The Gender Lie

by Bella Forrest

  Desmond smirked, her eyes glistening with laughter. “I knew I’d like you,” she remarked.

  “Interesting thing, hindsight, huh?”

  There was a flash of something behind her eyes and her face tightened. “Mr. Croft, I had no idea you and Ms. Bates were malcontents. You were just pieces to me—and unfortunately for you, you were expendable. However, given the situation, I have done my best to make amends. I hope you’ll consider that the next time your patronizing streak manifests.”

  I narrowed my gaze at her. “You have this blunt thing down, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “The act, right? It’s bold, but then again, you’ve got a lot of guts.”

  Desmond looked unfazed under my scrutiny, and that in itself was telling. Most people who were bad liars would start to protest. But she was schooled, careful and precise. She could slip in and out of the role, but only when it suited her. It took a keen eye to pick up on the signs, but they were there.

  In the way that she opened her mouth to retort before slowly closing it and forming a tight smile. In the calculating gaze that she leveled at me as she ran through the options that would be most effective on me. She was so smooth, so collected about it, it was a wonder that I had even picked up on it. But I had, although I wasn’t sure what it meant yet.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Croft. I do hope to see you up and walking soon,” she said after a moment. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  I shot her a smile that was as fake as King Maxen’s and watched her leave, calm and collected. Dr. Tierney came back in and looked at me expectantly.

  “Can I get a piece of paper and a pen?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she replied.

  24

  Violet

  I was dangling between two thin lines, trying desperately not to wet myself as I carefully examined the explosive device in front of me. I did my best to ignore the vast darkness below, taking care to focus the flashlight on my helmet on the massive concrete pillar in front of me. The bomb removal task was taking longer than anyone had thought, but that was because of the sheer volume of explosives the Matrians had rigged the facility with.

  I had been assured several times that the two lines would hold me, and that if the lead line broke, I would still have the back-up line to catch my weight. Plus, there was a man waiting on the catwalk above with the electronic winch ready to go.

  To be honest, when I found out about this particular detail of the job, I had been beyond hesitant to take it. But with my brother being cold and non-communicative, and with Viggo doing… whatever it was he was doing, I needed the distraction, and this one promised hours of work, as well as a bone-jarring fear that could keep my mind off anything.

  Except it wasn’t really working. Even as I swung in the air, trying to pry a detonator out of the sculpted explosive, I still found my thoughts drifting to Viggo. I wasn’t even angry at him anymore—not really. I was worried about him.

  I had no idea how he was doing, and it bothered me. I kept trying to remind myself that he didn’t want me there, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop wondering if he was eating well, or how his exercising was going.

  “Hey, Violet!” came a shout from above and I lowered my arms, tilting my head up to see Owen being lowered down slowly face down. A wave of vertigo hit me and I shook my head, focusing my gaze back on the wall.

  “You’re insane,” I said, turning back to the silver pin jutting out of the mound of brown explosive clay.

  “Says the girl tinkering with a bomb,” he replied, coming to a stop next to me.

  “What are you doing down here?” I asked as I slowly pulled the detonator pin out. I carefully wiped it off using a cloth clipped to my belt and then put it in a small bag that was attached to my harness.

  “Looking for you, actually. Well, that and I came to help. But… I… uh… have some news that you really aren’t going to like.”

  I frowned as I pulled out my knife, carefully sliding it under the soft clay-like explosive. “Maybe you shouldn’t tell me when I’m playing with this crap,” I said as I began to pry it from the cement.

  “You need to hear about it now before you see it later.”

  I paused and turned toward him. “What?”

  “Your brother asked to be moved back to the cells.”

  “What?!” I exclaimed, cringing when the sound of my voice reverberated back from the walls loudly. I waited for it to fade before turning back to Owen. “What?” I asked more softly, but twice as insistently.

  Owen flinched and fidgeted on his rope line, the rope creaking ominously under his weight. I tensed, but the line continued to hold. “Before you get upset, let me remind you that it was at his request.”

  “Who did he ask?”

  “Desmond.”

  My throat constricted. “Did… Did he give a reason why?”

  “You’re going to have to ask him that. I wasn’t present at the time.”

  I rested my head against the rope line, trying to process the disappointment and hurt I was feeling. I didn’t know why I hadn’t seen this coming. Every time I tried to interact with Tim, he had been cold, distant. I knew he was trying to keep his distance because he was worried about hurting me again, but I had tried everything to convince him that I was okay.

  The problem was that Tim had lost hope in himself since that day in the cafeteria. He had been making some progress—he had been speaking more, smiling more, and was even more willing to interact with people, for a short time, anyway. But since he had lost it with Henrik, his confidence had been shattered, and I didn’t know how to get it back.

  “I hate Mr. Jenks,” I hissed suddenly, my mind zeroing in on the culprit of the wrongdoing my brother had suffered.

  “That’s an interesting thing to say,” said Owen, and I looked up at him in surprise. I had almost forgotten he was still there; I had receded so deeply into my own thoughts.

  “What do you mean?” I asked him.

  “Did I ever tell you I was shot?” he said, his voice light and conversational.

  I blinked, surprised at the change in topic. “Uh… no?”

  “Because I was. On my first mission, actually.”

  “How bad?”

  “It tore through my liver and ruptured my spleen.” I watched him closely, not sure of what to say or how this related to Mr. Jenks. “The spleen I could do without,” Owen went on, “but the liver… well… that’s a different story. I had to be on dialysis for days while the doctors figured out what to do. Couldn’t get a transplant—we didn’t have the equipment or a donor. But… it turned out Matrus had developed a simple cure.”

  “The bio implant?” I replied and he smiled.

  “Yeah. Stem cells that could be attached and programmed to repair damaged flesh. Can’t be used on certain organs, like the heart, lungs, or brain, but it was a… miracle cure for lack of a better word. Desmond got it for me.”

  I still felt confused. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Do you know who developed it?”

  I shook my head.

  “Mr. Jenks.”

  “Oh,” I murmured.

  “Yeah, oh. It’s kind of a crappy feeling, knowing that the one person who is responsible for destroying so many loved ones is ultimately the person who saved my life.”

  His reply swirled in my mind as I tried to make sense of it all. “Why are you telling me this?” I asked again.

  “You want to blame Mr. Jenks for your brother, and I get that—he did some bad stuff to him. But Violet… no person is ever the villain in their own mind. They’re just people who got confused between point A and point B.”

  His point was clear now, and I spent some time considering it in silence, continuing my job of prying the substance off the wall. Owen worked quietly behind me, and then chuckled suddenly.

  “What?” I asked as the sticky stuff finally came off with a wet sucking noise.
I carefully smashed it into a ball and then placed it in another bag.

  “I was just thinking that it’s too bad he isn’t around—I bet we could’ve kidnapped him and made him make some sort of miracle drug to help the boys.”

  His words rattled around in my head, and then I felt a lightbulb switch on.

  “Maybe not him…” I said thoughtfully.

  Owen shot me a curious look, but I was already on the radio requesting to be brought back up. I clipped the radio back to my belt and looked at Owen, already starting to rise. “Thanks for the idea,” I called. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

  An hour later, I was pacing in front of Desmond’s office, waiting for her to finish her meeting. Inside the office, a man I had never seen before was shaking Desmond’s hand. He had come in from The Green a few hours ago—which had the entire group buzzing. There were mentions of the name Dobin whispered in hushed tones—not that I had been paying much attention; my mind was focused on the vial in my hand and the implications it might have for Tim, Solomon, and the rest of the boys.

  The door swung open and the strange man stepped out. I froze in the middle of my pacing, my booted foot landing heavily on the floor, making a dull sound. The man turned his head toward me and stared at me with a heavy gaze, his dark eyes glittering.

  He was in his late thirties, but he was fit—not bulky, but in shape. He was taller than me by about four inches, and his dark hair was shaved close to his head. White was beginning to bleed through at his temples. He wore a beard that was closely trimmed, and his mouth was turned down in what appeared to be a perpetual frown.

  The two of us stared at each other. I was distinctly uncomfortable with his scrutiny of me, but something about how he looked at me warned me to keep my gaze on him. My instincts were telling me that this was a dangerous man, one capable of deep violence. Like many predators, he seemed like he would respond to weakness, so my only call was to be calm and display a casual confidence.

  I felt the seconds march by as we regarded each other. It took everything not to exhale in relief as he turned away, heading for the door. I watched him closely as he opened it and stepped through. I kept my gaze on the door until it had closed.

  Then I exhaled. Turning my eyes back to Desmond, I could see her standing in front of the glass, her arms crossed and her eyes watching me. They surveyed me up and down, seemingly assessing my posture. I straightened my spine and met her gaze evenly.

  We hadn’t talked since the incident in the cafeteria, but I didn’t get the sense she was angry with me—just busy. However, I really wanted her to make time for me. She waved her hand for me to enter and I sprang forward, eager to share my idea.

  “What can I do for you, Violet?” she asked, and I crossed the room, hurriedly setting the vial of pills on her desk.

  She frowned in confusion. “What’s this?”

  I dropped down in a chair and leaned forward. “It’s Benuxupane,” I said, rubbing my hands together.

  She narrowed her eyes at the pills, considering them. “Why are you showing me this?” she asked.

  “I know that Lee must have told you about them, what they did?”

  “He told me the intention—suppressing emotions. I fail to see how—” She paused, and I saw the realization dawning in her eyes.

  “I think that, somehow, King Maxen found out about the flaws in Mr. Jenks’ process,” I said eagerly, scooting forward in the chair until I was a few inches short of falling. “I’m not sure how—maybe he also got some of the classified documents. Anyway, instead of wasting the time to perfect the process, he was going to replicate it, and use the Benuxupane to counter the effects.”

  Desmond looked dubious. “How could you know that?” she asked.

  “I don’t. But it’s the only reason I could come up with for their development. It makes sense though, right?”

  She leaned back with a thoughtful expression. “It’s an interesting theory, but why are you telling me this now?”

  “To be honest, I kind of forgot that I still had the Benuxupane. I only just remembered, but… it has the potential to help the boys, right?”

  Desmond licked her lips. “Maybe,” she hedged. “It’s certainly worth giving this to the scientists and having them run some tests.”

  A sense of relief washed over me. “Thank you, Desmond,” I said. I moved to stand up, but she cleared her throat and I stalled before slowly lowering myself back down.

  “I have to admit, I did not expect this conversation from you when I saw you outside. I expected… anger in light of your brother’s decision.”

  I settled back in the chair, trying to formulate a response. After a moment, I leaned forward again. “It’s not your fault regarding Tim,” I said. “He probably asked you because he knew I would be opposed to his decision.”

  “I see. And now?’

  I shrugged, uncertain of what to say. “I’m not happy, but as long as you promise he’s there of his own volition, I can’t argue with you about it.”

  “Hm,” Desmond muttered. “Well, I hope you’re onto something with the Benuxupane, Violet. I so desperately want to get those boys out of here. I don’t like being in the snake pit longer than I have to be.”

  I nodded in total understanding. I didn’t like living under the uncertainty of a Matrian attack. Even with Thomas assuring us that they thought the base was destroyed—that didn’t stop them from sending someone out on foot to confirm.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is… thank you for the polite discourse this time,” Desmond said.

  I gave a small laugh. “Least I could do, I guess. I am… sorry… for being such a pain.”

  She nodded seriously, then smirked. “To be honest, you remind me a lot of myself,” she said, and I blinked, taken aback. “It’s a good thing,” she assured me. “I had a similar drive and tenacity… plus a certain attitude about authority figures. It took years to smooth out the rough edges. It’s been so long that now, I find I’ve become the very thing I rebelled against in my youth.”

  “You’re not that bad.”

  She gave me a scolding look and I sat back from the heat of it. “Okay,” I corrected myself, “so maybe you are, but… I can try to meet you halfway, at least.”

  Curiosity glistened in her eyes. “So, you and your Mr. Croft have decided to stay with us?”

  I bit my lower lip and shifted. “I don’t know about Viggo, but I’m certainly considering it.”

  She drummed her fingers on the desk and then nodded. “I think your Mr. Croft is unlikely to want to stay. I got the distinct impression when I met with him today that he doesn’t really like me.”

  “No, Viggo makes everyone feel that way when he first meets them,” I said, and she gave me a polite smile.

  “I see,” she said, doubt thick in her voice. I dropped the subject. I did not want to talk about Viggo. “Well, I’ll let you know what they say about this,” she said, shaking the little vial of Benuxupane on the desk, and I rose at the dismissal.

  “Thanks,” I said before turning to go.

  I had made it all the way back to my room when I ran into Dr. Tierney, who was sliding a note under my door.

  “Is he okay?” I spoke up, and she gave a little yelp, jumping a foot in the air.

  “You scared me,” she accused, pressing her hand against her heart and breathing heavily.

  “Sorry,” I said with a laugh. “So, what was that?” I asked, nodding my head toward the door.

  She frowned and shook her head. “Read it yourself,” she said, bristling. “I am not your drama coordinator, I’m a doctor for crying out loud!”

  I smirked as she stormed off, and then, opening the door, I bent down to scoop the envelope off the floor. Without preamble, I opened the top and slid out the note.

  Good for one arrogant, pig-headed, selfish Patrian. Redeemable in Room 3 of hospital floor.

  A grin split my face as I folded the letter and slid it into my pocket, heading upstairs.
r />   It seemed my pig-headed Patrian was ready to talk.

  25

  Viggo

  I was turning the page of a book that Dr. Tierney had given me to help pass the time when the door swung open and Violet stepped in, her face an impassive mask. I smiled at her, but the smile quickly faded under her cool demeanor.

  “You, uh… got my message?” I dared to ask.

  In response, her hand slid into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a familiar piece of paper. I shifted on the bed, watching her closely as she looked at the letter and then back to me.

  “What if I don’t want an arrogant, pig-headed, selfish Patrian?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.

  I ignored the chill that ran up my spine, reminding myself that she was still there, still talking to me. “Were you looking for something else?” I asked, picking invisible lint off the blanket.

  “How about… an egotistical jerk? Do you have one of those?”

  I met her glance with a non-committal shrug. “Maybe,” I said idly.

  “How about an inconsiderate male?”

  “Oh, fresh out, I’m afraid,” I replied, and I saw the trace of a smile forming on her lips, striking hope into my heart.

  “How about a hot mess? Got one of those for me?”

  I grinned, unable to stop myself. “Always, for you,” I replied, and she laughed, practically throwing herself on top of me. I spread my arms, catching her, relieved beyond words just to hold her. I smoothed my hand over her hair, keeping her close.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered into her ear, and she snuggled closer.

  “You’d better be, you jerk,” she whispered back, and my smile grew even larger.

  “I missed you,” I said, nuzzling the top of her head, and she let out a breath against my neck.

  “I missed you, too,” she sighed. “Oaf,” she added.

  After a while, she slowly pulled herself away and looked down at me. The sight of her lit-up silver eyes glowing with humor and adoration made it feel as if I was floating. When she looked at me like that, it made everything fade away until only the two of us remained.