I'm shaking from head to foot, and tears are slipping down my cheeks, tainting Dizzy's shirt.
"We won't leave until you do." I can tell that she means it. That this will grow increasingly violent until someone gets seriously injured.
Won't be us, Wilson whispers from his bed.
Quiet!
I pull in one long, shuddering breath, and Mercy skips in place. She knows I'm going to do it.
"Give me the water," Raquel tells the girl whose finger I bit.
"There isn't much left," the girl replies. "God, she really bit me. I probably have rabies."
"Shut up." Raquel reaches for the glass, one hand still on my throat. The girl hands it to her. "Open up, deary."
I fill my head with things that are good: crunchy leaves falling from trees and a green lizard hiding in a lilac bush. Ducks eating bread thrown from my hand and a train speeding down its tracks, both wild and contained at once. Also, my father. My father shaving his patchy beard and spreading butter on my half-burned toast. My father watching the Patriots play, pointing his hot dog at the screen to make a point the ref can't hear.
My father, there.
My father, gone.
I think of him, because I cannot think of my mother.
I open my mouth, and the water rushes down my throat. One full swallow before I gag and spit out the remainder. Lukewarm liquid rushes over my cheeks and washes away my tears. It swims in my eyes and shoots up my nose, stinging. Above everything else, here's what I think: it tastes the same as water from the sink.
And then Mercy grabs my chin and lifts my face to hers. "Stay away from our clients."
The girl with blue painted toenails throws the rest of the water across my chest, drenching Dizzy's shirt. I'm not sure why, but that's the thing that pushes me over the edge. I jump to my feet, deciding in a careless moment that I'll let Wilson free. There are other ways of making money, and I don't need this. What's more, I'm positive I'm not the only one they've done this to.
When the girls see the look on my face, they sober.
I take two steps toward them, quick, my brain buzzing with nothingness, and then I slip on the wet floor. I fall onto my injured side, and my hip sings with pain.
The girls roll with laughter.
They laugh all the way to the far wall, where they flip the light switch and leave me in the dark. They laugh all the way to their beds as Wilson edges closer.
You almost let me come out, he chances.
I don't answer him because he's right, and there's nothing I can say to convince him or me otherwise. I almost caved. I almost blacked out. I almost let Wilson do my bidding.
Maybe I should have.
Chapter Sixteen
Fists of Silence
The next morning, I debate whether to tell Madam Karina what happened. In the end, I go with my earlier instinct and decide against it. Maybe it's because I don't want her to think I'm a problem, or maybe it's because I don't like relying on others to solve my problems. Either way, I stay quiet. But I do broach the subject with Poppet once Candy has left the room.
"The other Carnations are giving me a hard time," I admit.
Poppet has her back to me, but I don't miss the way she flinches. "It doesn't mean they don't like you."
"That's exactly what it means."
She turns and faces me, tucks a curl behind her ear. "It takes time for them to warm up to new girls."
"It seems like more than that."
"Well … "
I flop down on my bed. "Well, what? Is there something you're not telling me?"
Poppet glances to the doorway like Mercy might be listening. When she's sure the girls are in the kitchen, she says, "The last girl who was here caused trouble for the madam. She had to leave. And I guess Madam Karina made a big show of saying she'd never bring in another girl unless she found someone perfect. Used to be girls came and went all the time. Least that's what I heard. But it had been almost a year and no one."
My eyes widen. "Until me."
"She must see something special in you." Poppet smiles past a blush. "I see it, too. You're nice. And pretty."
Though I despise that word, it doesn't cut as deeply coming from Poppet's mouth. "You think the girls are really worried I'll steal their clients?"
"Some of them. But I think most of us dream of something different."
My brow furrows. "What's that?"
"Top Girl. Highest of the Violets."
There's that title again. "What does the Top Girl get that others don't?"
"They bank all their profits, for one." Poppet gathers toiletries into a basket. "And I guess there are other things."