Page 129 of Degradation
I jump out of bed excitedly and grab my papers from the back of the drawer in my desk, bringing them back to bed with me. I begin running numbers and draw out the formula as it appeared to me in my head, belatedly noticing a food bag that’s been left beside my bed. It’s still a bit warm and I find I’m painfully hungry after going over twenty-four hours without being able to eat.
I take a big bite of the burger and stuff my face full of chips…fries, thinking how when I first got back in September, eating in bed would have been difficult. I’d have been compelled to sit at my desk with my back straight with a knife and fork in my hands. To eat a burger.
So many of The Heath’s rules made no sense. Now that I’ve been out here for over two months, it’s like the blinders that were over my eyes are lifting. They were meant to be teaching me to fit in, but I’m beginning to see that what they taught me wasn’t for me at all. It was for everyone around me. They taught me to keep my emotions inside, to bury them deep. They taught me to sit up straight, to not question. My stomach twists. They taught me not to believe myself, my feelings, my mind.
I close my eyes. I thought The Heath had helped me,had beenhelping me for a decade, because that’s what they told me they were doing. But now I’m wondering how much of what they made me learn through punishment and correction would simply have come to me as I got older and had more experiences?
I suppose it’s impossible to know, and, I rationalize, they had to send me away after what I did to Mike Larson. If they hadn’t, I would have been arrested and then I would have been locked up somewhere worse for the rest of my life.
The Heath, though not a perfect solution, was better than that, and I can deal with the aftermath so long as I never have to go back.
However, yesterday was yet another reminder that my life isn’t my own. Not yet. I didn’t realize that John could even stop me from getting medical attention if he chooses. How can he have that kind of power over me?
I care about Blake, Mav, and Shade, but my goal has to stay the same. I need to be able to disappear at a moment’s notice. I need money to do that and that’s why I need Envy.
There’s a knock at my door and I scramble to hide the papers quickly, my heart thudding hard. I’m so close, but I need to run the lab simulations before I tell them what I’ve been up to.
Blake peers around the door. ‘How are you feeling, sweetheart?’
‘Better,’ I nod. ‘Thank you for the pills you gave me. They really helped.’
‘No problem, beautiful.’
He walks toward the bed, and I try not to outwardly panic.
‘Where did you get them?’ I blurt, rising and moving toward the desk.
The last thing I need is him sitting on the papers I’ve hidden under the covers and finding the formula I only just cracked.
‘My dad,’ he says. ‘He had migraines for a while last year. I cleared out his house a few months ago when he went to jail, so I had his old meds from his cabinet. They were in date, don’t worry.’
Blake’s dad is in jail?
‘Oh,’ I murmur. ‘Well, thanks.’
He moves toward my bed again and, to my horror, sits down. My eyes flick to where the papers are. He’s not too close. He won’t notice as long as he doesn’t move.
‘We need to talk, Daisy,’ he says.
‘W-what about?’ I stammer, forcing my emotions down.
He pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to me.
‘It was left on the doorstep sometime today. One of the guys found it. I’ve checked the surveillance already. A guy came out of the woods. His face never turned toward the cameras.’
I unfold it and swallow hard.
‘He watches me,’ I whisper, the color draining from my face when I see the postscript. ‘More now.’
Blake nods. ‘This is getting worse, sweetheart. Whoever this is, you’ve become their focus.’
He nods up toward the corner of the room and I see a small piece of silver on the wall.
‘I thought he was locked out of the system, but he was still somehow able to access your camera. I’m running more diagnostics now. But I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I told you he couldn’t see you anymore. I was wrong.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I say quietly. ‘It’s his. Did you find out anything from the data you were sifting through?’
‘So far, only that he’s accessing from somewhere local. He’s in Richmond.’
