“You’re not even trying anymore,” Brody complains that Sunday

“I’m juggling 50.000 pine needles; don’t tell me I’m not trying,” I spit defensively.

“You were the one who said that once you got the hang of it you’d move forward quicker,” he reminds me.

“That’s because you were complaining I was going too slow,” I reply defensively. “I’ve gone from hundreds to tens of thousands in only a few days, considering it took me years to get to hundreds I’d think I was doing pretty good.”

“Well, you’d be wrong, wouldn’t you,” he fires back. “This is a joke, you’ll never get far enough this way.”

“What is your hurry? You have somewhere else to be, be my guest, leave, I’m not keeping you!” The small glass I have placed next to the door to the tower moves. I quickly pick it up so whoever is out there won’t notice my little alarm system. I steady the pine needles and pick up the camera from the desk, using my physical hand for once. I turn it on and wait for the daily knock on the door. It comes, and I open the door and stick out the camera.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Have you seen Boy?” one of the teachers asks, this time accompanied by a guy in a lab coat.

“You wish to search my room?”

“We wish you to answer the question,” she tells me off.

“Civil rights law, paragraph 17: I have the right to remain silent.” The law book hasn’t gotten here yet, but I’m guessing they won’t know to call my bluff - and even if they do, the only bluff is the paragraph, they can’t legally force me to do anything. There was a mention of something like this in Reformers Reformed, something about a student ‘rebellion’ and civil rights.

“This isn’t a criminal investigation.”

“And you are not an official representative, you are a teacher, you have even less right to demand information from me I am unwilling to give.”

“Is all this trouble really necessary?” she demands exasperated.

“But the trouble is the whole point,” I explain as if she was a child. “You make my life a hell, I repay the favor. Tit for tat. You could always stop knocking on my door,” I offer her.

“You do realize how suspicious it makes you look to refuse the search, right?”

“Do you have a warrant? Otherwise, you’ll have to make your way in here some other way.” She shakes her head and pulls the door closed again. I turn off the camera and turn back to the pine needles. The next half hour is filled with silence as I try to pick up more pine needles and Brody listens for them to leave.

“You strut around here like you are better than everyone else, and you can’t even manage so simple a task,” he says eventually when sure they really are gone.

“First of all, I never claimed to be better than you!” I say rather loudly.

“And secondly?” he challenges.

“And secondly: you do it then!” I call at him. “You’re Mr. I-can-do-it-all, if it’s so easy, show me how it’s done. Or are you all words and no matter?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“You’re the only one of us who ever claimed to be better than the other, and yet you’re just sitting there barking orders like a useless self-help tape from the 80’s, and you can’t even do that right, those tapes were always encouraging and….” His long legs take one step, and they’re next to me. His long fingers close around my throat, and I can barely breathe. His long arms push me up against the closet, and I can barely move. His red eyes stare me down.

“Take that back,” he orders in a steady, slow voice. His eyes are glowing, burning through me, finding that place inside I’d never let anyone see, that place where I hide when the world gets too ugly. “Take it back,” he repeats.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean that; I shouldn’t have said it.” Tears form in the pit of my soul and run over in my eyes. It’s hopeless, he’ll never forgive me. He’ll never accept that I was being stupid. I should have known better, I should have acted better. My parents didn’t teach me to be a bully.

“Didn’t anyone ever warn you about making me angry?” His voice is low and deep, and I can feel his breath brush against my cheek. I try to shake my head, but I can’t move.

“Stand still,” he orders. “Stand still or I’ll crush your neck.”

“Okay, okay.” I don’t move a muscle. His grip on my throat slowly loosens. My hand on his doesn’t move, that would not be standing still.

“Get your hand off me,” he says in disgust. I pry my fingers open so he can get his hand back, leaving mine floating awkwardly in the air.

“Not so tough now, are you,” he mocks, looking at my misplaced hand.

“No,” I agree. “I’m not tough at all.”

“You’re not fit to wipe my boot, much less lay a hand on me.”

“No,” I agree. I’m the useless one.

“Shut up. You don’t get to speak, you shut up and do as you’re told.” I nod my agreement. “See, we’ll soon get you off that high horse.” He looks around the room. Something catches his eye, cause he looks back at me with a satisfied smile.

“We both know there’s only one thing you’re fit for, one thing you can do as well as anyone else. You can fertilize the daffodils. Pick up your scissors.” A knock on the door hushes him for a moment.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Lizzy, is everything okay? Are you all right in there?” professor Holt asks. I can’t answer him, I’m not supposed to talk. I’m not supposed to talk, I’m not supposed to move, I’m supposed to pick up my sewing scissors. I reach out mentally, but my hand is itching to move, to guide the mental hand. I’m not supposed to move. I’m not good enough to be allowed to move. I have to pick it up, and I have to pick it up now, he’s getting impatient with me. My eyes dart to the scissors hidden under the bed out of sight. I imagine I can see through the bed, and I let my eyes move to guide the scissors back to me.

“So you’re not completely useless,” he whispers to me. “Let’s see how strong the Langdale girl really is. Put them in your chest.”

“Lizzy? I know you’re in there, please answer me. Is everything all right?” professor Holt pleads through the door. I wish I could answer him, but I can’t. I wish I could tell him everything is all right, that I’m better now, that I’m where I’m supposed to be, but I can’t, it wouldn’t be right. I aim the scissors at my chest, guiding only with my eyes. The professor would be proud of me, he would see I’ve finally managed not to move my hands. I send the scissors flying straight at my heart. They collide with my chest and go through my clothes and send blood running down my favorite, off shoulder shirt.

“Lizzy?” the professor asks again. I don’t have time to answer him, I didn’t use enough force. I pull the scissors further back this time and take aim again. The door opens and the professor walks in.

“Lizzy, what are you doing?” I can’t answer, I just send the scissors forward again. I feel the metal pierce my chest and more blood dripping down on the floor. Boy is right, I really can’t do anything right. I pull it out and take aim again.

“Lizzy, stop. Stop it, you’re strong enough, stop it.” His voice is loud and desperate, but I can’t do as he asks. He turns to Boy instead. “Stop it,” he orders. “Stop it before you kill her.” But Boy is right to show me my place, I have been strutting around like I’m better than everyone. It would be better if I just fertilized the daffodils. I’m a waste of space and oxygen. I’m a disgrace. I’m a freak. I’m a monstrosity. I want to tell the professor to leave him alone, but I shouldn’t speak. I focus on my aim instead, perhaps if I can hit the same spot twice I can finish this before the professor can stop it. I send the scissors flying from across the room, trying my best to hit the second mark again. I think I might have had it if the professor hadn’t caught hold of the scissors in the air and hold on.

“Stop it, now,” he tells Boy. “She’s the only friend you have here, don’t do this to her,” he reasons. But he’s wrong, I’m not Boy’s friend, I’m just a proud girl who thought she could use a charity case. “She let you hide out here Boy, do you remember? Think about that, remember that.” But I only let him hide out here so I could prove myself stronger than him, so I could prove that he was worthless. “What were you guys doing in here all these nights? You were happy, weren’t you? You had fun. You enjoyed yourself for the first time in years.” We did have fun when playing games, that was nice. And we were both good at it - that is rare, you know, people getting the hang of that game so fast. It takes someone really smart to play like that.

“Remember,” the professor says in a calming voice. “Remember who you are.” That is just stupid, he’s boy, he’s here to prove that I’m not… That I’m not… I feel dizzy. My hand flies up to support my heavy head, and my knees break down beneath me. I sit on the floor, not sure what really happened.

“I moved,” I whisper. He told me not to, why did I move?

“The scissors,” the Professor reminds Boy.

“Put the scissors down,” Brody tells me. I let go, and they fall to the floor with a clatter. He pushes past the professor and runs out the room.

“What happened?” the professor kneels down next to me on the pine-strewn floor and puts a hand on my shoulder. I can’t get the words out, I don’t know… The tears start running more freely.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s over now,” he pulls me up next to him and strokes my hair back. “It’s over now,” he assures me again in that calming voice only he can make so effective. I let the tears run freely, I don’t think I could have stopped them if I wanted to.

“Could you go get a Nature teacher?” he asks someone, I assume someone from one of the other rooms poking their head out to see what happened. “Professor Milly from the advanced classes if you can find her.” His voice is like honey and clouds and spring days.

“I’m going to lift you onto the bed, is that okay?” he asks softly. I lift myself up and hover to the bed. He gets up too and closes the door. “Professor Milly will be able to help you with those wounds,” he assures me.I curl up even tighter and hide my face in the pillow.

“If you’ll agree, I’d like to know what happened. You don’t have to talk, just give me your hand if you’re okay with it.” I hug myself tighter. “You have been hiding him here for weeks now, I know that much. He might not say it, but he was thankful - both for this and for the help with his father. I know it sounds odd, but he didn’t mean to hurt you, he didn’t do it on purpose. I know that doesn’t make it hurt less, and I know it doesn’t make it better, I just thought you should know that it wasn’t because he hates you. He’s quite fond of you, actually.” He strokes my hair back so it’s not in my mouth. I have never been so scared in all my life, and I didn’t even feel scared, I couldn’t somehow. I was terrified, but I couldn’t feel it. It all comes rushing over me now. Now that he’s gone.

“Professor Milly, come in. She got some cuts, could you have a look.” An elderly lady comes around the bed and pulls the chair from the desk with her.

“Let’s have a look then, dear.” She sits down next to the bed. I curl up even further. I don’t want her near me, I just want both of them gone, out of here. “That’s no good darling, it won’t help you. Let me have a look.” For someone so fragile looking and slow walking, she has exceptionally strong fingers. She pries my arms away from my wounded chest and examines the wounds.

“What happened to her?” she asks the professor.

“I’m not exactly sure,” he answers, but he shifts his seat on the bed and she turns her head, so I assume he indicated towards the scissors on the floor.

“Boy?” she asks.

“I’ll deal with him,” professor Holt replies.

“This can’t go on Steven,” she argues. “This is the fourth student he’s attacked.”

“This is the second person he’s used his gift on, I don’t care what the three others say, Boy didn’t do that to them.”

“You are blinded by his past.”

“I see more than most,” he argues. There’s a pause in their conversation, but from what they have been saying I’m guessing she shook her head or something like that.

“Lie still now dear, this will only take a second.” I suppose there’s no way of keeping her away, so I do as I’m told, and she heals the wounds with a touch. “And your hand too.” She tells professor Holt.

“It’s fine Milly, it’s just a scratch.”

“Your hand, Steven,” she orders. He doesn’t object again, and neither of them says anything for a few seconds. I suppose he got cut too, trying to hold the scissors away from me. That means I cut him.

“Just a cut,” professor Milly mumbles to herself. Clearly, she doesn’t think that description was accurate. “I will need to see both of you in a few days to check up on you.”

“I will make sure,” professor Holt answers. She gets up and leaves.

“I can see you’d rather be alone,” the professor tells me. “So I will grant you your wish. I will, however, have a teacher in the hall at all times, just call if there’s anything you need from them.” He too gets up and leaves. I listen to the door closing and the tower door opening. I open my eyes. The scissors are still lying on the floor, bloody and gross.

“Put them in your chest.” The words echo around the room. “Put them in your chest.” It’s like a whisper bouncing off the walls and returning, bouncing back and surrounding me. I pick up the scissors. “Put the scissors down.” The echo changes. I put them back on the floor. “Put them in your chest.” The whispers order. I curl up and cover my ears with the pillows. “Put them in your chest,” the pillows tell me in a loud whisper.