The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(26)

“I know,” Owen said from behind me, and I turned.

“You don’t know,” I seethed, the words tumbling out. “You don’t have any idea what it was like, what I had to go through to get us all out alive. And Tim! Did you even think to check him? I mean, how did you even do all this? How could you do all this? It wasn’t even your idea to go to Ashabee’s! How could you have known?!”

Owen took a step forward, his body language and facial expression pleading. “Violet, there are no words I could begin to use to let you know how sorry I am. You’re right—what I did was beyond wrong. I see that now. I should’ve…” He took a step back and looked away, hiding the shame burning brightly behind his eyes. “I should’ve seen it then,” he finally admitted hoarsely.

I fell silent, feeling the hot press of tears behind my eyelids and pushing them back. “I don’t even know if I can believe you.” The words were hard to get out, making my heart ache fiercely at what his decision had cost us.

“I know,” he replied hollowly. I saw something drop from his eyes and splatter on the floor, and I realized Owen was crying. That only made me want to cry more. I turned away, facing the tiles again, and clamped my teeth together, hovering between despair and wrath and wishing none of this had ever happened. If only so I could have my friend back.

“You need to tell everyone,” I said. “You need to tell them everything. I won’t lie for you. I won’t, and you shouldn’t expect me to.”

“Violet, I would never—”

“I don’t need your reassurances right now. Because right now, they mean nothing to me. You do this… you accept their punishment… and then… then we’ll see. But right now, I just… I just need you to let me process this.”

Owen shifted behind me. “Of course I’ll do it,” he said, after a moment. “I was already going to.”

“Good. You’ll have your chance at lunch. We’re having a meeting, and I expect you to tell them then.”

I didn’t wait for his reply. I didn’t think I could bear it if he started making excuses or trying to get out of it. I hated thinking that he even would, but that was where I was with him. I felt like I couldn’t even trust that the person he had been in the past was the person he actually was. It was unfair, yes, but it was how I felt.

Pushing past him, I walked out, making a beeline for Dr. Tierney’s room and closing the door behind me, just so that Owen wouldn’t be tempted to follow me. I inhaled a deep breath, and then turned, pausing when I saw Dr. Tierney leaning over Quinn’s bed, a sponge in her hand.

“Am I interrupting?” I asked, suddenly nervous.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll pull the curtains, but he’s sleeping. He doesn’t like it when I do it when he’s awake, although it’s more difficult this way.”

She dropped the sponge into a basin next to her, and then pulled on the curtain that some of the refugees had helped her rig to hang from the ceiling, blocking my view of Quinn’s bed. I tried to push away the image of the rows of sutures crisscrossing Quinn’s body, making him seem more like a patchwork doll than a human. I couldn’t—they would be forever imprinted on my mind, and it was heartbreakingly sad, in spite of his efforts to handle it with humor.

Moving over to the chair Owen had been in earlier, I dragged it over to the side of Tim’s bed and dropped into it. I settled back, adjusting my seat slightly, and then looked up at Tim, surprised to see his eyes open and watching me.

“Oh my God. Tim!”

I was up again in an instant, hovering over my brother’s head. He squinted up at me and then started to raise his hand, wincing when he pulled at the IV. “Violet? Where?” He cocked his head, studying me closer. “Hair?”

I reached up and touched my hair, frowning. “I… I got hurt at the palace. I’m okay, but… they needed to cut my hair for an operation. And we’re at a farmhouse in the country. We’re safe. Are you okay?”

He closed his eyes and then nodded. “Head hurts. Little… thirsty.”

“I can do something about that,” I said. I bent over to the little nightstand by his bed, picking up the glass jar filled with water that always seemed to be present in the sickroom, and poured some into a cup. I pulled out a straw from the drawer, slipping it into the cup, and then presented it to Tim with a flourish. “See? One glass of water.”

I pressed the straw to his lips, and he began to suck, drinking more than half the glass before he was satisfied. I set the cup back down on the nightstand and sank down on the bed next to him, being careful not to actually brush his legs with mine. He’d suffered enough skin damage from his condition already. “Tim, before Ashabee’s, what happened to you? I was so worried.”

Tim blinked, and then shifted slightly, easing himself up on the pillows. “At palace. I cover Jay. Thomas. Then… explosion. Wall fall. I… sleep. Wake up—still night. Crawl out. Wardens. Everywhere. Grabbing people. Dead. Injured. Put in trucks. Then barrels. Big red ones. Put in different truck. I run. Then… lost. No can call. I look for home, but… don’t find. Three days in forest. Eat corn. Apples. Stolen.”

He gave me a guilty look, and I shook my head at him, impressed all over again at his sweetness. “That’s okay,” I said. “You had to eat. How’d you get back to Ashabee’s?”