Page 62 of This Vicious Hunger

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I n the days that follow I resume my vigil by the gate.

This time I try the padlock, but either I’m wrong and I’m not as strong as I thought I was, or I’m tired, because the metal doesn’t even bend.

Olea barely acknowledges me as I come to and go from the tower.

She doesn’t go so far as to leave the room when I enter—the tower really isn’t big enough for that kind of petulance—but she might as well since she refuses to speak.

It is simply easier for me to spend my days and nights sitting amongst the weeds, deadheading the purple-veined yellow flowers of Olea’s henbane and thinking.

I think a lot. Where the first days after the cure left me able to consider carefully the conundrum before me, even if I was too busy to do so, now my brain is slack and uninterested.

The same thoughts circle round and round.

I start to spend even more time by the gate.

I could cut the padlock, maybe. Climb the walls. I do neither.

I feel like a rabbit caught in a trap. No amount of wiggling will set me free. It is a feral, animalistic kind of fear that sets in. Every sound, every distant caw of a bird, every imagined rustle amongst the grasses, sets my teeth on edge.

I creep into the cellar when Olea is in the upper tower and stuff my face with slices of dried meats, thick chunks of cheese, and as much bread as I can muster.

Olives, pasta, porridge, and water. I eat like the starved, hunched over, barely tasting.

Usually by the time I’ve snuck back outside my stomach is rumbling again.

I think of the hare often, regretting that I didn’t have the sense to take it home with us for dinner.

It is too late now. I doubt the antidote would let us die of poisoning from bad meat, but the process, the vomiting and cramps, doesn’t seem like fun.

Of course, the truth is Olea is right to hate me.

The longer I sit and think my circular thoughts, the stronger I feel about this.

It’s fair of me to be concerned about what is happening to us, but Olea isn’t solely to blame—and I’ve no doubt she is struggling more than I am.

Yes, she has me now, but she has also discovered her entire life is a lie.

The story she told me, of the deaths of her parents and her adoption by Petaccia…

it seems especially cruel knowing the doctor would choose such a tale over the truth.

It is as I’m turning this over for the millionth time that the noise startles me. This is no phantom whisper on the breeze. It is the beat of footsteps, the slap of hard shoes. I spring into action, hurrying to the wall and out of sight of the gate.

I’m not sure why I hide. Perhaps it is an instinct, the antidote protecting me still, even though this could be a way out of the garden. The shoes do not belong to Petaccia, who rarely makes a sound even though her stride is long and purposeful. Still, the same voice echoes: Where would you go?

I press my back to the wall and listen. My heartbeat is the slow thud I’ve grown used to, but my skin prickles with sweat as fear floods through me.

“Thora? Thooooora?”

It might as well be a ghost for the feeling of dread that fills me up. I hold a hand over my mouth to silence my breathing, ears straining. Is it my mother? I grasp through the fog of confusion. My father? Perhaps the antidote never worked and this is Death.

When the voice calls again, it sounds closer. I stumble from my hiding spot and out into the open, running for the gate.

“Leo,” I gasp. “Oh, it’s you.”

It is him. Cream slacks, white shirt rolled at the sleeves.

He’s missing his usual scholar’s robe but has a dark jacket pulled up at the neck against the cooling night air.

He looks thin. There are so many things I want to say to him.

Apologies and excuses and desperate pleas for him to leave all burble one after another until the noise in my head is so loud my ears might burst.

In the end what comes out is, “Are you all right?”

“Am… am I all right? Thora, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. “I’ve been right here.”

Leo’s eyes don’t stray from my face, but I know he’s taken in the state of me: stained nightgown, dirt and grass and probably food too.

Is there blood? I’ve not changed in several days.

What’s the point? My hair is thick and curling and I know I look better with it like this.

I try to give him a winning smile—though I suspect I just look unhinged.

“Thora.” It’s all he says.

The reality of it sinks in like a stone in a pond. I wrap my arms over my chest and hold my elbows, hiding my breasts. I’m not cold, but the air has taken on a chill. I’m aware that this looks strange, it is strange, but the fog in my brain makes me slow.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“What are you doing in there?” Leo asks. “And where are your clothes? Come here, I’d like to take you back to your rooms if you’ll let me. You need to rest. You look…” He trails off.

“I look what?”

“You look unwell.”

I can’t avoid the laugh that breaks from my chest. Oh, if only he knew.

“Will you unlock the gate?” Leo presses. “I assume you have the key. I can call a doctor.”

“Oh, a doctor,” I singsong. “No, don’t do that. We’ve had enough with doctors, thank you.”

“We? Is Olea in there with you? Can I speak to her? I knew something wasn’t right with that woman—didn’t I tell you? I warned you.”

“No,” I say thoughtfully. “Olea doesn’t want to talk to anybody right now.

I fucked that.” Another laugh breaks through my defences at Leo’s expression, leaves me breathless.

If only he knew that too. I fucked her. Then he’d run back to his little room on the other side of campus with his tail between his legs, too scared to admit he’d want this too, if Olea were a man.

Maybe he’d set some sexy books on fire, just like Aurelio.

“Thora,” Leo tries again. “Please let me in. I’m not sure what’s going on, but we can talk about it if you want—or not. I’ve been looking for you. You’ve not been to any of your classes for weeks. I thought you were hiding from me.”

“I’m hiding from everybody,” I say solemnly. “Do you have any food?”

“Do I… have any food?”

“Yes, do you have any food?” I approach the gate. “I’m ravenous.”

Leo takes a half step back. What has gotten into him? I’m only asking for something to eat. Something—

“Thora, there’s something really, really wrong here. Why won’t you let me in? Is it the plants?”

“The plants love me. Not as much as they love her , of course.”

“Olea?”

“Olie, Olie,” I say. God, the closer I am to the gate, the stronger I can smell him. He is aftershave and fresh, clean sweat. His floppy hair is like a hat. I’d like to take his glasses off and step on them. I wonder what he’d smell like if I grabbed hold of him, his neck, his hair—

“Right, I’m not leaving you, but I have to go and find somebody who can let me in. You obviously can’t stay in there. I’ll be back with Dr. Petaccia or Almerto, anybody who can help. Okay?”

He makes to leave and a wail escapes me. I didn’t even intend the sound, like a dying pig, and the shock of it turns me to laughter once more.

“Clara’s over there,” I say. “You should come in and see her.”

“… What?” Leo stops, frozen in place. I’ve never seen a look like this on his face. It is hurt and confusion and anger and betrayal; it is disbelief. Worse: it is the belief beneath it.

“Over there,” I repeat, waving at the boggart’s posy.

“At least I think she is. Don’t see why Olea would bury the ring there and not the lady.

” I snort. “She’s all sorts of tricky. Did you know you were married to a thief?

Olea kissed her, you know. She kissed her.

Oh, but I don’t think Clara kissed her back.

Of course, she didn’t have to. Damage, it was all damage.

How does that make you feel? It makes me feel a certain kind of way. ”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” Leo’s voice has gone cold.

I hadn’t noticed the warm concern until it was gone, but it feels better this way.

I don’t deserve his kindness. Olea is right: maybe I was just using him.

He might have married me, too, since he’s so afraid of himself.

He’ll be better off without me. “It’s clear you’re not well. Look at you.”

“Look at me,” I repeat. I curtsy, lifting my nightgown higher than I’m sure is appropriate.

I’m not a society lady, thank god. I never really was one.

And anyway, Leo won’t look at what’s between my legs.

“I’m fine. Better than fine. Stronger than fine.

Well, less stronger than finer and less finer than I was. ”

The scent of him is driving me mad. I can’t think. My stomach clenches so tightly I think I might have to curl into a ball, and yet I don’t think that would make Leo very happy.

“Come here,” I soothe. “Look at me. I’m fine.”

“No. I’m going to get help. Stay right there, please don’t move. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Don’t!” I cry. “Please, Leo, I’m sorry.

” I reach through the bars. They are cold, the rust digging into my flesh.

I feel the prickle of pain and for just a moment I am myself.

I lean hard against the bars of the gate, pressing my face up close.

Leo is hesitant, but he hasn’t fled yet.

I beckon him with my arm. “Please,” I whisper, dropping my voice low enough that I know he won’t hear me unless he steps in. “Don’t tell.”

“I’ve got to do something. I’m… Thora, I’m dreadfully worried about you. Have you been drinking? You can tell me if you have. Or if you’ve taken something else, a pill or smoked some of the leaves. I wasn’t born yesterday. I’d understand.”

“Open the gate,” I whisper. “Can you do it? I can’t. Not tonight. I’m not strong enough. Nobody can know, though.”

“You’re not making any sense—”