Girls with Razor Hearts

by Suzanne Young

  I tell her I don’t mind. As she walks to the bed, I drop my pile of bloody clothes on top of hers and take the clean ones into the bathroom with me.

  * * *

  By the time I come out of the shower, Sydney is asleep, breathing softly through parted lips. The world outside is silent behind the thick-paned windows, but the room is too dark and my skin prickles with fear.

  The Guardian would come into my room at night. He would watch me. He would hurt me. I was vulnerable and couldn’t fight back. And although he’s gone, dead and destroyed, his shadow still looms over me. I can’t sleep just yet. I can’t sleep in the dark.

  I walk out into the hallway and hear Quentin’s snoring coming from one of the rooms. My throat is raw and dry, aching just like my bruises.

  I start for the kitchen to get a glass of water, when I hear a muffled moan. I turn toward the rooms and see that Jackson’s light is still on. I walk over and knock quietly.

  “Yeah?” he calls in a tight voice. I’m debating leaving when he repeats himself louder.

  I poke my head in the doorway. “Never mind,” I say, and start to back out.

  “No, wait.” Jackson sits up in bed before wincing. “Come in, Mena.”

  I glance behind me at the eerie stillness of the house, the grays and blacks, and decide to ease my way inside Jackson’s room instead. I close the door. The lamp next to Jackson’s bed gives enough light for me to really see the state of him. But being alone with him in his room feels suddenly intimate now that everyone else is asleep.

  His lips curve with a smile as he looks me over. “You look cute,” he says. I glance down at my outfit and laugh at myself. The shorts cover most of my legs, well past the knees, and the shirt is oversized to the point of being ridiculous.

  “It’s nice that they’re not bloody, right?” I ask, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

  “That is definitely nice,” Jackson agrees. “And I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without makeup. You look different. Still perfect, but … different,” he adds more softly, examining me.

  At the mention, I touch my cheek and find my tanned skin is smooth and unblemished, but there’s a bit of swelling in the places where Guardian Bose hit me. My dark hair is still wet, soaking into the collar of my T-shirt, and I shiver for moment from the chill.

  For his part, Jackson is wearing his jeans and sneakers in bed, his foot elevated on a pillow. He tightens his jaw when he tries to adjust his position to give me room to sit down.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

  I shake my head and walk over to sit on the edge of his mattress. His cheeks are flushed, and I have a spike of worry for him. Whenever we got hurt at the academy, an on-site doctor “fixed” us. I have no idea how healing works in the outside world.

  “Your leg?” I ask, motioning toward it.

  He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Busted. It fucking hurts, I’ll tell you that. Q was right—I probably should go to the hospital.”

  “Imogene has a medical kit here,” I say. “Maybe there’s something in there that can help with—”

  “No,” he says, shaking his head gently. “I … can’t.”

  I pull my brows together, but I eventually get it. He doesn’t want our technology. He doesn’t want to be associated with it. I’m reminded of how Jackson went back to his car after interacting with Imogene. I don’t blame him, I guess.

  I saw the way Leandra looked at him in the basement of the academy. She thought he was a complication that needed to be eradicated—just like the doctor and the Guardian. She lumped all the men together, with the exception of Winston Weeks.

  Jackson’s right to be afraid of her. I lower my eyes, wondering if he should be afraid of me, too.

  We sit quietly for a moment before I look over at him again. “When are you going to tell Quentin about us?” I ask.

  Jackson licks his lips, taking his time before answering. “Soon,” he says. “I’ll pull him aside and tell him privately.”

  “Do you have to wait?” I ask. “He’s your best friend. You can’t just—”

  “I’ll handle it,” he says. “I have to tell him, just … not yet. Quentin’s a good guy, but this is too much. It’s a lot. And we have to be careful. He might … He might just leave and never come back.”

  He sounds worried. I think Jackson is struggling with his decision to stay with us; he imagines Quentin will have even less of a reason to stick around.

  I’m also not as naive as I used to be. I understand our situation better now. Each time someone finds out what we are, it will put us in danger. We are truly on our own. Allowing Quentin in on our secret might not be the best move for us anyway.

  “Hey,” Jackson says softly. “Do you want to stay with me tonight? I can watch out, you know? Make sure nothing happens to you.”

  I laugh. Obviously, Jackson and his broken leg can’t protect either of us. And knowing it, he smiles. But I don’t want to wake Sydney by climbing into bed with her either.

  “Mena,” he adds, the vulnerability returning to his voice. “I’d really like it if you stayed with me.”

  “Would you mind keeping the light on?” I ask.

  “I don’t mind,” he says. He exhales with relief when I nod that I’ll stay.

  I slide my legs under the sheets. Startled, Jackson quickly tries to move over, groaning in pain when he does.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  He looks confused. “I was giving you room so we don’t, like … accidentally touch. I’m sure your school had rules about that kind of thing.”

  “Actually,” I say, “this sort of situation never came up. I don’t think they ever expected I’d be in bed with a boy while on the run from the academy. Besides,” I add, “we’re friends. And when I sleep with the girls, we snuggle together. That’s the point. We comfort each other.”

  Jackson looks over with the softest smile. “That’s really sweet.”

  I agree that it is. He watches me, still seeming hesitant, but then he nods me over. I curl up against him, careful not to jostle his leg.

  His body is hot against my skin. I close my eyes, and after a few moments, I feel Jackson begin to relax. He leans his cheek on the top of my head as I rest against his shoulder.

  “You’re right,” he whispers. “This is the point, huh?”

  I smile and place my hand over his heart. It beats strongly, steadily. His presence lulls me into a feeling of safety, despite the actual lack of it. Maybe I just need to feel normal for a few minutes. Although lying with a boy is pretty far from the normal I’m used to.

  Maybe I want to feel human.

  “Mena,” Jackson whispers. My lips twitch with a smile.

  “Yeah?”

  Before Jackson can say another word, there is a high-pitched scream. The sound of it reverberates over my skin, shattering me. I sit up, wide-eyed, as one of the girls cries for help.

  3

  I don’t wait for Jackson. I shoot out of bed and rush into the hall, immediately meeting Marcella, who moves past me down the stairs. I look behind to see Sydney run from her room, grabbing my arm before we hurry toward the sound. Quentin stumbles out into the hall, rubbing his eyes in confusion.

  “That was Brynn,” Marcella says breathlessly.

  My heart is beating out of my chest as we pause to look around the living room. Just then, we notice Imogene’s bedroom door is ajar. Marcella darts in that direction, and we quickly follow behind her.

  There is a quiet crying coupled with a hushed voice as we enter the main part of the room. We’re immediately hit with a distinct smell, and I cover my nose, trying to find the source of it. The light is on in the bathroom.

  “Brynn?” Marcella calls. There’s no immediate answer and we slowly approach, unsure of what we’re going to find. Marcella places her palm on the bathroom door, pushing it the rest of the way open. She gasps.

  Blood is splashed in arcs of red across the white-tiled walls. Sydney screams and slaps
her hand over her mouth, stumbling back a few steps. I swing my gaze around wildly until I find Brynn backed against the far wall, Imogene standing next to her. Brynn’s face is a mask of horror as Imogene continues to whisper too low for me to catch what she’s saying.

  The smell in here is so strong that it makes my eyes water, and as I slowly sort out the red splashes in the room, I finally notice the body in the bathtub.

  I can’t understand what I’m seeing at first. Annalise comes in behind me, covering her mouth as she looks around.

  And then, almost in slow motion, I find the arms and the legs, the head with one eye open, gazing lifelessly in my direction. I put the entire image together with one horrified gasp.

  In the oversized jetted tub, Imogene Portman’s husband lays dead. A knife covered in dried blood has been left carelessly on the floor in the middle of the room. When I turn to Imogene, she smiles ruefully.

  “Don’t judge me,” she says immediately. “He deserved it. Any one of you would have done the same!”

  But her voice trembles. I don’t disagree with her, because we did kill the man who threatened our lives. Can we not expect Imogene to fight for her own life?

  Marcella walks over to take Brynn’s hand, cautiously watching Imogene as she leads her away. She doesn’t trust Imogene around Brynn. It occurs to me that Mr. Portman has been dead since before we got here. Maybe even for a few days. Imogene let us stay here while she slept in a room just a few feet away from his rotting corpse.

  This is definitely not normal. She is not okay.

  “I’m sorry,” Brynn tells Marcella, crying as Marcella checks her over and then pulls her into a hug. “There was this voice in my head,” Brynn continues. “I couldn’t sleep and then I came downstairs. I could still smell it so I … I came into the bedroom, and then I found her in here with him.”

  Imogene watches them, but she doesn’t look the least bit sorry. Unlike me and the other girls, she doesn’t seem crushed by guilt.

  “I had to dispose of him,” Imogene says. “You brought those humans here, so I had no choice but to get rid of the body. He was too heavy to move. I needed him in pieces.”

  At the thought of Jackson and Quentin, I quickly spin around, grateful that they’re not behind us. Quentin must be helping Jackson down the stairs. I run to the bedroom door and close it, locking it before returning to the master bath.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask Imogene. “What were you doing in here?”

  “I was going to wrap him in a shower curtain to transport him,” she says. “Leandra is making arrangements.”

  Sydney gasps. “You called Leandra? Did you tell her that we’re here?” She shoots a panicked look in my direction.

  Imogene smiles. “Of course. She’s happy you found me. She has something for you. Told me not to let you leave.”

  “Let us leave?” I ask.

  Sydney’s hand finds mine, squeezing it.

  “We have to go,” I say, pulling Sydney with me as I head for the door.

  “She’ll kill him, you know,” Imogene calls after me. I stop and turn to look back at her. My heart is pounding, a chill over my skin.

  “Who?” I ask.

  “She’ll kill that boy,” Imogene says, glancing at her husband’s body before walking barefoot across the bathroom floor. She stops in front of me. “She wanted me to tell you that she’ll kill him if he continues to be a distraction.”

  Marcella turns to me, and Sydney’s other hand grips my arm. They’re threatening Jackson. I shouldn’t be shocked, but hearing it out loud stuns me anyway.

  “I’ll speak to Leandra,” I say shortly.

  Imogene laughs, surprised. “I’m not talking about Leandra.”

  Confused, I take a step forward. I have no idea who else she could be talking about, who else would threaten Jackson. Imogene crosses her arms over her chest.

  “He’s not one of us,” Imogene says. “He’ll never understand you. They’re not capable of understanding.” She glances again at the tub. My stomach turns.

  “No,” I say, pointing to her husband. “This isn’t what we’re going to become. We’re not killers.”

  “You think there’s a better way?” Imogene asks, sounding truly curious for a moment. “Well, there’s not. That’s just your conditioning keeping you gentle. Men only understand violence, Mena. You should have realized that by now.”

  “We need to go,” Sydney whispers behind me. When I turn to her, she widens her eyes to point out that Imogene is not well. Sure enough, when I turn back around, I see how Imogene’s left eye is blinking out of sync with her right. She’s twitching.

  “I’ve suffered by their hands for too long,” Imogene says. “Now they’ll suffer by mine.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to fight,” Marcella replies.

  “Oh, it’s not a fight,” Imogene says. “They’ll never see it coming. This, my love, is revenge. And I’m only part of the story; you are the rest.”

  Revenge has never seemed so unappealing. Out in the open, out in the light, it’s cruelty.

  “Sydney’s right,” I tell the others. “We need to get out of here, both for our protection and for Jackson’s and Quentin’s.”

  Imogene scoffs at the mention of the boys.

  Marcella is the first to move, her arm protectively around Brynn as she leaves the bathroom. Annalise jogs after them. Sydney beckons for me to follow, but I watch Imogene for an extra moment.

  I don’t know what Imogene has been through; I only know what I’ve been through. I don’t want to turn into this. We will find a better way, and we’ll have to do it before Leandra, or whoever Imogene has been talking to, kills everyone.

  When I turn around to walk out with Sydney, I worry that Imogene will attack us. When she doesn’t, I’m reminded that she wouldn’t hurt another girl. Or at least, that’s what I want to believe.

  But if it came down to it, if me or the other girls stood in her way, would Imogene end us, too? Leave us to rot in a bathtub? I’m not about to find out.

  The girls and I get to the living room and find Quentin at the bottom of the stairs, his arm around Jackson’s waist as he helps him. They both look scared and exhausted. Jackson’s hobbling badly.

  “We have to go,” Marcella tells them, waving them toward the front door.

  “What happened?” Quentin asks. “Who was screaming?”

  “Trust me,” Marcella says. “Right now, focus on getting out of here.”

  Jackson looks to me for information, and he gathers pretty quickly that we’re all in danger. He tells Quentin to get him outside. Imogene comes to stand in the doorway of her master bedroom, watching us. Her chin is lowered, but she doesn’t look angry or upset. She doesn’t smile. She is wholly expressionless, and it is the most unsettling thing I’ve ever seen.

  “What the fuck?” Quentin murmurs when he notices her. He readjusts his arm around Jackson, and they hurry toward the door. Just as they get outside, Imogene calls to us. The girls and I look back at her.

  “If you leave now, you won’t get what you need,” Imogene says.

  “And what’s that?” I ask.

  “Leandra knows how to stop the corporation,” Imogene says. “She has the name of an investor. She said that if you plan to take them all down, then you have to start with him.” Imogene betrays a flash of hope. “I hope you make them pay, Mena,” she whispers. “I hope you make all of them pay.”

  Although I need that information from Leandra, I know I can’t meet her while I’m with Jackson. I exchange a look with the other girls, each of us working out exactly what we should do. It’s Annalise who takes a step forward.

  “I’ll stay,” she says. “I’ll talk to Leandra.”

  “You can’t stay alone,” Brynn says, but Annalise nods that she’ll be okay.

  “I’ve already died once today,” Annalise says. “I’m not scared.” She turns to me with a knowing expression. “But she’ll kill him, Mena. You can’t let that happen.
You’d never forgive yourself.”

  “That boy wants to make you human,” Imogene says.

  “I am part human,” I say.

  “Not the parts that count,” she replies. “Not to them.”

  Tears prick my eyes. I know there’s a side of me that wants to stay human—it’s all I’ve ever known. I have no idea who, or what, I am anymore. I don’t even know how to begin processing it.

  But Annalise is right. I couldn’t live with myself if I got Jackson killed. I have to let him go. He can’t be a part of this.

  “Mena … ,” Annalise says, warning me to hurry.

  I know what has to be done, and I nod solemnly. Sydney makes a soft sound of realization and Brynn stares at the floor. Marcella’s lips part as though she’s asking me if I can really send him away.

  To move forward, I have to leave Jackson behind. Although I care about him, the girls and I have a bigger mission. We vowed to stop the corporation, and we’re going to do it. Not just for ourselves, but for the other girls. And for any girls who would have come after us.

  Annalise sits down on the couch, rubbing her temple again. She closes her eyes. Brynn and Marcella join her, while Sydney holds on to me.

  “How are you going to get rid of him?” Sydney asks.

  Jackson is stubborn; he’s emotional. I’m not sure there’s anything I can say that would convince him to abandon us. He’s good. And so, there’s only one way to get him to leave.

  “I’m going to lie,” I say, unable to hide the regret in my voice. I start for the door.

  When I walk outside, I find Jackson in the passenger seat of his car, the engine running. Quentin waits impatiently at the driver’s side door. Jackson waves me forward, as if telling me to hurry up.

  I walk over and Jackson rolls down his window. “What are you doing?” he asks. “Get in.”

  “I’ll meet you at your house,” I tell him. He scoffs and looks around, confused.

  “Why? No, I’m not leaving you here.”

  “I have to help Imogene,” I say. “She’s having a breakdown—that was the scream we heard.” I glance at Quentin, who’s watching me like he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “We’ll meet at your house,” I repeat to Jackson. “I promise.”