged and handed me a kernel of plastic. “You’re supposed to put this in your ear.”

“For what?” I examined the earbud before sticking it in my right ear.

“Just in case. I need you to get on my table now.”

My entire body trembled. I climbed onto the exam table and lay on my back.

“Pain is a choice,” Sofia said to the rest of the group. “Research has shown that pain is exaggerated by fear. If you’re relaxed and believe whatever you’re about to go through won’t be painful, then you’ll feel none or only a tiny fraction of the pain you’d experience if you were afraid. Therefore, the key to ridding ourselves of pain is to first face our fears.”

Sofia lowered her voice. “Roll onto your stomach.”

I flipped over and rested my forehead on the backs of my hands. Sofia washed up at the sink in the corner, then pulled on latex gloves.

Have you lost your mind? Nat popped into my head. Get the fuck out of there.

A different voice filled my right ear. “What on Earth is Jeremiah doing?”

Teacher.

I lifted my head and glanced at my peers on their knees. In the second row Jeremiah wobbled. I couldn’t answer Teacher even if I’d known what to say—I only had a receiver, no microphone. I pictured her sitting in her office, Mom’s scarf wrapped around her neck. She’d started to wear it daily.

Raeanne flashed Jeremiah a dirty look, leaning out of his path as he swayed toward her. “For Pete’s sake.”

“Dude, are you okay?” Sanderson said, brow wrinkled.

Jeremiah tipped forward onto his hands and knees. “Sorry. I need a minute.”

“Do you have low blood sugar?” Sofia rushed to his side.

He waved her off. “I get squeamish easily. Don’t worry about me.”

Sofia lit up. “A quick dive in the ocean would revive all our spirits.” She peered around for any takers, found none.

“We need to stick to the plan,” Gordon said.

“How we gonna do that if this lily liver passes out?” Raeanne grumbled.

“Leave him alone,” Ruth warned as she squeezed Debbie’s shoulder—the cook was watching Jeremiah with tears in her eyes.

No-touching rule, I thought involuntarily.

“Ignore me and keep going, guys,” Jeremiah said.

I might have found such a dramatic reaction panic inducing, but he didn’t know what was coming either. He’d never been to a q2.