Page 27 of Regressive

The room is tiny, barely big enough for a small, single, bed and a desk. Log books sit on the top, along with three pencils, all worn down to the nub. On the bed is a skinny girl. I barely recognize her from that day in Anex’s room. Her hair is stringy. Her arms bone thin. Her skin pale and ashy.

Imogene sucks in a gasp, her fingers dropping from Silas’ hand to move to her mouth.

“Hey,” he says, getting her attention. She shifts her head slightly, eyes trying to focus.

“I filled out my logs. Every calorie. Every Lapse. Every negative thought.” She moves to sit up, but she doesn’t get far. It’s obvious why. Her hand is cuffed to the bed.

“It’s fine,” Silas says, gesturing for her to lie back down. “I’m not here to check on your progress. I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”

“Is this a test?” she asks, eyes narrowing. “Are you here to test me? To make sure I’m worthy?”

“No. I know you’re worthy.” He runs his fingers over the purple bruises on her wrists.

“I’m not.” It’s almost a whisper. “I’m not worthy of Anex’s grace. I broke the rules. I made this happen.”

“Sweetheart, let me check you out. Can I do that?”

Her eyes slide from Silas to Imogene and then over to me. She visibly flinches when she sees me. “Are you going to tell?”

I blink. “Tell?”

“Anex. I know you’re one of the Chosen. You’re impossible to miss.” She tries to sit up again but falls back. “Are you going to tell him about me?” Her voice trembles. “Tell him I won’t cry. Not this time. I promise.”

“No one is telling Anex anything,” Imogene says, turns to me. “I think you should step outside.”

“Excuse me?”

Silas looks over his shoulder. “She’s right. Just stand outside the door. I think you make her uncomfortable.”

“Why? I don’t even know the girl.”

“Elon,” Imogene says, “this girl is hurt. She needs help, and you’re very intimidating.” My eyes skim over her again, noticing the purple bruises on her wrists. “Just wait outside. We can take care of this.”

We?

Since when is she part of this? Any of this?

But I do step back, giving them some space. The room is small, and I’m a big man. Intimidating. I don’t deny that. I watch as the two of them focus on her. Silas with his bag of first-aid ointments and salves he mixes himself. Small packets of medications he carries as part of his job. He’s not a healer, not in the traditional sense, but he is a caregiver. One that specializes in the broken females of Serendee.

“Charlotte,” Silas says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I know this is uncomfortable, but I’m going to examine you. Make sure you’re okay.”

There is no world in which this girl is okay. Imogene picks up one of the logs on the table. Her finger runs down the pencil marks. “This is all you’re eating?” she asks.

“They bring me food. I only eat half. I’m not Indulgent.” Imogene’s eyes flick to mine. Worried. “He likes me this way. The less I eat, the more he comes to… visit.”

“He…?” Imogene asks.

“Anex.”

While Imogene keeps her talking, Silas checks her skin for bruises, his fingers lingering over her inner thighs. From the door I see the purpling flesh—the imprint of a thumbprint. Charlotte pulls down her shirt, trying to cover them.

“How often does he come?” Silas asks, removing a protein bar from the kit and opening it. She stares at it like it’s poison but he doesn’t relent until she takes a bite.

“If I’m good he blesses me with multiple visits and oversees my re-education himself. Sometimes it’s just once a day. Unless I cry. Then he makes me go through Corrections before he comes back.” She gives a wobbly smile. “I almost never cry anymore.”

Imogene picks up the second log and studies it. She moves closer to me, and I realize she’s showing me the book—a calendar. Each day is filled with a series of X’s. “Charlotte,” she says, stepping toward the girl. “What do those marks mean?”

Her pale cheeks turn red, but her eyes shine with a dark glint. “That’s when he comes. When he blesses me. I mark each time so I don’t forget. Sometimes the days get confusing in here.”

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