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“What others?”
She curled into herself and looked at me with wide eyes full of fear. “The ones they send to the Hilltop,” she whispered. “The girls who never come back.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I stood in Jamie’s shower and let the scalding water wash away the stench of iron. Blood curled down my legs, snaking through the drain.
Don’t remember, I warned myself.Not a single second.
But when I closed my eyes, there she was: Katie, rocking on the floor. A convert at war with herself, just like we’d been. She’d made mistakes, but she didn’t deserve this. She was young, and now she would be scarred forever. Now even the shape of her mind would never be the same.
I laid my forehead against the tile.
For the rest of her life, she would be a mystery to herself. Hungry for the things that hurt her.
The water lanced my skin, hot as a strike from a whip.
There would never be another antagonist more insidious than her own mind.
A phantom hand brushed my leg. My throat throbbed where the pearl necklace had bitten into me. I touched it, feeling each perfect, round indentation, hearing the man’s voice:You’re here… Which means you’re exactly like the rest of us.
Even if she managed to run, she would never escape.
The tears came without warning. Years of careful control, and suddenly there was nothing standing between me and the grief. I sobbed, shoulders shaking.
The bathroom door cracked open, and Jamie’s voice filled the room. “Shay, what’s wrong?”
I turned and slid down the wall, clutching my face.
“Hey.” His voice was tortured. “Let me help.”
There was a moment in which the world was nothing but hot water, my chest heaving, the cold tile at my back; then the shower door opened and Jamie crouched next to me, arms circling me, pulling me close.
I clutched him, and he stroked my back, murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Water soaked his clothes, running down both our faces.
Time passed, but neither of us moved. Eventually my crying turned into rasping breaths, and the water ran cold. Jamie brushed his lips over my forehead and said, “Hold on.”
He let go of me, cut the water, and left the shower, coming back with a towel he rubbed through my hair, smoothing my face. “Arms up,” he said, and when I lifted them, he wrapped the towel around me and scooped me to his chest, carrying me out of the bathroom. Over his shoulder I watched the trail of wet footprints. He laid me gently on the bed.
“I’m supposed to sleep on the floor,” I said.
He lay down on the other side, facing me.
“You’re soaking wet.”
He smiled. “So are you.”
His blue shirt was drenched, nearly black. It clung to his chest. His hair hung over his forehead, a bead of water dripping down his temple.
I reached over and brushed the water with my thumb. When I took my hand back, he mirrored me, his hand finding my face and cupping it, his palm the warmest part of me.
“Is it Cal?” he asked.
“No.”
Jamie drew his hand back. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been held like that. I wanted to stay in this bubble, but I knew I needed to tell him the truth. He’d hear the recording soon enough when he sat down to transcribe it.
“I let a man touch me.”
