The Dollhouse Asylum

by Mary Gray

  Tucking my hand into the crook of his arm, he steers me through the door, and though there’s a party, Teo silently leads me past the couples, the hardwood floors sprinkled with their shifting feet. Keeping my eyes fastened on the chocolate-colored floor, I don’t look up at any of them. Because I know Teo’s kisses are painted on my face, and Marcus, Izzy, Ana, and everyone else will see the brushstrokes across my cheeks.

  I’ve just reached the hall when Izzy, eyes wide, plants herself right in front of me. “Take some of these!” She beams at me, handing me a couple of plates of ham, bread, and cheese. “The fondue is delicious, and you haven’t gotten any,” she adds, smiling.

  I take the plates from Izzy, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. Surely she will detect the traitorous kisses on me.

  But Izzy’s smile doesn’t falter, and Teo takes the plates from me. “Thank you, Izzy,” he says, almost gallantly.

  I don’t believe I’ve ever heard Teo thank someone without being ironic. Forcing my breaths to even out, I let him steer me down the hall to my bedroom, barely acknowledging the painted vines and cracks on Bee’s walls, or the fact that I still like him touching me.

  Once inside my bedroom, Teo releases my arm, gesturing ahead. “Jonas brought these for you.”

  Feeling my skin cool where he just removed his hand, I spot the stacks of dresses perched neatly on my bed. No, Bee’s bed. Teo has forced every single one of us to come here, and this moment when he is gracious and kind is merely a precursor to something else.

  “Well, what do you think?” Teo asks, holding the plates of food. There isn’t anywhere to put them since I moved Bee’s dresser by the front door to block the painted vines on the walls. What do I think? I think I need to find a guillotine. Because what I’ve just done outside means I’m beyond repair. There’s no rewiring me.

  But Teo’s expecting a response, so I give him some words. “It’s too much.” I try to smile but I don’t. He’s lathering me up with too many dresses, and I shouldn’t be finding the gesture sweet. I stalk over to the nearest stack, pick up the first dress and hold it up to me. It’s blue with long strips of ribbon that make up the skirt and shimmers in the light. I think it’s pretty, naturally.

  “Try it on,” Teo offers, and part of me wishes he’d growl or yell at me, but with his voice so soft and low, it’s impossible to refuse him. I nod and take the dress into the mirrored bathroom I’ve come to know as both mine and Bee’s.

  Peeling off my wet dress, I can’t help noticing the fabric of both of these dresses is thin, flimsy. Perhaps that’s how he pictures his Persephone. Moldable. Easily blown over. If I don’t snap out of it, that will always, always be me.

  Teo calls through the door, “I had Jonas order only the dresses that I could picture Persephone wearing. I hope you like them—I chose them myself.”

  I couldn’t have been more right. Bits of sheer fabric comprise me.

  When I step out from the bathroom, Teo whistles, which actually makes my cheeks warm. You should be impaled, Cheyenne. Sliced through the gut. Hop in a time machine, and ask Vlad the Impaler to lend a hand.

  Standing in the doorway, I find that I can’t move—sitting next to Teo on that bed could be a very bad thing. He could move my hair behind my shoulder, bring those lips to my throat, and I’d forget everything. How he kills, and twists, and laughs when it hurts most. It’s better not to move at all.

  But Teo holds out a plate, like he means for me to sit. I stare at that food, my stomach growling. I should have thought to eat before the party.

  Bits of laughter come from the front room. Someone’s squealing—probably Eloise. But the seconds are ticking by, and I can’t leave Teo waiting, so I reach out for that plate of fondue and sit on the bed, leaving a reasonable amount of space between us. Four or five inches, maybe.

  Holding the plate carefully on my lap, I decide on a piece of bread, pluck it up and set it in my mouth. It immediately melts, and I decide I won’t be like the bread. I’ll be steadfast and immoveable when it comes to Teo. I can do this. I’ll be everything sturdy.

  “I have something to tell you,” Teo says as he sets his untouched plate on the bed, “but I do not quite know how it should be phrased.”

  That doesn’t make sense. Teo knows how to put everything. Like the time when my bra strap was showing, and instead of pointing it out in front of everyone, or making some snide comment like the other goons at my school would, he simply rubbed a little on his shoulder and smiled at me. I looked down and saw the problem immediately.

  Okay, he didn’t necessarily have to say anything, but he conveyed his message and it helped. He can be delicate when he wants to be.

  Breathing raggedly, Teo moves to his feet, looking at my plants strewn across the room, and now I wish I’d stashed them somewhere else. His mouth twitches before he clamps it shut, and I’ve never seen Teo flustered like this. It gives me this sick sort of satisfaction that I can do that to him, but then I remember I’m not supposed to care how I affect Teo, so I grab a piece of ham and shove it in my mouth.

  When he moves to the window, Teo’s breathing slows, and when he turns his obsidian eyes down on me, my old Teo is back. He shows his teacher face—his gaze is hard, but nothing fierce, and his forehead is crinkling slightly. “There are times it is best to be weak,” he says eventually.

  I stare at him, unsure why he would say such a thing. I can imagine the way he would answer me in class. It is good to identify the weak so they might be squashed and we can feel peace, or, weakness provides a way of improving oneself. You have ever so many weaknesses, Persephone.

  Unsure whether or not I really want to know, I give him the question he obviously wants: “Why do you say that?”

  Taking a step closer, he says, “Let me answer by asking you something. What would you say constitutes strength?”

  “Endurance,” I say. Why is he asking this? “Compassion,” I add, just to throw out something. And then, remembering the new way he kissed me in the rain, I add quietly, “Willpower,” because that’s a strength I clearly need.

  Teo smiles, maybe two feet above me. “What an odd combination you present.” Extending his hand, he brings me to my feet so that the bits of blue fabric on my dress flutter up. “Would you say the most evil men and women on the planet possess these traits?”

  “Absolutely.” A spark of humanity is in everyone—at least at first. But why compare us to them? Is Teo admitting he is evil, or that he is far above the corrupt?

  “People do not become evil from strength alone,” Teo says, running his thumb and finger over the sheer fabric of my sleeve. My arm and shoulder quiver. “They possess something else.”

  I stare at him, as blank as the white ceiling above my head.

  “Pride,” he answers. “Not just honor, but selfish conceit, when your own ambitions are the only whims you heed. And what is the inverse of pride, Persephone?”

  “Humility?” Where is he going with this?

  “That is right,” he smiles, nodding. “Humility is a trait for which many of us stretch but can never quite grasp. For once we state we have it—”

  “We really have pride,” I finish, seeing the answer easily.

  Teo laughs, an almost pleasant rumble in his throat, and I don’t know whether I should be proud of myself, or if my comments would make any lunatic happy.

  “And so we come full circle,” Teo says. He turns to look out the window again. “There are times it is best to be weak—admit our failings to enhance an ultimate strength.”

  I watch the drying back of his shirt, how the fabric’s lifting from the contours of his body. “I could suggest,” I say, “such an act is really a strength from the very start.”

  He turns his eyes back on me. “But that would defeat the purpose of our little debate. The thoughts of mankind are some of the only true pearls we have. There is a complexity to our minds. At times, the strength of daggers is needed to fortify our world, but occasionally the tender morsels of humil
ity are the key to unlocking our greed.”

  Sitting next to me on the bed again, Teo turns his somber face toward me. I study the growing stubble trickling near his ears, and the slight dip of his chin—not quite a cleft, but almost. I have to fight the urge to touch it—

  Oh, dear God, have mercy on me, because what I really deserve is for my brains to be splattered on the side of the street. I can’t let him get to me like this. I am flint. I am steel—

  “And that is why—” Teo breaks off, lips twitching. He closes his eyes, but reopens them again. Letting his eyes smolder into my own, he says, “That is why I love and need you, Persephone.”

  Just how long have I waited to hear these words? He always offered tidbits. I care so much; I only want to see you happy. But love? I didn’t know he would ever say that word. I’ve thought it maybe a million times, but even I haven’t told him that’s how I feel—felt. Of course, it’s obvious. Every glance, every touch has dripped I love you. But he’s saying it right now. Why’s he saying it right now? And—

  DEAR GOD, WHY IS HE KNEELING?

  With one leg barely touching my knee, Teo plucks up my hand like he’s holding a rose petal. Boring his ebony eyes into mine, he says, “While you do not arm yourself with the callous strength of swords, you empower us all with the fertile seeds of fragility, the divine weakness—humility—we cannot do without. And while mythology has us believe Hades gave Persephone the six seeds of the pomegranate, I know the truth. You, in fact, gave them to me.” Without another word, Teo reaches inside his pocket, pulls out the vaccine. Holding it out to me, he asks, eyes round and innocent, “Marry me?”

  There are no words.

  The man I have daydreamed about these past thirteen months is proposing to me.

  It must have been our kiss in the rain. Or that awful speech about how he is fire and ice. No. No. No, Cheyenne. Teo was planning this all along, because of these “seeds of fragility.”

  When I look down at his hand, I have to blink. Blink, blink. One hand holds the needle, the other holds a gold ring, and a thrill of pleasure sweeps through me. I have to throw my hand over my mouth to stifle a squeal. Teo’s proposing to me.

  Teo’s offering me the vaccine.

  Teo is giving me everything.

  I slap my cheeks, shake my hands; there’s too much confusion and shock not to be happy. He wants to marry me. And I wanted to marry him, but now I’m just insanely happy. If I was a quick-witted sort of person, I’d have grabbed that vaccine and jabbed it into my skin seconds ago. Searched his suit pocket for more vials for Marcus and the others, too. But I can feel my eyes, no doubt stretched as wide as the moon across my face, and it’s like I’ve been struck with paralysis, because my mouth is stuck in this ridiculous grimace that’s halfway smiling.

  Extending a trembling hand, I invite him to place the ring on my finger. And when a flash of gold, warm from his pocket, slides on my finger, it’s all I can do not to let out a gasp. What is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be happy. Smiling.

  When I extend my arm for the vaccine, Teo doesn’t move his hand. “You have earned this,” he says, voice suddenly flat, like he’s lost, and this moment’s come much too fast. Well, welcome to the club, my dear. You’re not the only one feeling about ten million different things. Exhilaration, shock, disbelief.

  “If I give this to you now—” Teo starts, but seems to change his mind because he doesn’t finish what he was saying. Lifting his hand, he gently pierces the skin below my shoulder with the needle, which stings like the old vaccine did after Beijing.

  Since I came here, I’ve been working toward this moment. I’ve actually acquired the vaccine; the Living Rot can no longer hurt me. Now Marcus and Izzy need it. All the others. Ana, and those silly other girls, too. Cleo can get it last—if she decides to keep her paws off Marc. But what am I doing thinking about Marc? I’m engaged! Not really engaged—because I don’t love Teo; Teo is bad—so I can’t tell Cleo to keep her paws off Marc, because that would sound stupid coming from a girl wearing a ring—

  Teo brushes my cheek with his hand and asks quietly, “What are you thinking?”

  My heart plummets thirty floors. I close my eyes, push the idea of Marcus away, and allow myself this moment with Teo, because that’s what Teo wants, needs. What was I even thinking? He told me he loves me and proposed to me.

  He’s probably waiting for me to say I love him, too. But is it weird that I don’t think I can do it? Though everything hinges on the hope that I can stop loving him, I can’t bring myself to tell him those little words. They’re supposed to mean something, and I can’t offer them up falsely.

  “Let us save the announcement,” Teo says, brushing my cheek with his swollen lips. “Tomorrow, Tristan and Izzy entertain us.”

  The lost look on Teo’s face makes me believe he finds our engagement out of whack. He really must be waiting for me to tell him I love him. But I can’t. It’s what I feel, but I don’t. I love him, but I don’t really love him, because how can you love someone who kills?

  When Teo finds his feet again, I don’t watch him leave; instead I focus on the consistency of my breathing. In, then out. Breathe in—breathe out. He didn’t just propose to me; he didn’t, he didn’t—

  The door gently shuts behind him.

  Falling back on the cool, silken sheets, I stare at the pale white ceiling. I can’t believe I let myself be alone with him. He could snap my spine, sneak his way inside my heart at any moment. I shouldn’t allow him to do that. Not now. Not ever. What must Marcus have thought, seeing me come through that front door just now? And then, when we moved to my bedroom, how I could only stare at my feet. It must have been hard for him not to burst in on us again.

  I stare at the simple gold band on my finger, trying to decide how I should feel. Moderately happy that I earned the vaccine? No, I should be screaming that I won. But not everyone has received it, so that would make me a jerk, so I should be moderately to heavily happy, and indifferent that I now wear Teo’s ring.

  The ring is simple, a gold band without a stone, but the intricate cuts in the band and squared edges makes me draw in a breath. It’s perfect, exactly the type of ring I could see “Persephone” wearing. Bits of leaves trickle along the outside surface, and when I slip it off and study an engraving on the inside, I find, “For Persephone. My only.”

  There are no other ladies for Teo; just me.

  This is not some random, throwaway ring. It’s not a trinket he impulsively plucked, but something he clearly thought about. It even fits perfectly. Like the CD, Teo personalizes everything, because, like he said, he loves me.

  It’s difficult to breathe, so I stand and pace about the bedroom. In my daydreams before, Teo and I would leave town, be together, but it was always just that. I never allowed myself to think about a future—kids, a house. This. I suppose that’s what I get for liking an older man, but I do not like him anymore, I cannot like him anymore. He’s a disease.

  Teo is poison. Darkness. Yes, he understands poetry, analyzes attributes of the human heart, but everything about his perception is skewed. Just because no earthly being has ever looked so ethereal in the rain doesn’t mean he should affect me.

  Teo kills, and that’s something I must always remember. I must think of Bee, honor her memory by using the shield of the vaccine. Because I will escape. Not just from Teo’s world, but from his hold on me.

  15

  This is getting ridiculous. All I’ve done this morning is stare at the ring on my finger, not believing that it’s really there. I alternate between wanting to snap a picture and wanting to cut my finger off to get myself to look away. Someone’s yelling in the street again, but I’m too busy to go see. A few minutes ago it was Tristan and Izzy play sword fighting, and the voices sound the same, so I’m pretty sure it’s them.

  I need to see Marcus, have him tell me how horrible everything is. He needs to remind me how Teo’s a killer and how he’s using me. I need good, decent conversation, and
I need it today.

  Rushing out the back door, I decide to do what Marc’s probably doing on the other side of the street—studying the fence line. He’s not the only one who can look for a breach. I study the trees surrounding our yards—compact and mature, they block all light from the outside world. What type are they? Oak or elm, maybe. I should have listened to Mom when she tried teaching me about shrubs and trees. The trunks split early, giving the illusion of a “v,” and the leafy tops umbrella outward, creating rounded splotches of shade.

  I run past the women’s yards, in too much of a hurry to stop and think about each girl, though a few anthills block my way. Behind Izzy’s or Gwen’s house, I find a pack of hornets working on a nest high up on the brick of the house. I need to feel closer to Marcus, remember the way he looked when he wanted to kiss me in my dining room. I wish I could run into him, but no doubt he’s not dumb enough to cross to our side of the street during the day. That would be a death wish. Maybe Cleo knows where he is. I can’t believe I’m considering talking to Cleo. I may need to gouge my eyes out first.

  Maybe I could make up some lame excuse. I didn’t get any breakfast. Do you have any extra muffins lying around? Then I could casually slip in my question about Marcus. You haven’t, by any chance, seen him in or around our street? Did he ask about me?

  I’m lifting my hand to knock on Cleo’s back door when a slight noise behind me, like a twig snapping, makes me turn. Tree branches sway slightly, and a gust of wind gathers my shoulder-skimming hair, whipping it around my face. The fences have been breached. The Living Rot! Someone’s gotten inside. I’m not sure how protected I feel even with the vaccine.

  But it’s Marcus who steps out from behind a short and extra-knobby tree, holding a finger to his lips. My stomach flip-flops. Marcus—I’ve missed you more than I thought. I remember the feel of his knee against mine, how it seemed to warm that skin the entire night. He’s smiling at me, but he quickly darts his eyes left and right, clearly careful about us being watched. I’m not sure what Teo or Jonas would do if they found out he was in the woods. I don’t think Teo would kill his own brother, but how many times have I been wrong when I’ve made a guess involving him?