Page 69 of Shadows in Bloom

The first half of class is spent going over the syllabus, and all the while, I’m acutely aware of the girl next to me, and the growing, palpable tension thickening between us. With her sitting so close, it’s impossible to ignore the scent of her lavender soap, mingled with something else, something headier. Something that has my stomach doing somersaults, and my palms clamming up.

“She’s grown up into such a pretty thing.”

Gritting my teeth, I inwardly throw back, Leave her alone. You promised.

“That was before…” Her voice trails off into a hiss that quickly gets drowned out by the roar flooding my ears. Sweat breaks out over my neck, though I suddenly feel very, very cold.

What do you mean?

A long silent moment passes—too silent—and just when I’m convinced she slunk back to her hiding place, I get two ominous words:

“You’ll see.”

A vice grips my throat as it takes everything in me not to outwardly react and draw attention to myself. Sure, everyone already suspects that I’m infected. One of the so-called Tormented…

But to suspect it and have it finally confirmed and thrown right at their faces are two very different things.

It’s no matter what the council voted three years ago, after my tests came back inconclusive for influence and I was more or less put on a watchlist. The tests could’ve come back clear as fucking glass, and I’d still be treated like a leper.

Because in Hollow Hill, there is no innocent until proven guilty.

There is only jury by mass hysteria.

And once you raise hairs, they never go down. Your fate is sealed. The rumor mill swirls and you are either locked away, never to be seen again, forced to undergo whatever medieval torture they deem necessary to cast out what plagues you…

Or you become the plague, shunned and feared in equal measure. Something to be gawked at and whispered about from afar.

I’m not quite ready to surrender to the former yet, so for now, I keep my head low. Keep the truth as buried as I can for as long as I can, and hope the day I finally lose the fight, I retain no lingering sense of awareness whatsoever.

If only I could talk to someone like me…learn what to expect…

But there is no one. Not a single damned soul. At least not in the last ten years. Even if there was, they likely would’ve been shipped up to the sanitarium immediately, never to be heard from, seen, or mentioned again. Forgotten and erased.

How I managed to scrape by that same fate…

To this day, it remains a mystery.

All I can do is make the best of the time I have left.

I only have that sobering reminder to blame for what I do next. Pulling my notebook close, I click open my pen, and bring the tip down to the bottom of the page.

At the front of the room, Sister Christine continues to go over the syllabus, writing down important dates on the chalkboard. Next to me, Winifred dutifully writes everything down in her notebook.

It’s only when I slide mine across where our desks join, that she pauses. Her entire body tensing.

I know it’s foolish, especially given what that thing inside me said only moments ago. Reckless. Selfish even.

But I’m angry. Resentful. And for a second, I let it all fester into impulse. Using what might be my only opportunity to say something…before I lose the chance forever.

After all, I can’t imagine Winifred won’t be begging Sister Christine for a seat change the second class lets out.

Whether or not she’s granted this request… I suppose we’ll find out.

But just in case… and for my own entertainment…

When she spots what I’ve written, her grip on her pencil turns white. A stark contrast to the fury igniting her profile red, radiating off her like she’s a furnace.

My lips twitch as I wait to see what she’ll do. If she’ll respond to my casual innocuous question?—

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