Page 13 of Wicked Vile King
"Yes," I manage with a swallow.
"Very good. You seem like a smart girl, so I want you to hear me when I say if you step out of line in my school, you will lose all freedom. Our isolation unit is not a respite from classes. If you are sent to isolation, you will not be able to dress yourself, go to the bathroom by yourself, or see your fellow students. You will be sedated until your condition is normalized and controlled. Do you understand me?"
My head swims with what she's just said.
Normalized.
Controlled.
Like I'm a condition to be remedied.
"Do you understand?" she repeats, harsher this time.
"Yes," I manage.
"Good." Headmistress hands me the map, which joins the handbook in my lap, before she returns to the manila folder on her desk. I look down at the map and the handbook, both weighing heavy on my thighs.
"I understand from your father and your records that you suffer from suicidal ideation and major depressive disorder," she says. "Rest assured that we have helped many students like you who suffer from the same. Take your medications, abide by the routine, and you will be fine. You may change into your uniform in the bathroom across the hall. Please leave your belongings with us. Your remaining uniforms will be in your dormitory room. Once your belongings are searched for contraband, your items will be returned to you."
She reaches into another drawer on the opposite side of her desk and grabs a list, which she slides across the desk to me. "None of these items are allowed in the Academy. This is for the protection of you and others. Any such items will be removed from your belongings before they are given back to you."
My eyes skim the page.
Shoelaces, knives, nail clippers, sewing needles, nail polish and nail polish remover, lighters, metal hangers, the list goes on and on.
How dangerous is this place if the other students aren't even allowed shoelaces?
I swallow the lump in my throat, but it returns almost immediately.
"Your items will be returned to you within seventy-two hours, minus any contraband, of course. We allow our students to keep their cell phones. But, with the limited network around here, I think you will find calls and texts to be the most you can accomplish. In addition, activity on our wireless network is heavily monitored. Any inappropriate content will result in an immediate trip to isolation. Understood?"
I nod this time because it's all I can do, and she can see it too as I try to not cry.
I'm a good girl.
I don't belong here.
I want to go home.
"Very well," Headmistress Graves says, "welcome to Chryseum Reformatory Academy, Ms. Cadelle. I'll let your father know you've safely arrived. Would you like to speak to him as well?"
I shake my head, and she hits a button on the intercom on her desk. "Marshall, will you please bring Ms. Cadelle her uniform and allow her to change before showing her to her dormitory?"
A minute later, the backstabbing driver appears, and my heart sinks as he says, "Follow me."
Then we leave Headmistress's office and descend further into hell.
4
SAINT
One minute is all it takes, maybe less if I cared to time it.
I don't.
A forearm across the throat, hard pressure to the carotid arteries, and the girl is out cold, softly breathing atop her comforter beside me.
As I sit on her bed, boredom comes into port once more, but I'm not here for her. I'm here for who's coming, my pet, my . . .fun.
