The Peer and the Puppet (When Rivals Play, #1) (23)
“That’s not quite how this happened,” I said once she dropped down. I ran the last couple hundred feet to the rope of sheet dangling from the window, and she groaned some more as she followed me. “We just have to get through the window, and we’re home free.” I ignored the burning muscle in my arms as I climbed. It was nothing compared to the fear of another year here if I was caught.
At the top, I slid open the window and flung my leg over the sill just as I heard the sound of Becca’s retching and footsteps approaching our door.
“Becca, someone’s coming,” I yelled down to her bent form. “Stay there.” She didn’t answer as another bout of retching rendered her speechless. I hastily pulled up the rope of sheets and shut the window before stuffing the sheets under Becca’s blanket. I barely had enough time to make the shape look human and get into bed before one of the attendings stuck her head inside. I’d pulled my own blanket up to my chin and shut my eyes, but I could feel the light she shone on my face. The light quickly passed, and I chanced opening an eye to see her flashlight now lingering on the lump. A few seconds later, the door creaked shut, and I waited until her footsteps faded before rushing to the window.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so,” she croaked.
I tied one end of the sheet around my bedpost before tossing it down.
“Fucking-A, Four! That was close.” She was panting as she sprawled on the floor.
I didn’t respond as I shed my leather jacket and peeled off black jeans before climbing back into bed.
Becca eventually picked herself up from the floor and mumbled something about never drinking again before dressing in her nightclothes and slipping into bed. “Thanks for tonight, Four, but if you don’t mind, I think tonight will be the last of my adventures.”
I chuckled, completely unsurprised that my prudent friend got her fill in one night. “I told you to slow down on the drinks.”
“Yeah, but that cutie with the glasses kept giving them to me so he could see my panties.”
“For sure,” I mumbled.
It wasn’t long before her drunken snores filled the silence. Sleep didn’t come as easily for me. Instead, I stared at the ceiling and wondered if I could survive another year in exile. I never believed in a million years that she’d go through with it—not when she took me to apply for a passport and not even when she had my things packed, but just days before my seventeenth birthday, Rosalyn sent me away.
Every phone call from home had gone ignored, and her letters remained unopened. When Thomas and Rosalyn showed up for Christmas, I refused to see them, and they hadn’t forced me. Up until a month ago, Rosalyn never gave up trying to get through to me, and in return, I mourned the daughter she deserved. A tear slipped from my eye as I wondered what the other three would have been like.
Obedient
Beautiful.
Kind.
Fate had dealt Rosalyn a cruel hand when it chose me.
I had a hell of a time dragging myself out of bed the next morning. Becca, suffering her first hangover, was even worse off. We were making our way to the computer lab to print off the materials we needed for class since we weren’t allowed personal laptops or cell phones. Even our social media and email accounts were suspended, not that I ever had one. We were completely cut off from the world as part of our ‘rehabilitation.’
“Miss Archer.” I turned to see Ms. Wendell, the head attending, quickly approaching until her thin frame towered over us. “Come,” she ordered, her German accent thick. I held in my groan. Because of her fire-red hair that she always wore in a French bun and her ferocious disposition, everyone called her the dragon.
“Why?”
Thin lips pinched together at my violation, and Becca attempted and failed to hold in her giggle. Rule One: We are never to question or argue with an attending. The attending was an all-female staff who made up the teachers, the counselors, the cooks, and the nurses at Natasha Madison’s School of Ladies.
“Mind your manners,” she hissed. She then shifted her focus to Becca. “I suggest you move along, Miss Wilson, or that’s five demerits.”
Becca squeaked, fearing her pristine record would be smudged, and skirted off without a word. I wordlessly followed behind the attending. My palms became sweaty when I saw where we were headed—Madame Madison’s office. No one ever saw the Madame unless they were in serious trouble.
“Wait here,” Ms. Wendell ordered before disappearing into Madame Madison’s office. Surprisingly, I had yet to see the inside of her office, but I imagined the walls were covered in blood, the floor with the skulls of her former students who couldn’t be reformed, and if you listened hard enough, you would still hear the screams of her victims. “She will see you now.”
I wondered if Madame Madison could smell fear.
The first thing I noticed when I trudged into her office was the floral wallpaper. A pristine white area rug covered most of the wooden floor. Music played softly from a speaker I couldn’t see, and along one wall was a board filled with pictures of countless girls in the burgundy and gray uniform.
“Good morning, Miss Archer.”
I looked at the woman behind the desk for the first time. The Madame had short blonde hair, warm blue eyes, and—I swallowed my laugh—a frilly pink shirt. She didn’t look at all like a woman in the business of stealing souls. “Morning.”