Page 71 of This Vicious Hunger
“Let me get this straight,” I say with as much fight as I can muster. “You microdosed through your whole pregnancy, then dumped your daughter in the garden and prayed she’d become a monster?”
Olea flinches at the word, but Petaccia does not.
“No.” The doctor examines the blade of her knife with the same quizzical stare I’ve seen levelled at her seedlings. “I prayed she would solve the puzzle. And now look, here we are, albeit in a roundabout sort of way—”
“No fucking thanks to you.”
“Entirely fucking thanks to me, actually.” Petaccia glares, flashing the knife. Still, I can’t bring myself to feel guilty for my language. “If it hadn’t been for me, none of this would have been possible. And now, here we are, staring down the barrel of the greatest scientific discovery the world has ever known. Do youunderstand the door you two have just unlocked? I’ve checked both your vitals and you’re doing excellent. A bit of muscle weakness, but I’m sure that will pass. I have a few questions about what the next few days will look like—I think we should treat this as a kind of clinical trial, given that we’re already here—”
“The only door we’ve unlocked is the one I’m about to walk right through,” I snap. “I can’t speak for Olea, but I will not be sticking around to help you with any kind of trial. I never agreed to this.”
Petaccia laughs. The sound is throaty, so like Olea’s laughter when I first met her in the garden that I freeze in place. Olea has hardly moved, barely blinked; she stares at the wall ahead as though she’s trying to imagine she is anywhere but here. I don’t blame her, but it would be nice to have some support.
“You think you’re just going to walk out of here? After everything I’ve done for you? I don’t think so.”
“You said yourself, we’re perfectly well now. Why should we stay? I can’t think of anything worse than being stuck in this place while you play doctor.”
“I said you were doing excellently,” Petaccia concedes, “but we still have the question of how your bodies will adjust to the added toxins. At the very least I need you here until we understand how the antidote interacts with the latent toxicity in—”
“We’re still poison, aren’t we.” Olea glances away from the wall, finally meeting my gaze again. I hadn’t considered this until Olea said it, but the possibility sinks in with surprising speed. Petaccia may have removed her mask, but she is still dressed with good coverage.
“Both of us?”
“I haven’t had the time to properly assess—”
“Both of us?” I say again, louder.
“Early signs point to yes.” Petaccia waves the knife in the direction of the door, where two hares hang unnoticed from the knob, their bodies limp; green-black tendrils extend from their mouths, marking their fur akin to tabby stripes, and their eyes are the cloudy grey of skies before a storm.
This is the final straw. I sink to my knees again, relieved when they bark in familiar, living pain. All I did to protect myself from the garden this time and none of it matters. I’m as toxic as Olea is. I don’t cry, but sickness swirls and I dry heave a couple of times.
“Yes, well.” Petaccia sheathes the knife, clearly no longer worried I’ll attack her. “Enough with all that. There’s no evidence yet it won’t pass with time, so I suggest you both try to ride it out. I’ll leave you to it, but do make sure you make a note of any symptoms over the next couple of days, positive or negative. I’ll be back to check on you shortly.”
I watch her go, considering—briefly—how easy it might be to launch myself at her right now. If I’m poison, then I can get rid of her, no problem. It would be immensely satisfying to see her collapse, her skin greying and that horrid inkiness spreading from my touch. She hasn’t developed any tolerance for this new version of us, after all. But the rational part of my brain holds me in place. Without Petaccia we would be technically “free,” but then what? The antidote was supposed to cure Olea of her deathly touch, not make me the same.
What if our toxicity doesn’t pass?
Chapter Thirty-Four
I’m leaving.”
Olea is still on the floor where Petaccia abandoned her. I know I should go to her. Iwantto go to her, but I refuse to let her convince me to stay here. It doesn’t matter what Petaccia believes; I have to see the effects of the antidote for myself.
Olea doesn’t react. She barely even looks at me. I reach the doorway before adding, “Are you coming?”
“Why.” She punctuates the question with such force an answer seems near pointless. Then she adds, softer, “We can’t go anywhere.”
“I think it’s long past the time we trust that woman without any sort of proof,” I say snidely. “Don’t you think? She’s been lying to you your whole life and you still eat up everything she says. Why don’t you grow a backbone?”
“You say that as if it’s easy.” Olea sighs. She looks frail—not in her body exactly, not like before, but she still holds herself as though she is exhausted. “Florencia’s my—”
“Youdon’thave to call her your mother,” I cut her off. I try to soften my tone but I’m antsy now. I need to get out of this cellar.“No matter what she says. This is a woman who’s kept you on reins, poisoned you daily for her own scientific beliefs.”
“She raised me,” Olea says quietly. “Every thought I have, every belief, every doubt, is one she’s planted there in my mind. It doesn’t matter what she is to me—she’s right about that. There were times Iwishedshe was my mother, though.” She lets out a bitter half laugh. “Can you believe that? I dreamt that she would come to me one day and say, ‘Well done, Olea, you’ve done your duty. We’ve found the cure. The experiment is over. Let’s take you home and you can meet your siblings and all of these friends who are waiting for you.’ And we would ride off together to a little house on the edge of a big old city, and I’d never have to see or touch another plant ever again.”
“Olea—”
“Let me talk.” She blows out a puff of air. “How can I simply turn that kind of feeling off? She’s the only constant in my whole life. Everything she told me, I believed. Every meal I ate, every scrap of clothing on my back, everything comes from her.”
