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Payton shrugged. “Why not kill yourself? Take some autonomy at least. Right?”
I rolled my eyes. “The sharp woman, with the black hair? Elise? She tried and failed. As for me, I’ll be honest, I never even thought of that. I’ve lived through a lot of stuff, and even through all that I never contemplated it. This is just one more thing to live through.”
Payton sighed wearily. “You’re stronger than I am, I guess.”
That caught me off guard. I’d never thought I was strong for not killing myself after all I’d lived through. If I had to dig in and give it a name, I’d have simply said I was too much of a coward to kill myself. Maybe I was a fighter though. Maybe.
Payton’s words stuck in my mind like a thorn and wouldn’t go away. I drifted back to what he said as I went about my day. During my reading time in the library with Bri, I wondered about how much control Sam truly had. Was it control that only fed on the housemates’ fear of him? Could he even shock us all at once? I didn’t remember ever seeing that happen. It had almost exclusively been one of us at a time.
Later, after lunch, I watched as Liam was forced to torture a woman to death. She’d apparently killed seven different foster children, or at least that’s what Sam told us.
What if Sam was lying? I knew the people who had hurt me, and Drake had known his, but I hadn’t yet had to torture a stranger. What if finding out I’d hurt and killed an innocent was to be a torment for me?
Through the sound of her wails and the squelch of blood and Liam’s dry heaving as he did what he was instructed, I thought about how we might be able to force Sam to let us out. It had to be possible.
That night, I barely slept. A thousand different ideas and plans circled through my mind. When the lights came on the next morning, I was weary from lack of sleep. That exhaustion was eclipsed by my excitement. Maybe the others had been keeping the same thoughts in their own minds, and all I needed to bring them out was mentioning them. It was dangerous, but so was living in this house. How long could this really go on?
At breakfast the next day, Payton was still mostly silent as he watched us all interact. He was probably thinking we were as crazy as I’d thought everyone else was those first days. None of this made any sense. It was only that we’d learned to live with it.
After finishing my own food, I nudged Drake. “Question. Has anyone ever gotten out of this place before?”
Drake dropped his fork and shook his head, eyeing me nervously. “Hush. Don’t talk about that,” he whispered.
“It’s a question. Nothing more,” I said, pressing him. “You’ve been here longer than any of us. You’d know.”
He sighed and looked over his shoulder like Sam might be standing there with a gun pointed to his head. Then he looked back at me. “No. Well, no one has tried to get out and lived to tell about it. That’s all I can say.”
“Are we really talking about this?” Bri asked; her face looked pensive as she too looked around the room, ready for some kind of punishment.
“Yes,” Payton said in a thin and strained voice. “We could start a rebellion. Fight our way out.”
Bong. “All housemates return to your rooms. You will be quartered there until tomorrow morning. No meals until then.”
“Fuck,” Liam hissed. “See what happens? God damn it.” He stood, but grabbed an apple and orange and shoved them into his pocket as he left.
The rest of us shuffled back to our rooms, but I noted that none of us were shocked as a warning. Was that because he didn’t think the violation warranted it, or was it because whatever technology he used couldn’t punish us all at the same time?
The day dragged on, and by the evening, I kicked myself for not grabbing something off the table like Liam had. I was starving, but that was a dull distant kind of discomfort compared to the thoughts that were swirling in my head. Even with the punishment, none of my disobedient thoughts stopped. If anything, it fed them.
The next morning, everyone was somber and quiet. Payton, having lived through his first deprivation, ate fast in quick neat bites. Even he had nothing to say about escape. As I ate, I wondered how best to bring the subject up again with everyone so worried about punishment.
After breakfast, I was sent back to the music room, and to my surprise, Drake walked in a few seconds after I got there. He gave me a thin smile and sat at the piano. He began playing again, and for a moment, my thoughts of rebellion vanished as I watched him play. It truly was beautiful.
He stopped abruptly and turned to look at me. “Are you all right, Dahlia? You haven’t been yourself today. Even quieter than usual. What’s up?”
I bit the inside of my cheek, tearing off a tiny piece of flesh and then the familiar taste of blood trickled across my tongue. The pain sent a strange shiver up my spine. I blinked and licked my lips.
“I’ve been thinking about what we talked about yesterday.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What? About what you and Payton were saying?”
It was all I could think about, there was no reason to lie. “Yeah.” I grunted.
He gave a single shake of his head. “You need to get that out of your head. If you keep going down that track, it’s going to get you killed. I don’t want that.”
His words gave me a warm ache deep in my chest, but there was more at stake than my feelings. Whatever emotions I was developing for Drake wouldn’t help us survive or escape.
And if we were free, I could explore what I felt without the threat of death or punishment hanging over me. Over Drake.
