She shakes her head. “He doesn’t.”
“Of course he does. Every time you were sick, he would barely step outside your bedroom, let alone leave you.” I letout a humorless laugh. “I may know nothing about you, but I do know Parker, and so do you. He’d never abandon you. Have a little faith. Has he let you down before?”
Rose grimaces. “Can you just let me take your blood? McGregor says he needs it.”
I exhale. “Fine. But don’t get any blood on my dress or Anna will kill me.”
Rose grabs her bag, and we sit on the sofa while she takes six vials of my blood. When she’s done, she pulls the needle from my skin and I wince.
“Thanks,” she grunts and shoves the vials of blood into the pocket at the front of her hoodie. Troubled thoughts tumble around in her bleak onyx gaze. “Get on with your life. And stay away from those police.” She storms toward the front door and halts, frowning at the handle. Her sharp gaze flickers to mine. “I’ll need to travel from here. Now that you’re being watched…” She shakes her head, cursing under her breath.
Silence stretches between us. “Will you at least tell me where he is?” I ask, and she stiffens.
“Somewhere he can’t hurt you.”
“Parker would never hurt me,” I state.
“Every second we spend with you, in a time that isn’t ours,we are hurting you.” Squaring her shoulders, she closes her eyes and lowers her head, drawing a deep breath past her full lips.
I rush toward her. “I don’t believe that.” Ican’taccept I won’t see Parker until Neurovida. “Rose, wait. When am I recruited? Please tell me. Just this once,pleasegive me a straight answer.” I grab her forearm. “Please?”
Rose studies me for a long moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Two years. You won’t see him againuntil then.” With a sad smile, she closes her eyes and disappears, my medication bottle forgotten on the hallway table behind her.
On the way to the ball, the limousine stops intermittently along the river as planned. Anna pulls me into a few photos with the rest of the group before I slip away and stroll beside the frozen river, the city lights twinkling in the distance.
Two years.
Two years until I’ll need to decide. Psychology or Neurovida. Two more years of waiting, as I’ve spent my adult life to date. Waiting those agonizing years to leave the toxic environment of boarding school. Waiting for Silas to let me in. Waiting to start college. Waiting to become a psychologist. To find out what happened to my mother. Waiting to be recruited to Neurovida.
And then? When am I going to stop waiting and live my life? Really live it, without fear or hesitation? How many times have Rose and Parker told me to live my life to the fullest? How many times has Anna?
I can’t keep waiting. Ineedto make a change, and it needs to be now. I won’t spend the next two years waiting for Parker, or Neurovida, consumed by dreams and nightmares. If I want a chance at a normal life, I need to start now.
I spend the night drinking, dancing and laughing with Anna. By the end of the night, my feet are aching from hours of assault in high heels. After sitting at a table watching Anna make out with a random guy on the dance floor for three songs, I grab my coat and stroll home alone.
29Rose
Four months later
I stay in bed all day, unable to muster the energy to get up. To eat. To travel. To do anything other than stare at my ceiling and drift in and out of sleep. Once the sun’s set, I travel to the tiny broom closet that shares a corridor with McGregor’s office, cutting my palm on something sharp while scrambling for the light switch.
“Shit,” I mutter, wiping the blood on my sleeve.
I stride past a row of closed office doors to McGregor’s lab, expecting to find him in his pompous white coat and oversized safety goggles, extracting antibodies from Ella’s blood. Or scribbling indecipherable notes into the margins of his journal. But his shiny lab sits remarkably empty, his equipment covered and tucked away. Continuing along the hallway, I reach McGregor’s office and frown at the fountain pen snug in its leather stand and the closed journal in the center of his desk.
“Rose,” McGregor says, slipping on the beige cardigan habitually draped across the back of his chair.
I stride forward, scanning him for hidden injuries. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t work tonight,” he says, sliding the stolen journal into his suitcase.
“What?”
“I have a life outside of these walls, Rose,” he says in a flat voice. I don’t mention the fact that we worked through Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter.
“The fuck you do. We had a deal. I get you the journal, you find the cure. You promised.”
“I promised to help you, not chain myself to this office every night for the rest of my life.” His blue gaze slides somewhere behind me, the twinkle leached from his irises. He exhales and his eyes close momentarily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
