Violet Grenade(17)

I'd vowed never to let anyone touch me again.

Until now, apparently.

Taking in the ornate gold mirrors and rich red paint, I find myself feeling grossly inferior. The furniture is such a deep chocolate that I can taste the color sliding down my throat. And the wallpaper isn't like the kind downstairs. This sort reflects the shadows our bodies make as we move across the space, while in other areas it appears velvet to the touch. She points to a set of wingback chairs, black with gold stitching. When I sit, my body sighs with pleasure. It solidifies my longing to one day decorate my own room with, on second thought, a heavy hand.

"Do you like the house?" Ms. Karina sits across from me, crossing one long leg over the other. The skin is loose on her calves, but appears soft to the touch.

I sit up straighter. "I do. It's nice."

Ms. Karina cocks her head like she's turning that word over in her mind, nice. In the end, she grimaces, like she's found it lacking. My muscles clench like I've failed an unimportant test, but a test all the same. 

"This place seems almost magical, like you said," I try again. "And this room is fit for a movie star."

Ms. Karina leans forward at my praise, and a blush rises in her cheeks like summer tomatoes ripe for plucking. "Why, what a beautiful thing to say. Though you must be exaggerating." She glances around the room, trying to see her surroundings through my eyes. I tuck a leg beneath me and lean forward, too.

"No, really. It's insane," I go on. "Those drapes look like they cost a fortune, and that vanity … ?"

Ms. Karina stays quiet, silently urging me to continue.

"I mean, I can totally see an actress brushing her hair there before she goes onstage. And all the throw pillows, the bedposts, the mirrors-I can tell you're classy."

Ms. Karina laughs. She covers her stomach with one hand and her mouth with the other, and she laughs. The sound rushes inside me like I'm a stray cat who's happened upon a birdbath. I lap up the noise thirstily and long for more.

"I like you, Domino. You feel familiar." She flinches like maybe she's said too much. "But let's get to it, shall we?"

Some of the nerves I entered the room with have gone. Now I'm excited to hear what she has to say.

"Each group of girls has a Point. That's who you'll speak with each morning to get your assignment. Assignments range from cleaning the floors to doing the wash to room searches. It can be anything the Point Girl feels needs to be done, really. If you progress to a new group of girls, there will be different chores. The Carnation Point is Mercy. It used to be Raquel, but she wasn't up to the job."

I think about how quick Mercy was to attack Raquel for dismissing me from their room. Maybe she was telling the truth when she said she wasn't doing me a favor. Maybe she was simply cementing her leadership among the girls.

"As you've probably noticed, each girl wears a flower. Carnations live on the first floor, the Daisies on the second, and Tulips on the third. Behind the main house are two guesthouses. The one to the left is reserved for the Lilies, and the one to the right is for the Violets. You will not, under any circumstance, go into those houses."

Ms. Karina shakes her head, and I find myself shaking my own along with her.

"It's a sign of respect, Domino. Those girls worked very hard to have a place of their own, and it would be rude to violate their privacy unless you were invited inside. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Of course you do." She walks to her window and gazes out. "I saw you noticing the garden outside. My mother loved it very much. I think maybe she loved it more than she did me." Ms. Karina laughs, but there's no humor behind it. "She used to line these flowers up in neat rows according to which pleased her best, and every year they bloomed she would act as if she performed a miracle."

She checks to see if I'm listening, seemingly wary to continue. When she notes how I'm hanging on every word, she returns her gaze to the garden. "Mother only ever cut the flowers on our birthdays. She would choose her favorite for my sister. Not me, though." She flicks her fingers toward the garden as if she's remembering the blossoms greedily soaking up the sun. "I got the flowers from the first row. Always the first row. Always the ones she didn't care about."

I swallow, unsure of what to say.

"Do you know why I'm telling you this?" she asks.

I shake my head though she isn't looking at me.

"All my flowers are important to me, Domino. This house, it's my garden now. I make it grow, and I love my blooms the same." Now she does look at me. "But it's not always about what I find beautiful. Other people come to see my flowers, too."