Page 72 of This Vicious Hunger
“She abused you,” I say firmly. “You don’t have to be grateful to her for this.”
“I’m not grateful,” Olea snaps. “But I can’t just turn it off. I have to have some faith.”
“She’s not somebody either of us shouldeverbe putting our faith in.” I run my hands through my hair, feel its silky length with a resentful kind of thrill. “To think, she talked about supporting women in science. That’s how she drew me in. I’d have taken anything she gave me, swallowed any pill as long as she told me to, so I understand a little. I was happy just to break free and be out here on my own. But no, she sold me a dream of partnership. And I fell for it. All I’m saying is, now isn’t the time to wish we’d done things differently.”
Olea stares at her hands in her lap, examining their new pallor. She doesn’t speak. I stand in the centre of the room flexing the muscles in my hands, arms, calves, feeling the push and pull. Petaccia is right about this at least: I already feel stronger.
“Are you coming?” I say again. “Olea.No? Fine. I’ll go alone.”
I stalk up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I’m not sure I could have managed that before, but the thought is fleeting. I don’t know what I’m planning to do; I don’t know anything other than I can’t stay here and I want to prove Petaccia wrong. I make it to the next floor, halfway across the room, before Olea catches up to me.
“Thora, wait.” I turn, trying to hide my relief. I don’t know what I’m doing, true, but I’d rather not have to do any of it alone. “You can’t go out there.”
The relief sours in my stomach. “Olea—”
“The sun,” she blurts. “If we’re still… If we’re like I was before. I…”
“The antidote was supposed tocure,” I remind her.
“Florencia said—”
“Fuck Florencia!” I shout. The word feels so good to say, ripping off all restraints. “For god’s sake. Do you still believeeverylittle thing she tells you?”
“You saw the hares,” Olea says, as fierce as I am. “Stop treating me like I’m stupid. I’m not stupid, Thora. Just because I’ve been sheltered here doesn’t mean I know nothing. Or have you forgotten that I’m the one who taught you half of what you know?”
“That was different.”
“Oh, it’s always different when it’s what you think. I’m telling you to be cautious. At least grab one of the parasols.”
I don’t have the patience for this. I can’t describe what’s come over me, but it’s like a fog has lifted. Everything stands in sharprelief, magnified by a thousand—even my frustration. I march to the window, ignoring Olea’s protests. She backs away, grabbing a shawl from the chaise and covering her head and shoulders. I claw at the shutters. Maybe Olea is right and this is stupid; I remember the heat of the sun when she was out there, dying. But I don’t care. I need to know, Ineed—
I fling them open.
Golden sunlight streams into the room, illuminating Olea’s tapestries, her books and trinkets, the faded fleur-de-lis pattern on her chaise. She blinks, stunned, shielding her face with her hand.
“You see?” I demand. “Lies, all of it.”
“No, but sometimes it’s worse than others,” Olea murmurs. “Some days it’s stronger. You still need to be careful.”
“She’s aliar, Olea. She’s indoctrinated you. Stop taking her word for it.”
“Or maybe the toxicity is just waning, like she said. There are so many answers we don’t have. How can you just assume she’s lying about everything? She’s the one who pushed for this; she’s the one who said we could make it happen. Wedied.”
“I only have her word that it happened to me too.”
“You’re being obstinate for no reason!” Olea exclaims.
“I’m not. I’m trying to establish that everything we’ve been told, everything we’ve believed, could easily be an untruth. I know you’re frightened to go against her, but I’m trying to show you that we have to, Olea. The only people we can trust right now are ourselves. We’re the ones who have to live with this. And I genuinely don’t think us arguing about this is going to help. So, I will ask one final time: Are you coming with me?”
“No. Because you shouldn’t go. If we’re in this together, then why are you so quick to leave?”
“Why are you so quick to want to stay?” I return coldly. I shake my head, forging towards the door. Olea rushes after me, reaching for my arm and trying to pull me back. I shake her off, thundering out into the garden, where the sun is hot and bright but so, so much better than the darkness of the cellar. Olea chases me, reaching out again. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I swear. “This is your fault.”
“My fault?” Olea gapes. “You’re the one who brewed the damn ‘cure’ and made me take it.”
“Oh, that’s rich. I never would have made it if I wasn’t trying to save you.”
“I never asked you to save me!” Olea’s throat cords and the laugh that comes out is verging on hysteria. “I asked you tolet me die!”This is good, I think wildly.Let’s get it all out in the open.
