Page 26 of This Vicious Hunger

We eat together in companionable silence, the last few days stretching between us.

I devour my poplinock as if I’ve never eaten before, while Olea picks at hers and lets each sliver of honeyed pastry melt on her tongue.

I drink my fill of the chocolate liqueur before passing it through the bars where Olea can pick it up from the earth—though she makes no immediate move to do so.

“I was thinking…” I say eventually, when the pastries are gone.

The night has cooled significantly, though the air is still thick, and we are both sitting on the dirt—one on each side of the gate.

Olea picks idly at strands of grass that grow between her plants, clearly not giving them the same reverence as her babies.

“That must be hard,” Olea says with a weak smile. I smile back.

“No, really,” I go on. “Wouldn’t it be—wouldn’t it be nice if we could meet somewhere else?

The garden is beautiful and I love the peace and quiet of these nights together, but…

But why can’t we do other things too? I know we haven’t talked much about it, and I assume—well, I assume you don’t feel especially comfortable leaving the walls.

But I’d look after you. Could we perhaps have dinner together?

It could still be at night, if you want.

And it doesn’t have to be in the dining hall if you’re not comfortable coming to campus.

I could order something to my rooms, or we could visit one of the restaurants in the village…

?” I trail off, unable to read Olea’s expression.

It is at once open and vulnerable and entirely unfazed.

“Oh, thank you for the invitation, but no. I told you, I don’t leave the garden.”

She climbs to her feet and brushes the grassy tendrils from her dress. I clamber up quickly as well.

“You don’t, or you won’t ?” I ask.

Olea licks her lips before answering. Is it just me, or does the flesh around them look more bruised tonight? I lean in some more but I lose my balance, clanging against the gate, my knees and elbows barking as I catch myself.

Olea raises her eyebrows in surprise, though I can’t tell if it’s at my clumsiness or my question.

“Neither. I can’t.”

“Are you saying you’re a prisoner in the garden?” I ask. Anger builds in me, humming in my fingertips and the restless energy in my legs. For a split second I want to track Petaccia down and slam her against a wall—

“No, no,” Olea soothes quickly. She rubs one arm awkwardly and fumbles for the words to explain. “But I can’t leave the plants. My work here is too important.”

“You’re talking about your catalogue?” I scowl, adrenaline still coursing through me. “That’s hardly reason to turn down dinner. You have to eat, don’t you?”

“It’s not the catalogue,” Olea says. “Or not so simple as just that.” She looks at me carefully, as if deciding how much to tell me.

“Olea, please,” I encourage her softly. “I thought you were my friend. I’m just trying to understand.

I heard—well, it doesn’t matter what I heard, but I want to know you.

If you’re unable to leave, I just want to know why.

You appreciate how unusual this is, don’t you?

I haven’t asked specifics before now because I don’t want to press, but—I’m offering my help, if you need it. ”

When Olea speaks, the words gush out like a torrent; so much excitement is in her voice that I have to strain to make out the individual words. But it’s not just excitement; it’s passion stronger than any I think I’ve ever heard.

“It’s so much more than the catalogue,” she blurts.

“The garden is a living thing, living and breathing and growing and thriving. These plants are nothing like anything you’ve ever seen.

I tend the ones closest to the wall at night because of the emissions.

The potential in these plants—oh, Thora, if you only knew. ”

“But I’ll never know because you refuse to tell me more than riddles and rhymes,” I snap, my anger brimming again, this time directed at Olea—or at least at the gate that continues to separate us.

“I thought you wanted to be my friend, but friends don’t keep so many secrets from each other.

You didn’t even tell me Dr. Petaccia is your guardian when you must know by now that she’s the only reason I’m here in the first place.

Everybody thinks I’m just some dogsbody, an experiment at best. Well, I’m neither , okay?

I’m smart. I taught myself most everything I know, just like you, and nobody ever handed it to me.

My father wanted a son, and I wanted to prove to him that he didn’t need one.

But honestly, he was right. What good is being a woman in a man’s world when even other women don’t take you seriously? ”

I’ve had enough now. I push away from the gate with steely resolve.

Perhaps Leo was right and I should have been more focused on what I could achieve on my own instead of what I could help others achieve.

I should focus on my work with the doctor, on making a name for myself so I don’t need to rely on her mentorship. Olea is a distraction, nothing more.

“Thora, wait—”

“No, Olea,” I say firmly. “You’ve had me at your beck and call for weeks and I’m not playing by those rules any more.

Don’t you think I have important things to do too?

I’ve missed lectures and nearly failed two written assignments because of you—and all of that pales in comparison to the exhaustion.

Have you got any idea how little sleep I’ve had to spend time getting to know you?

And all for me to sit on the other side of this wall and wonder if there’s a reason you won’t let me inside or if it’s simply that you don’t trust me enough to get close. ”

“You don’t understand,” Olea says feebly. “It’s not… it’s not that simple.” I begin to leave. “Please!” she cries, her voice cracking. “Don’t go, don’t leave me. I can’t bear it.”

“Explain it to me, then,” I say slowly. “Make me understand.”

“I couldn’t let you into the garden, not at first. The plants… Like I told you, it’s important that they can’t hurt you. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Olea, you’re talking in riddles again and I’m sick of it.”

Olea steps closer to the gate. And another step. One more. Her bare toes wriggle in the dirt. This is the closest we’ve been since she took the poplinock from me so gingerly.

“What I’m doing here in this garden is vital,” she whispers. “Dr. Petaccia is a genius—you don’t need me to tell you that. But what if I told you that her public work, the things she has you helping her with in the lab, is a mere speck in comparison to what I’m helping her with in here…?”

“I’d say you’re full of shit,” I answer coldly. “Because, frankly, what proof do I have? I’m willing to bet you won’t tell me exactly what—”

“I can’t,” Olea begs. “You must see why I can’t tell you.

If even a whisper of it gets out… It’s too big and far, far too precious.

” She rubs a hand along the line of her jaw, her eyes going soft and misty.

“Before you came I’d have given everything for this—for your friendship.

I was so—I was so lonely, Thora. Florencia is gone often, for conferences and more research, and I’m always left behind.

And the plants… even they couldn’t get me through.

I started to wonder how long I could do it, how many more times I might sit in that tower and cry myself to sleep.

“And then I met you. And suddenly it didn’t feel so hopeless. The nights didn’t feel like a punishment any more. The plants noticed, you know. They want you the way I want you. Your friendship is the most important thing to me in the world.

“And that’s why you must understand that I’m not keeping secrets from you to hurt you, or because I don’t trust you.

It’s the world I don’t trust. Here, in my garden, I have control over it all.

Inside these walls the secrets are safe.

If I could tell you, then I would, Thora, I truly would. I don’t want to keep secrets from you.”

I jam my hands into my pockets like a petulant child, half to hide the way my fingers shake. I want nothing more than to believe her, to believe that she feels the same for me as I do for her. And the truth is I can’t stay angry at her. And I would never, ever want to risk her passion.

“If you can’t tell me, then I don’t know how we can go on…

” I begin. Olea worries her bottom lip between her teeth and, completely unbidden, I picture biting it.

“I want the same trust and friendship you do, but there will always be secrets between us as long as this gate divides us, won’t there?

It isn’t fair and it isn’t right, but it’s true. ”

This time Olea doesn’t flinch—and this is the only proof I need to know I have her.

Guilt swirls like an oil slick inside me, but I console myself that I’m not manipulating her any more than she wants to be manipulated.

She wants this just as much as I do, only she’s too frightened to admit it. I won’t be cowed any more.

“You still want to come in here?” she asks quietly. “Even though you know it’s dangerous? I can’t guarantee you won’t be hurt. You asked me to promise that I’d keep you safe… What if I can’t do that?”

“Olea.” I reach out and wrap both of my hands around the bars of the gate.

The air is rich with the promise of summer rain, but most of all I can smell her—that bitter, floral perfume.

It’s in my nose, under my tongue. I want to bathe in the scent.

“You said it yourself: in the garden you have control. I won’t fight that.

You don’t have to tell me anything about the work you’re doing—you can deny it to the doctor if it’s her you’re worried about.

I won’t tell her I’ve been inside, and I won’t touch anything.

We can just talk as we’ve done before. I want to learn about your passions.

I want to learn about you . And this way you won’t have to be alone.

“So I’ll ask again. Will you let me in?”

This time I know that Olea’s silence does not automatically mean no.

She looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers.

They look as if she has dipped them in ink, murky tendrils dancing from her nails right to her knuckles, as though she’s plunged her fingers in black wax.

When she finally meets my gaze there is a resolve in her eyes that I have never seen before.

“Florencia is at a conference next week,” she says. “Monday—come at midnight.”