Chapter 15: Lowest Grade in Class

I dreamt of the ocean last night. I wasn’t swimming; I’m not sure I know how. But I at least got to feel the water between my toes. I could smell the salt in the air. Feel the breeze. I try to recreate those sensations in the shower, but it just isn’t the same. Not when there’s a camera in the shower head watching me. And not when I still have my wounds from yesterday. There are black bruises where the straps pinned me down, and a massive criss-cross-shaped burn covering my back from the metal table. I suppose I should be grateful to have suffered only minor injuries, but I can’t bring myself to. Yesterday was utter hell, and I know today will be too. I’m trying to prepare myself for it, but I can’t gather the strength.

Breakfast was cooked by Doctor Brockhoist, who stayed exceptionally quiet while I ate. He glanced at my injuries but didn’t treat them and instead sent me back to my room to rest. Mom and Dad are on their way. Instead of getting myself ready, I sit on my window bench and watch the push and pull of the waves in the distance. A wistful sigh escapes me. I’ll be there soon.

Down the road, a black golf cart pulls up, driven by an armed guard and carrying Mom and Dad in the back. My blood runs cold. I dart away from the window before they spot me.

There’s nowhere for me to hide. I could tuck myself under my bed or crawl into an empty cabinet, but they’d find me eventually. Everywhere I turn, there’s a little black eyeball staring back at me. Their lights flash, like they’re blinking. I have no idea who’s on the other side. If it’s Raven or Minerva, I might be severely punished for being naughty.

It’s too late to hide anyway. Dad has long legs. He’s quick up the stairs. And before I know it, he’s standing in the doorway. An odd look of remorse is spread across his face. I freeze and stare back. Am I supposed to greet him first? What are the rules?

“Emma...” He begins softly. When he advances, I instinctively take a step back. He stops, then eases on his heels. “What happened at the Oasis was horrible, sweet girl. I didn’t mean to push you so hard.”

My holes clench. I chew my lip and stare at the floor. I can’t believe I had forgotten so quickly.

“It’s my fault,” I whisper. “I disobeyed...”

Dad makes a soft, despondent huffing noise, then runs up to me before I have the chance to back away again. He wraps me in his arms, trapping me, and pulls me onto the bed. Pinned beneath his weight, I lie shivering. His hands cup my waist, then slowly inch up until they’re beneath my shirt. His touch is warm, but it’s just as dangerous. I hold still.

“I’m going to protect you, okay?” He says, pulling himself closer. He plants a soft kiss on my collarbone and moans. His knees brace my hips, holding me steady while his lips trek across my neck. “I won’t let your mother take things too far.”

I want to remind him that he could have stopped her at any time, but I don’t dare speak. He has me trapped. His teeth are dangerously close to my throat. I clench my hands into fists and let him drag his tongue up my chin.

His lips lock onto mine, like he’s trying to rip them off. His tongue lathers up the back of my throat. When I gag, he holds me tighter. I’m nothing more than a rodent being smothered by a piercing-covered anaconda. I let him rape my mouth with his tongue and teeth, moving only where and when he positions me.

“You taste amazing,” he says, coming back up for air. The reprieve doesn’t last. He launches himself back inside of my mouth with a growl.

Part of me wants to enjoy this moment with him. I want to remember more about him. About us. But I’m too exhausted. I just want him to finish what he came for and go away. But he’s so hungry. I wonder how long he’s going to devour me.

“Winters.”

Dad pulls away, and the two of us turn toward the open door. Mom stands there, her arms crossed like they always are. A small brown box rests beneath her armpit. She frowns at Dad, then scowls at me. My heart jerks, and I cling to Dad for comfort.

“Just getting the girl warmed up,” Dad says, forcing a chuckle. He wraps his arms around me and hoists me into the air. I cradle my body closer, desperate to put distance between me and Mom. Dad pats my hair and kisses my head. Then he leans down to put his lips in my ear and whispers, “She’s on a tight leash today. So be a good girl and she won’t have to hurt you.”

I lock eyes with him, but my pleading gaze does nothing to sway him. I force myself to nod, and Dad settles me onto my feet as a reward. I wobble at first. I hadn’t realized how much blood had rushed to my head.

“We’re already running behind,” Mom snaps. She shoves the box into my hands and turns to speak without looking at me. “Put those on. We can’t dawdle around here all day.”

“We aren’t behind,” Dad says. He goes to check his wristwatch, like it’s a reflex, but frowns when he remembers the face is blank. “But we do need to hustle.”

I don’t ask what that means, but I don’t ask. I’m too enamored with the box’s contents once I pull the lid off. Inside sits a pair of shiny black shoes. They’re made of lightweight leather with thin, flexible soles. Tiny ribbon bows adorn the fronts. When I turn to Dad, he nods, allowing me to put them on. They’re a perfect fit. They won’t protect me much on the gravel roads, but I can’t deny how beautiful they are.

“Thank you,” I say.

Mom scoffs. “Well, you need more clothes anyway. And Headmaster Michael wouldn’t let us through the door if you came in with muddy feet.”

“He’ll be furious regardless when he finds out she wasn’t replicated last night.” Dad inspects the bruises on my wrists, ankles, and forehead. “Raven did quite a number on her.”

“She can’t be replicated. Not after therapy.”

The three of us turn to find Doctor Brockhoist standing in the hall. He taps his foot impatiently and glares Dad down with an arched brow.

“I have business that needs attending in this room. Are you going to play hooky and hang around, or will you please leave me be?”

“Business?” I ask sheepishly.

Doctor Brockhoist rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Maintenance,” he says, brushing past Mom. “Things I think we’d all prefer the girl not to see.”

Dad nods sharply, resting his hand against my back. He holds his jaw tight as he leads me and Mom out into the hall. My dorm door swings shut behind me, and the automatic lock hisses into place.

“Am I in trouble?” I ask Dad.

He shakes his head. “Your doctors are always finding new ways to improve your treatment. He’s likely just adding more sensors or cameras. Might have noticed some blind spots.”

“Oh...”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t like that, you filthy little girl,” Mom snaps.

Dad slaps the back of her head. Mom shrinks away, frowning. She shuts up after that and holds her head low as Dad guides us downstairs and outside. I turn to my dorm window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the doctor, but the curtains are drawn. It’s then I realize the building’s main sign has been replaced. It’s now called the Greenhouse.

Dad settles me onto the golf cart behind the driver. Mom takes the remaining seat up front, isolating her. It’s only then that I really let myself breathe. When I’m around her, my chest tightens up so much that it hurts to do much of anything. I wish I knew what happened between us. Is there something I need to apologize for? Maybe she was just upset that we had spent so many years apart. I know I am.

Dad holds me steady, serving as a makeshift seatbelt when the cart rolls into motion. We breeze past the Greenhouse and cut through the back woods. I drink in my surroundings, hungry to study the outdoors. A lot of the area is scattered with rails connected to the underground tunnels. A few carts breeze past us so quickly that I can barely see anything more than the blur of people inside.

To my left stands a massive black wall topped with barbed wire and teeming the guards. Part of it juts out where a massive station narrows the path. The structure looks like a long, snake-like skyscraper, fitted with windows and railings for what I think is a living quarters for the guards. They monitor us—specifically me—as we move forward.

I’m so distracted watching the wall slip away over the horizon that I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of a shriek. Dad clutches me tighter and turns toward a large manor across the way. It stands on the opposite side of the woods from the Greenhouse, and looks like something out of a children’s book. When I spot the sign that says “Dollhouse,” I nod with certainty. A perfect word for a trimmed, pastel collage of shiplap, brick, cobblestone, and stucco. Like every room attached to it was put on one block at a time.

“What is that place?” I ask Dad as we pass by.

Someone stands in the front garden, surrounded by glorious blooms. They’re covered head-to-toe in pink latex. Not just their frilly, flouncy clothes, either. But it’s replaced their skin. It covers their face, their fingers, their feet, and their hair. Big, dramatic makeup is stitched onto the plastic mask, giving them a toy-like appearance.

“That’s home for our poppies,” Dad says. He motions for me to watch the latex girl bend over to reveal a perfect, plastic pussy to her master. Her master shoves a massive dildo inside her, and she howls with delight.

“What do they do?”

“They’re a rare breed, like you. Their purpose is a little more specific than a lily or a rose. They crave only artificial delights. Skin-to-skin contact is forbidden. They’re usually prostitutes brought in from the outside and treated to put their skills to good use. They’re sold for whatever purposes their owners deem fit. Usually things like public masterbation or product testing for erotic toy manufacturing.”

“That does sound pretty specific.”

“It’s a trend. Most of us aren’t sure if it’ll last. The day and age of plastic is starting to leave, what with all these environmental activists popping up everywhere. If the dollhouse goes under, the remaining poppies will probably be harvested for suitcase toys. You can imagine what sort of hell that would be for people petrified of human flesh.”

I wasn’t sure such a person existed. I rub my legs together. My light grey shorts are betraying me. Spots of wet anticipation bleed through the fabric. I try to clench my thighs to hide my mess, but it only makes the stains worse. Dad catches on and chuckles. He rests his finger between my legs and slowly draws circles around my pleading clit.

“You like flesh, don’t you?” he asks. He gives my button just enough pressure to draw a groan from my throat.

I nod. I’m trying not to make it obvious how I’m pushing my hips up to grind against his hand. He’s being so gentle, it’s killing me!

“If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you play with my personal flesh. Would you like that?”

“Play with it how?” I ask.

He takes my hand and rests it flat against his pants. My fingers clench, and his cock pulses with its own heartbeat.

“Be on your best behavior, and Daddy will show you how to give the perfect hand job, okay?”

I nod again. “Okay. I’ll be good.”

He pats my head and smiles. “I know you will.”

The cart makes a sharp turn, and I tumble into Dad’s arms. He holds me close and keeps me there until we come to a slow stop. Mom hops out first, like she’s been ready to get a move on for a while. Dad helps me onto the path. Recent rain leaves the ground smelling heavy and earthy. The rosebushes nearby droop. There’s no one out here with us receiving outdoor lessons. I suppose a house full of training maids needs to keep the place clean, after all. I try my best to pick the dryest spots in the path to plant my feet, not wanting to track in mud or scratch my new shoes. Mom and Dad aren’t nearly as cautious; they don’t have to be.

Inside, I’m hit with the same wave of fresh, warm vanilla as I was last time. Distant piano music wafts in from a few rooms over. I shudder, reminded of the orchestra I was forced to listen to at the Oasis.

“Winters,” a voice booms across the room. We each look up to find a man dressed in a well-fitted tux. I vaguely recognize him from my last visit, but I know he isn’t Michael. Instead, he’s dressed more like an elegant butler. His eyes dart over to me, then to Mom. He nods in Mom’s direction but ignores me altogether.