The Dollhouse Asylum (12 page)

I’m not really sure which bothers me more: that I actually wanted to be his puppet, or that he clearly enjoys cutting our strings.

I lie in Bee’s silk-sheeted bed, horrified that the girl whose home I invaded this morning, and the first boy to question Teo, are now gone, dead. I should have tried to defend them. Made Teo stop.

Staring at the painted vines on the walls of Bee’s bedroom, I wonder what she thought when she looked at them. She must have seen how odd it was, but was willing to do anything to avoid the Living Rot. I hate the idea that she and Ramus might have been killed because Ramus busted in on Teo and me. It’s all my fault.

Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you should
. Oh, Bee. You were right. When you woke up in the morning, you probably looked at yourself in those large mirrors, but now I don’t think I can even look at myself. You should be walking through that door, telling me to scoot over in this bed, shimmying down in the covers and falling asleep next to me.

I flip my pillow over, struggling with the thought that I had actually loved this man. He’s insane. I wish I could undo the last thirteen months. The last week, all the glances, the touch of his lips on mine. I can’t believe I clutched my pillow, like this one but in my own bed, swooning over the time we first kissed.
He kissed me
, I had crooned, and marveled over the beauty, calling it the best moment of my life.

I may need to gargle Ajax tonight.

Forcing my eyes closed, I try pushing all thoughts of Teo aside, forcing the image of his face to the far side of the vined room. But it’s impossible, because the only thing I can remember is the way Teo
always
dances with deceit. Like when he asked me to drive his car after the math meets, park a few blocks away from the school, and wait for him to come. When I asked him why
he
shouldn’t be the one to drive his car, he’d chuckled, “What would be the fun in that?” And I’d enjoyed that rush from breaking the rules with him.

There was his insistence on “higher meanings,” the way he bent the truth.
I’m not really your teacher right now
, he would say, excusing the fact that his arm was around my waist when I lingered in his classroom after calculus.
I’m simply someone who enjoys discussing literature with his friend
. I had always thought he lived on a higher plane, but now I see he likes to twist the truth.

Something clicks in the house. It’s slight—I’m not sure if it’s anything beyond the air conditioning or the window, but it makes my blood freeze. Easing out of bed, I tiptoe across my room to the square window at the back. But nothing’s there. I hear something else—this time I can tell it’s coming from down the hall.

Slinking across the carpet, I tremble as I move toward the living room in the dark, grateful Bee’s house isn’t as jam-packed as Cleo’s. Please don’t tell me Teo has returned.

A dark figure lurks at the back doorway. Spasms shoot through my skin until I spot the messy hair. It’s Marcus, and with his shorter, broader stature, he couldn’t look less like his brother.

I sprint through the room and whisk the door wide open. “Marcus,” I breathe. But I don’t know what else to say. Why has he come? Teo reminded us the men aren’t allowed on the women’s side of the street.

Marcus holds his finger to his lips and steps through the door. “Shh.”

We stand there—bodies inches apart—and for some bizarre reason my heart rate reacts. It shoots around my chest. I’m excited to see him, but
why
am I excited to see him? I can’t be one of those girls who gets all hyper just because there’s a boy around.

“What?” Marcus asks, typically raging eyes calmed.

But I ignore him, unsure how he could also affect me like this. Instead, I study his somber cheeks, his flatter version of Teo’s nose. The longer hair. And his scent: sheetrock, bark chips. And paint.

“He’s dead because of me,” Marcus says, and I know what he means. He’s blaming himself for the death of Ramus. “Bee, too. It was my idea to bust in on you and my brother.”

I remember the silent exchange between him and Romeo, how it really did seem like it was Marcus’s idea to come.

“
I
should have done something,” I eventually say. “Ramus and Bee—they tried to help me out.” They actually told me their names.

Marcus looks away, mumbling a potpourri of four-letter words. But when he speaks clearly, he’s nearly whispering. “Ramus and I spent every weekend together for months.”

I grit my teeth. Ramus wasn’t just the boy who died with Bee—he was somebody, Marc’s friend. Once again, I think of us all as Teo’s marionettes and of how helpless I feel tied to his strings. There’s nothing I can do, and I hate feeling useless. I like to help. But when Marcus scuffs the ground with his shoe, no doubt feeling the loss of his friend, I say what little I can. “I am so, so sorry, Marcus.”

A second passes before a smile flickers across his face. “The thing that gets me is, Ramus just wanted to care about something. He’s been in a funk for months. But then he gets concerned about you and Teo, and suddenly there’s a spark in his eyes. So for the first time in forever, he stands up for something. And what does he get?”

I look away from him. What I could have done, could have said, replays in my head. Some say guilt weighs as heavily as a ton of bricks, but the truth is it weighs far less than you’d think—it has a way of eating up your insides until there’s nothing left. How could I have let it happen? Both Ramus and Bee are dead. I think of asking him more about Ramus and Bee—how the boys spent their weekends together, how graceful Bee was when she danced.

Marcus studies my face like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking right now, but there are no words. How can I tell him how sorry I am that they are dead? He must think I’m such a fool for playing along with Teo’s game. Running his fingers through his shaggy hair, he looks away, and I’m not sure whether it’s because he thinks my stupidity is contagious or not. My heart feels like it’s stuffed with marbles, and my throat constricts, but I don’t say anything, because there’s nothing to say.

“You really were in love with him, weren’t you?” Marcus asks, his eyes darting to my face again before moving away.

I laugh nervously. Open my mouth to respond, but end up closing it again. I’m not sure what I should say. It doesn’t matter much since we both know I do—did. I’d like to know how he knew about Teo and me, and why his brother is like this. But I shouldn’t wonder any of it, because Teo was right in front of my face. “I feel so stupid,” I say, looking down at my feet.

Marcus shakes his head and reaches out for me, but his hand stops in mid-air. “It’s taken me a few years to figure him out. And yet he still tends to surprise me. I had no idea he’d kill them.”

So I guess I’m not the only one. A silence falls between us, and it’s so uncomfortable I want to put my hands over my face and sob that I am
so
sorry I was wrong. But his shoulders are sagging. He’s feeling guilty, too. Maybe he should, maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe we’ve both done wrong, but I refuse to make excuses for us. I won’t explain away the truth.

Marcus tentatively touches my arm, saying, “I need you to do something for me.” When Teo touched me, it was electric and thrilling, but unsure; with Marcus it’s all of that at once, but wrapped in a layer of calm, something steady and solid. And all from touching my arm. “I need you to pretend you love Teo still,” he adds.

I step away from him, disgusted. Teo is
sick
. Marcus tousles the front of his hair again, pulling it down the side of his eyes. He does that when he’s uncomfortable, I’ve noticed. “You’ve seen my brother when he doesn’t get what he wants,” Marcus says. “He’s chosen you. Unless he chooses someone else, you have to pretend to love him back.”

I shake my head to let his words fall away. I don’t want Teo to have chosen me. I don’t want to pretend. I want to go back to yesterday, when everything made sense. “You think he might choose someone else?” I ask with a flicker of hope. It’s a selfish wish, but maybe it’s just what I need. He could like Cleo, for instance, and that would make me free.

“You never know with my brother,” Marcus says, running his hand over his stubbled face. “Sometimes he can be faithful, but other times it’s like he feels entitled to help himself.”

Before, I thought I could do anything for Teo—fly if he asked me to. But now that I know who he is, the responsibility weighs me down. It’s like I’m holding twelve-ton crates, and I’m tired, and it’s only been one night.

Marcus seems to see the weariness in my face, because he says, “Just keep doing what you’re doing. So far, it’s worked great.” He doesn’t meet my eyes, and I wonder if it’s because my feelings for his brother sickened him before. I wish he knew that I could never love a man who kills.

But now that I know who Teo really is, Marcus and I will hopefully see things more eye to eye. This morning, which seems like an eternity ago, we didn’t, but thinking about our constant disagreement reminds me of when we argued over how everyone got here, so I have to ask, “Why did you bring fourteen other people here when you knew your brother was like this?”

Marcus opens up his palms defensively and takes a step back on the hardwood floor. “It was that or be killed by the Living Rot. It’s more widespread than Beijing ever got. It’s taken all the southern states since we arrived here, so it’s lucky we’re safe.”

My heart jumps to my throat. I can’t believe we didn’t know any of this was going on. How was Teo so ready when we didn’t have a clue? And how long until it took the whole US? “I didn’t see that footage…”

Marcus nods. “Cleo has a few other tapes. Teo left them with her since everyone tends to pay attention to her house.”

They pay attention to her tight-fitting dresses and implants, he means. I may just need to mutter a few profanities of my own.

“Not that I’m into her,” Marcus stammers, looking sideways at me. “She’s a little too obvious for me.”

I raise my eyebrow; Marcus was flirting with her last night. But it doesn’t matter, so I let the comment pass. If he likes her, he likes her. That’s that.

Marc’s eyes are all over the house—the benches, the plants and painted arched windows, the cracks on the walls. He’s looking anywhere but at me. “About my brother,” he says, staring at the closest stringy-looking plant on the floor, “don’t beat yourself up about him.
Everyone’s
susceptible to his charm. But when he left you outside today, I don’t know. I kind of snapped.”

Something inside of me melts, and I stare at the plant, too. Not that snapping seems that irregular of an occurrence for Marcus, but the fact that he wanted to snap, makes me want it, too. Even though I’m not entirely sure how.

Grabbing the handle of the back door, Marcus looks back at me. “Promise to pretend to love him back?”

I nod, wishing I could see an end to this madness. But what if we’re trapped here for the rest of our lives? What if Teo expects me to
do things
with him?

Marc’s eyes flash like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. His hand reaches toward me and pulls up my chin. There’s that crackle of electricity again, jolting through me. He lets go quickly. Too quickly. “Don’t worry,” he says to me, a gentle smile resting on his lips, “you’ll only need to put up the act until we find out how to grab the vaccine and leave this place.”

He’s right. We’ll play along until we earn the vaccine. No, we can do better than that. We find the medicine, then bolt. If we’re lucky, we can skip out earlier than I thought. I’m feeling lighter. “So, what’s stopping us from leaving tonight?”

“We can’t,” Marcus reminds me. “There’s some type of fence. But don’t worry—we’ll figure it out. I think it’s electric or something. Ty—I mean, Romeo, says he saw some type of control panel in Jonas’s house. Maybe it’s just a matter of turning it off.”

“But the Living Rot—maybe they knocked the power out.”

“Oh.” Marcus frowns. “Teo has a massive generator with some sort of underground wiring that connects us to the regular power grid. He told us before. He also said to enjoy the produce since it’s not like we can get any more.”

I’m gaping at him, not believing he’s talking about produce in a time like this, and then I’m bowing my head, unable to utter a word. I can’t register this. I can’t be stuck here forever with him and—

“Cheyenne.”

I look up, and suddenly Marc’s eyes are planted firmly on my own, which makes my chest tremble, not from fear, but because it’s nice to have someone looking at me with so much warmth, like hot chocolate in a snowstorm. But the warmth is fleeting, because Marcus looks away. He must be remembering how I loved his brother. He must think I’m so stupid for loving him.

Marc’s shoulders hunch as he opens the back door. He’s leaving, and I don’t know what to say.

“Study your books,” he tells me, but I want him to, I don’t know, walk over to the bookshelf with me and help me find the right books. Not because I’m incapable of looking by myself, but because I like this feeling between us—warm and comfortable. Not just hot chocolate, but a snug, downy quilt.

Marcus closes the door behind him, and as I listen to the soft crunch of the grass as he moves away, I can’t push away the thought that I don’t want him to leave.

I’ve been reading Greek mythology for over an hour now, and I feel like I know what I need to know about my character. Persephone was just a girl who was abducted from her mother by the god of the Underworld, Hades, who tricked her into eating a pomegranate seed. Anyone who ate or drank anything in the Underworld was required by the Fates to stay. Because she ate several, she had to return to the Underworld for a season every year. Wonderful.

Not that Teo would want me to leave. He would never want me to face the sickness. Marcus desires to go; I do, too, but maybe it’s safer inside. If we go out there we’re definitely dead—and in here we’re maybe dead. The odds almost seem equally weighted.

Someone knocks. Please, God, don’t send Teo over to me this early. Tossing aside the book I’ve been studying, I run to the door, open it a crack, and look outside. But God is kind to me this morning. It’s not Teo, but a girl. I open the door wider and see her smile, her blonde hair. Gwen or Izzy. I don’t remember which Doublemint girl is which. Not that it matters.