just fall | ✓

3.

I had not had fun like the other girls.

I collapsed into "my" bed—me, in a bed! It was crazy; I was so used to sleeping on park benches that the soft bed was nearly uncomfortable—and sank down into the covers, exhausted. I was expecting to fall asleep quickly.

I did not. Hours later, I had paced the room, gone onto the balcony, considered throwing myself off of said balcony, and had contemplating climbing onto the roof and jumping off of that. I'd even worked out how to scale the building. The gardens had looked so nice and open and I was not handling this room any better than I had handled the one at Tiffany's house.

I tested the door handle. It wasn't locked. I opened the door and stepped into the hall.

I hadn't thought to grab a robe, and maybe if I was a more modest girl of a more modest caste I wouldn't have stepped into the dark hall in just my thin nightgown. But I wasn't modest—at all—and I was an Eight, so I shut the door to my room and started down the hall to find a door outside. I wasn't sure how long I wandered the dark corridors, but eventually, I found a set of doors to freedom.

And they were guarded.

I was already feeling cramped and out of breath when I reached the two guards, and I was quite pissy as well. Being locked up didn't exactly do me any favors, and it hadn't since I was fifteen—but that's a different story. Despite the tightness in my chest and the awkward heaviness in my head and my limbs, I approached the guards.

"Selected aren't allowed outside," one of them said.

"Not even the Eight?" I asked.

They shook their heads in unison. It was creepy and weird and I didn't like it at all. "Sorry, miss," the other one said. "It's for your safety."

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously? This place is safer than my entire province. Just a few moments?" My skin was far too hot and my eyes far too dry for this conversation. I could feel the panic rising in my throat.

They glanced at each other. The first one said, "No, miss. I'm sorry. Please return to your room."

"Fine," I said, now almost completely out of breath. "Have a good evening."

"Sleep well, miss," they said.

I stumbled away from them and down the hall. I rounded a corner that I thought was familiar—honestly, everything in that goddamned place looked identical—and slid down the wall, not realizing that I was sitting until my thighs came in contact with the cool tile. I leaned my head back and shut my eyes, my stomach twisting. I tried to push away the thing rising in my throat, but it was stronger than me.

I couldn't breathe. Tears were streaming down my face as I struggled to take in a breath, but my lungs were empty and my head hurt and I could hear the blood pumping through my veins. I could feel every heartbeat in my chest, and it was painful. I wished I had climbed onto that roof like I'd considered. At least I'd be outside. At least everything would be over. At least it was too soon for me to be missed.

Right across from me, there were flowers sitting in a vase worth more than my life. I hated those goddamned flowers.

I hadn't noticed that I had an audience until I felt someone reach out and grab my arm, prying my other hand off of it. Apparently, I'd been digging my nails into my forearm again. No surprise there.

"Miss, are you all right?"

I nodded my head. I was clearly not all right.

Another voice said, "Mason, she's the Eight. She's probably feeling too confined. Let's get her some air."