Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(67)

And when I finally drift to sleep, I don’t dream.

? ? ?

There is a soft knock on my door, stirring me awake. I’m still shaking, although it’s more subtle now. Sydney pokes her head into the room and studies me, waiting for my reaction before saying anything.

She’s a breath of fresh air, and I smile. I’ve missed her so much.

I nod for her to come in and she does just that. I fold back my covers and she gets in next to me, pulling me into a hug. She holds me and says it’s been miserable here without me.

“I know it’s still early,” she says, “but I have something for you. A book. When you’re ready, I’ll bring it over.”

“Okay,” I say, not sure what she’s talking about. She sniffles, and her voice shakes as she holds back her cry.

“I was lost without you,” she whispers. “I thought you’d left me. I thought you were gone forever.”

“I would never leave you,” I say, knowing it’s true. “Not ever.”

“Anton called me into his office a little while ago,” she says as if measuring her words. “He told me you’d just completed impulse control therapy because you were distraught over Lennon Rose. He asked if I heard any rumors about her departure.”

She rests her cheek on the top of my head. “I had to lie,” she says quietly. “I told him I only knew what he announced at breakfast. I wasn’t sure what you’d told him, Mena. I was so scared. And then he made me promise not to bring it up to you. But . . . what happened? What happened in impulse control therapy?”

I don’t know what Sydney is talking about. I wasn’t there when Lennon Rose left, but I know it was her time to leave. I’m happy for her.

“I don’t remember my therapy,” I say. Sydney’s posture tightens. I ask if she’s okay, and she smiles and hugs me again.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she says quickly. “You just got back. Valentine said you’d need rest before you remembered.” She sits up and looks at the vitamins on my dresser. Her eyes flick to mine.

“Don’t take those,” she whispers. I look at her questioningly, and she checks the doorway as if the Guardian will be standing there. She moves closer to me.

“The pills make you forget,” she says. “Tell the Guardian you already took them. But from now on, don’t swallow down any of them. No matter what. Understand?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. Before I can argue, Sydney swipes the cup of vitamins from my dresser. She goes into to the bathroom, and I hear the toilet flush. I sit up, a little dizzy when I do.

“Why did you do that?” I ask her when she comes back in the room and sets the empty cup on my nightstand.

“You’ll understand tomorrow,” she promises. “But if Bose asks, you took your vitamins. You took all of them.”

“Fine,” I say, worried. I hope she doesn’t get me in trouble.

Sydney reaches over to ease me back into the bed, and then she tucks the covers all around me. She watches me and I see a hundred questions on her lips, but she presses them into a smile instead.

“I love you, Philomena,” she says.

“I love you too.”

She nods, seeming sad, and backs toward the door.

Once she’s gone, I stare up at the ceiling. I’m not as tired as I was before. Instead, I’ve grown a bit restless. I curl up on my side, about to put my hand under my cheek when I notice a small scratch on my palm. My eyes widen as I examine it—worried, but also fascinated. It’s mostly healed, a soft red line barely the length of a fingernail. I don’t think it’ll scar, but . . . I don’t remember hurting myself. I would have gone directly to the doctor.

Maybe it happened during impulse control therapy. Anton must have missed it or he would have grafted over it. I try to remember then, try really hard to figure out what happened that led me to therapy.

Lennon Rose left the school, but I was happy for her. I pause. Then why did Anton tell Sydney that I was distraught over her departure? I’m content.

Instead of remembering my therapy, I’m met with physical pain—a loneliness that’s so deep, it causes me to groan and grip my chest. Not just loneliness, I realize. Fear. Panic.

My head is dizzy, my thoughts loud and swarming—overwriting each other, but none of them making sense. I hold both sides of my head, trying to steady myself. It’s like I’m standing and spinning as fast as I can, ready to tumble over.

I grit my teeth and press harder until the thoughts start to calm. When they’re finally quiet, I take a deep breath. Tears drip onto my cheeks involuntarily, falling on their own and connected to nothing. It’s like my heart and my mind are at odds with each other. One remembers while the other has forgotten.

The strangest thought occurs to me—a book. What book would Sydney have that I’d want to see? There’s something there, something scratching at my brain. I lie back in my pillows, my mind searching, but ultimately coming up empty.

? ? ?

There’s a knock on my door in the morning, and I sit up as the Guardian enters. He came by my room last night at lights-out, but I did as Sydney suggested and told him that I took the vitamins already. I couldn’t get her into trouble by saying she threw them away. The Guardian didn’t question it.