Number Thirteen (26 page)

“Girls,” I say, my voice broken. “Please stop.”

“Don’t get your bossy pants on now, Missy Prissy,” Genève snarls at me.

“God,” I yell, kicking a stool. “Can you just stop? You’re making us all miserable.”

“Ladies, come on,” Jaybelle says. “Let’s just stop this. Let’s all go to the pool and get out of this space.”

The girls all fall quiet, and we turn and stare outside at the pool.

“It’s a good idea,” I dare to say.

“I think so, too,” Ellie pipes up.

“Whatever,” Genevieve grunts.

We all stand and rush off to our rooms. We get changed and head out to the pool. We need fresh air; we need space. We’ve been fighting so much because we’re all so confused. We don’t know what to do, or where to go, and it’s scary. We feel like we have nothing left at the end of this tunnel. We don’t even know if William wants us back, or if we want to go back to him.

I want to go back to him. Everything inside me aches to be with him.

“Girls.”

We’re all lazing by the pool when Officer Greg walks in. He’s been visiting us daily, and he’s been kind enough to us, even though he’s trying to take away the one thing we love. He stops beside my lounge, and looks down at me, before letting his eyes fall on the other girls.

“We need to ask some more questions.”

I sigh. So do the other girls.

“I know you don’t like it,” he says, his voice stern. “But it’s protocol.”

“Get on w#82girls.

He gives her a warning look before dragging a seat out, and pulling out a piece of paper.

“I need to ask you about your time in the house.”

“You’ve already asked us,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Yes, but I only asked the very basics. Now I need more.”

“Fine.”

“Firstly, I need to know if you know what happened to the girl who jumped off the roof?”

My heart clenches, and I swallow my bile down.

“She killed herself,” I grind out.

“Why?” he questions.

“Because she was depressed,” Jaybelle snaps. “She had a hard life before William. She found it hard to cope.”

He raises his brows and studies us. “And you think that’s all it was? It wasn’t something he did?”

“Of course not,” I say, my tone defensive. “He would have never let her hurt herself.”

“Okay,” he says, writing something down. “Now, after a search of the house, we saw very basic things in the rooms. If you were there willingly, why didn’t you have normal clothes, and other such items?”

He’s trying to confuse us, to get us to admit something so he can get William. Well, I won’t let him. He has no idea what William is like, or why he did what he did.

“We only needed basic things. He was looking after a lot of us,” I say.

“And he couldn’t have given you nicer clothes?”

“Could you afford clothes for that many girls?”

He narrows his eyes, but chooses to change the subject. “Very well. What about the markings on your hands?”

I have nothing for that. I feel my heart beginning to pound as I struggle for an answer. It’s Genevieve who speaks, saving me before I breakdown.

“We did those.”

The officer turns to her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” she snaps. “We did them. Before William, we were no more than numbers. It became somewhat of a meaningful thing to us. We decided to tattoo it on ourselves so we never forgot the lives we left behind.”

The officer sighs, and rubs his forehead. “You girls aren’t going to give me anything on him, are you?”

“There’s nothing to give. He was good to us,” I say.

He stares around the group before standing. “You’re all booked to speak to my psychologist; which is part of protocol. Emelyn, if you’re free, you can come with me now.”

I frown, but I know there’s no way to get out of it. I have to go. I stand, sighing. “Let’s get this over with.”

“T
ell me about Lanthie,” Mary, the psychologist asks.

I stare at her. She’s older, with greying hair and big brown eyes. She’s lovely, and patient, and willing to hear everything we have to say.

“She was gorgeous, sweet, funny, and adorable,” I whisper, my voice too broken to show itself.

“You blame yourself for her death?”

I feel my eyes harden. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” she says, leaning back. “It’s human nature to blame ourselves for things that are out of our control.”

“How?”

I grind my teeth together. “I could have screamed, I could have fought, I could have done something...”

“Maybe, but who’s to say it wouldn’t have happened another day, when you weren’t there?”

She sounds just like William.

“Can we talk about something else?” I croak.

“Of course. Tell me about William.”

“He’s my everything.”

“Do you want to elaborate?” she encourages.

“No.”

“Did William ever hurt you?”

She’s tricking me, just like the police officers. I look her right in the eye when I answer. “Everything William did, was for us. He changed his world to fit us in.”

“Do you think William’s actions were all pure?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think William loves you?”

I hesitate. “William cares about all of us.”

“That’s not what I asked, Emelyn.”

“I don’t know if he loves me,” I bark.

“Ok, that’s ok. I think we’ve done enough for the day.”

I stand, not letting her finish. I walk outside and burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears.

I want him back.

“I know you’re in there, Will!” Ben barks, banging his fists on the door over and over.

He’s been doing it for a full hour.

I slide my chair back, tired, sick of putting up with his yelling. I storm down to the front door and I swing it open. He’s standing at the door, panting, his face red with rage.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I stare at him.

“Don’t start the silent treatment with me, Will,” he growls. “Why didn’t you tell me about them?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You purchased Thirteen girls!”

“There’s no proof of that,” I say, my voice deadpan.

“Fuck, Will, I’m your Brother. You don’t need to hide this from me.”

“There’s nothing to hide, Benjamin,” I growl.

He brings his fist up and slams it into the door. “Stop doing this, you don’t have to hide from me.”

I glare at him. “Why are you here, Ben?”

“I’m here because you’re slowly rotting in here. You’re not talking to anyone; you’re barely attending meetings. You’re sinking, Will.”

“I’m fine.”

He raises his fist, and he hits me. It comes as a shock, and it’s only when blood pours into my mouth that it registers. I turn to him, my gaze livid.

“That was a mistake,” I bark.

“Why,” he roars. “Because it dragged some emotion out of you.”

I don’t speak; I just stand there, panting, my chest filling with rage.

“You were using slaves.”

I feel rage fill my body. “They. Weren’t.
Slaves.”

“Then what were they?”

“I owe you nothing, Benjamin!”

He flinches. “It’s always the way, isn’t it? Constantly blaming me for leaving you when you were younger.”

“I did
not
say that.”

He steps closer. “You think it, though. Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Stop lying to me, Will. You’ve always blamed me for that,” he jerks a finger at my eye. “I wasn’t there. I was the golden child. I got sent away and you were left with our fucked up Mother.”

I flinch again. My fists clench so tightly my fingers ache. “Don’t,” I warn.

“Why? Because it might bring up something you don’t want to face?”

My body begins to tremble.

“Admit it, Will. You didn’t tell me about the girls, because you’re still angry with me. A part of you always will be.”

He’s pushing me too far.

“I let them hurt you, I let you suffer. Admit it!” he roars.

“You’re right,” I bellow. “I do fucking blame you. I shouldn’t have been left behind. I shouldn’t have had my eye burned. I shouldn’t have had to face Dad’s anger. I shouldn’t have had to be Mom’s carer. I shouldn’t have had to be second best.”

Benjamin stills, and his bottom lip twitches. “You think it doesn’t bother me?” His voice is a low whisper. “You think I didn’t live wondering if you were ok?”

“It wasn’t enough,” I roar. “If it was, you would have stayed.”

“I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“No, William. There isn’t.”

“Get out of my house, Ben.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“I’m not going to say it again, get out.”

He steps up close. “I said fucking no!”

I lift my fist and I drive it into his nose, causing a loud crunch to fill the room. He snarls and hits me hard in the mouth. Then we’re slammed against the wall, our bodies wild, our fists flying. He shoves me into a nearby corner unit, causing lamps and ornaments to smash onto the ground. I bellow in rage, and wrap my hands around his throat, pressing him against the wall.

“Get the fuck out!” I spit.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “Is that what you want from me, Will? Do you want to know how much I suffer because of what happened? Do you want to know how much it hurt to be dragged away from you? You are my twin, William. You’re not just my brother; you’re my other half. If you want me to say it, I’ll say it. I’m sorry.”

My legs feel weak suddenly, and my chest seizes. I drop my hands and he reaches up, rubbing his neck. I feel my body sink to the floor, as reality finally sets in. I’ve lost everything. Ben comes down with me, wrapping his arms around me.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Will.”

I say nothing.

There’s nothing more to say.

“You’re a bunch of freaks!” a group of males bark at uale“Is.

We went out, trying to find some semblance of a normal life. A group of men decided to join us at our table, and decided after one attempt at dancing with us, that we’re freaks. When their hands tried to touch us, we flinched. When they tried to press their bodies against ours, we shied away. We’re not those kinds of girls. We’re not normal.

“Hey,” Genevieve growls. “Fuck you.”

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you paid me,” one of the guys laughs.

My chest aches and I put the drink I have in my hand down and turn, shoving through the crowd of people to get away. The moment I feel the fresh air hit my face; I breathe it in. My entire body is weak and wobbly, letting me know I’m at the end of my rope. I just want to go back. It doesn’t matter how much they try to tell me I don’t need William, they’re
wrong.

“Hi.”

I turn and see a young man from the group standing beside me. He’s got shaggy brown hair, brown eyes, and he’s about six foot tall and lean.

“Hi,” I murmur.

“I’m sorry about what they did to you all in there.”

Is he really? I doubt it.

“I’m just going home,” I say.

“Listen,” he says, stepping in front of me. “I’m truly sorry. They can be assholes.”

I stare at him, and he seems genuine.

“It’s ok,” I whisper.

“Will you let me make it up to you? Come and get a coffee with me?”

I hesitate, I really don’t want to go and do anything but go home and curl into my bed. But we’re being encouraged to live as normally as possible. At least, that’s what Mary says.

“O-Ok. Maybe just one.”

He beams and points over the road. “There’s one right there, your friends can find you when they’re done.”

I nod and follow him over to the small, quaint coffee shop. We order and take a seat on the small rounded table outside. I run my fingertips over the red and white-checkered table covering.

“So, tell me about yourself?”

I look up at him. “Um, well, my name is Emelyn.”

“That’s nice,” he smiles. “I’m Tim.”

“Ah, ok.”

“What do you do for a living, Emelyn?”

“I...nothing right now.”

He nods, looking a little confused. “That’s ok. What do you do for fun?”

“Um, well, I enjoy the beach.”

“Oh me too,” he says. “I used to go there all the time when I was a child.”

For the next hour, Tim goes on and on about himself. I’m uncomfortable and I’m struggling to find any enjoyment at all. Tim is self-centered and plain.

It only makes me realize just how in depth and beautiful William is.

And just how much I miss him.

“S
he’s depressed,” I whisper to Reign.

We’re staring at Number Twelve, who is slowly but surely sinking. She’s withdrawn from us all, sleeping most of the day and rarely eating. She hardly speaks and when she does it’s in one-word answers. I don’t know how to heknoonlp her or what to do. She’s closing in on herself, and I feel as though we’re losing her.

“I don’t know what to do,” Reign whispers back.

“Neither do I.”

I sigh, feeling helpless. The past two and a half weeks have been long and draining. We’re barely getting by. We see Mary often, and even though she’s helping us to make sense of our lives, we feel like we don’t just fit in. Everything we do, we’re treated differently. People look at us like we’re strange, like we’re not one of them.

“I lost my job,” Genevieve sighs, coming in and sitting beside us on the couch.

I look over to her. She started work a week ago, trying to get her life back together after Mary’s instruction. Her job was only as a waitress, but each night she came home, she seemed angry and frustrated. Like she just couldn’t cope with the stress.