Page 30 of This Vicious Hunger
“It’s not that.” She gnaws on her lip. “I’m… I’m not really very hungry.”
“Oh, well, you don’t have to have one,” I say hastily. I’ve begun to wrap it back up when she blurts, “Wait!” and I stop.
“Sorry… I want—I’d like to try it. Please.”
I lower the corners of the napkin again and wait as Olea approaches the gate gingerly. Step by step, her fingers curling up towards the bars. I hiss a breath. This—no,this—is the closest we’ve ever been. Her proximity is like a drug. The hairs on my arms stand to attention, gooseflesh sending a delicious shiver down my spine. I swallow the racing of my heart, the accompanying throb of excitement deep inside me. It is as if the garden walls are coursing with electricity.
Briefly I wonder if she thinks I will try to grab her—though why she would opens up another much larger question about her other friends beyond the gate. Did they, too, feel her nearness like the pluck of a string?
Slowly, carefully, Olea reaches out. She uses the very tips of her fingers to lift the pastry from the napkin, leaving the cloth to flutter to the ground. When she steps away—just a little—my stomach drops with dismay.
We eat together in companionable silence, the last few days stretching between us. I devour my poplinock as if I’ve never eaten before, while Olea picks at hers and lets each sliver of honeyed pastry melt on her tongue. I drink my fill of the chocolate liqueur before passing it through the bars where Olea can pick it up from the earth—though she makes no immediate move to do so.
“I was thinking…” I say eventually, when the pastries are gone. The night has cooled significantly, though the air is still thick, and we are both sitting on the dirt—one on each side of the gate. Olea picks idly at strands of grass that grow between her plants, clearly not giving them the same reverence as her babies.
“That must be hard,” Olea says with a weak smile. I smile back.
“No, really,” I go on. “Wouldn’t it be—wouldn’t it be nice if we could meet somewhere else? The garden is beautiful and I love the peace and quiet of these nights together, but… But why can’t we do other things too? I know we haven’t talked much about it, and I assume—well, I assume you don’t feel especially comfortable leaving the walls. But I’d look after you. Could we perhaps have dinner together? It could still be at night, if you want. And it doesn’t have to be in the dining hall if you’re not comfortable coming to campus. I could order something to my rooms, or we could visit one of the restaurants in the village…?” I trail off, unable to read Olea’s expression. It is at once open and vulnerable and entirely unfazed.
“Oh, thank you for the invitation, but no. I told you, I don’t leave the garden.”
She climbs to her feet and brushes the grassy tendrils from her dress. I clamber up quickly as well.
“You don’t, or youwon’t?” I ask.
Olea licks her lips before answering. Is it just me, or does the flesh around them look more bruised tonight? I lean in some more but I lose my balance, clanging against the gate, my knees and elbows barking as I catch myself.
Olea raises her eyebrows in surprise, though I can’t tell if it’s at my clumsiness or my question.
“Neither. I can’t.”
“Are you saying you’re a prisoner in the garden?” I ask. Anger builds in me, humming in my fingertips and the restless energy in my legs. For a split second I want to track Petaccia down and slam her against a wall—
“No, no,” Olea soothes quickly. She rubs one arm awkwardly and fumbles for the words to explain. “But I can’t leave the plants. My work here is too important.”
“You’re talking about your catalogue?” I scowl, adrenaline still coursing through me. “That’s hardly reason to turn down dinner. You have to eat, don’t you?”
“It’s not the catalogue,” Olea says. “Or not so simple asjustthat.” She looks at me carefully, as if deciding how much to tell me.
“Olea, please,” I encourage her softly. “I thought you were my friend. I’m just trying to understand. I heard—well, it doesn’t matter what I heard, but I want to know you. If you’re unable to leave, I just want to know why. You appreciate how unusual this is, don’t you? I haven’t asked specifics before now because I don’t want to press, but—I’m offering my help, if you need it.”
When Olea speaks, the words gush out like a torrent; so much excitement is in her voice that I have to strain to make out the individual words. But it’s not just excitement; it’s passion stronger than any I think I’ve ever heard.
“It’s so much more than the catalogue,” she blurts. “The garden is a living thing, living and breathing and growing and thriving. These plants are nothing like anything you’ve ever seen. I tend the ones closest to the wall at night because of the emissions. The potential in these plants—oh, Thora, if you only knew.”
“But I’ll never know because you refuse to tell me more than riddles and rhymes,” I snap, my anger brimming again, this time directed at Olea—or at least at the gate that continues to separate us. “I thought you wanted to be my friend, but friends don’t keep so many secrets from each other. You didn’t even tell me Dr. Petaccia is your guardian when you must know by now that she’s the only reason I’m here in the first place. Everybody thinks I’m justsome dogsbody, an experiment at best. Well, I’mneither, okay? I’m smart. I taught myself most everything I know, just like you, and nobody ever handed it to me. My father wanted a son, and I wanted to prove to him that he didn’t need one. But honestly, he was right. What good is being a woman in a man’s world when even other women don’t take you seriously?”
I’ve had enough now. I push away from the gate with steely resolve. Perhaps Leo was right and I should have been more focused on what I could achieve on my own instead of what I could help others achieve. I should focus on my work with the doctor, on making a name for myself so I don’t need to rely on her mentorship. Olea is a distraction, nothing more.
“Thora, wait—”
“No, Olea,” I say firmly. “You’ve had me at your beck and call for weeks and I’m not playing by those rules any more. Don’t you think I have important things to do too? I’ve missed lectures and nearly failed two written assignments because of you—and all of that pales in comparison to the exhaustion. Have you got any idea how little sleep I’ve had to spend time getting to know you? And all for me to sit on the other side of this wall and wonder if there’s a reason you won’t let me inside or if it’s simply that you don’t trust me enough to get close.”
“You don’t understand,” Olea says feebly. “It’s not… it’s not that simple.” I begin to leave. “Please!” she cries, her voice cracking. “Don’t go, don’t leave me. I can’t bear it.”
“Explain it to me, then,” I say slowly. “Make me understand.”
“I couldn’t let you into the garden, not at first. The plants… Like I told you, it’s important that they can’t hurt you. I couldn’t let that happen.”
