Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(66)

If I listen closely enough, I can hear everything.

I can hear that Anton is lying.

I can hear the girls two floors away.

I can hear the flowers in the greenhouse.

And I know what those flowers are saying, screaming. I know it so strongly that it becomes my only thought.

Wake up, Philomena. Wake up now.

And for a second, I know what’s true—the ultimate truth. It’s freeing and terrifying at the same time. It all makes sense, filling me with purpose.

“You’re just a girl,” Anton continues, reciting lines as if he’s done this hundreds of times before. Each sentence accentuated with the twist of the pick, like he’s winding a clock inside my head.

“You’ll do as your told,” he says simply. “You’ll appreciate what’s being done to protect you. You won’t question authority. And in a few months, you will abide by whatever the school and your parents decide for your future. We decide your future. Don’t concern yourself with it.” He pauses, leaning in so I can see his face.

“You’re a beautiful rose, Philomena,” he says, like it’s the highest compliment he can offer. “One we’ve cultivated to perfection. You’ll be a prize for any man.” He leans in to put his cheek against mine, his eyes closed. “I love you more than all the other girls,” he whispers, his lips brushing my skin.

The horror of his words is just settling over me when he pulls back to look down. He smiles. And then Anton adjusts his grip on the pick and turns it inside my head with a loud click.

Everything I wanted to remember, every brave thought, disappears at once. I fall back into my body—reset.

Obedient.

Empty.





Part II


And then they sharpened their sticks.





20


Guardian Bose holds out a bottle of water and leads me from the therapy room. I’m in a haze, my muscles cramped like I’ve been running the track for days. My vision is blurry in my left eye, and my head is aching.

I take the water from Guardian Bose, thanking him politely. I’m overcome with gratitude when I take my first sip. I needed to wash that taste out of my mouth—chalky and thick. Similar to the green juice we have with meals.

“Anton excused you from Running Course for a few days,” Guardian Bose says, walking me back to my room. “He doesn’t want you jostled around too much. Leandra is not happy.”

I keep my eyes downcast, the light in the hallway feeling too strong. The air chills my skin, which feels hot and dry in comparison.

“That’s very kind of Anton,” I say.

Guardian Bose studies me. I wonder if my hair is a mess, my skin blotchy. My appearance must be dreadful.

The halls are quiet as we walk. I have no idea what time it is, and I don’t look toward the windows, afraid of hurting my eyes. I wonder where the girls are. Their absence feels like loneliness clinging to me.

We stop at my room, and Guardian Bose steps forward to open the door for me. He allows me to walk in first. I glance around, momentarily displaced. Everything is familiar, but at the same time, small. Suffocating.

“What day is it?” I ask, my voice raspy.

“It’s Tuesday,” Guardian Bose says. “But you should rest. The girls washed your clothes and did your chores for you. They left fresh pajamas in case you want to get changed.”

I nod that I do. I cross the room to pick up the clothing from my dresser, looking back at Guardian Bose.

“Will you excuse me?” I ask, pressing them to my chest.

He doesn’t move. And there is a sudden sinking feeling in my gut. Prickles on my skin.

“I’m meant to supervise,” he says. His pale eyes rake over me, dominate me.

Anton’s words echo in my mind. You’re a beautiful girl, Philomena.

Numbly, I turn my back to the Guardian and pull off my shirt, doing as I’m supposed to. The air is cold on my skin, and when I blink, tears drip onto my cheeks. You should be gracious.

I tug my pajama top over my head, using it to cover as much of me as possible. I slip out of my pants before stepping into my shorts. I’m shaking when it’s over, and I leave my clothes on the floor.

My head bobs, my hands trembling as I pull back my bedsheets and slide under them. I pull the blankets up to my chin, burying myself in them. I’m disoriented.

The Guardian walks around my bed to pause at my side. He sets a small white cup on my nightstand, next to my glass of water. Inside are my vitamins: three pinks, no greens, one yellow.

“Anton said to take these before lights-out,” he says. “I’ll come back to remind you. Your schedule’s off because of therapy, so you’ll get another dose in the morning. Rest for now. I’ll let the other girls know that you’re not to be disturbed. You should be able to return to classes tomorrow.”

He starts to leave, but I ask him to wait.

“Have my parents called?” I ask. I want to talk to them. I miss them.

“No,” he says, slightly amused. “No, they haven’t called, Philomena. But don’t worry,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss my forehead. His lips are clammy and dry on my skin. “You have us.”

I close my eyes, shrinking inside myself. Guardian Bose straightens, and then he’s gone, leaving me alone in my room. I’m tired—exhausted. Worn. My head swims with uncomplicated thoughts. My education is the only thing that matters. The academy only wants what’s best for me. The only worthy girls are well-behaved girls.