Gardens Of Eden (A Harry Styles Story)

13. The Unlucky Ones

My two boxes laid empty on the floor as I tossed their contents about the room. It had been here, right on top of my clothes, I know it had! I'd waited this entire horrible night to find it, through trying on clothes that were mostly just lace and string, through dinner and dessert and curt pleasantries that made me want to choke; I waited patiently. My new babysitter, Hope, had showed me to my room to see that I had everything I needed, and I couldn't get rid of her fast enough.

But the phone was nowhere to be seen... he knew I would need it, and now I couldn't find it!

I found the rolled up socks that had two hundred pounds (more money than I'd ever held) and my mothers ring inside. I had everything of mine, except for that phone with Harry's number in it. With no where else to look, I finally gave up, fighting off the urge to scream into the pillow. My only chance at getting myself out of this was gone and the realization that I was a slave to the rules of yet another corrupt establishment was about to really break me. No control over what I can do or where I can go. No control over who I talk to, for Gods sake I'm not even allowed to speak freely here.

I didn't envision getting any sleep at all, until I noticed a little blue pill on my nightstand next to a glass of water. Sleeping pill, I realized, contemplating it for only a second before decidedly swallowing it down. The break from this daymare would be a welcome one. I could worry about tomorrow later.

**

I woke up confused and groggy, with no idea where I was. Much to my dismay, it came flooding back as I sat up and looked around. My clothes and belongings were thrown all over the room and I was still dressed. It was going to be a very long day.

At breakfast I asked Hope whether it was normal for someone to have gone through my things.

"Oh yes, they make sure you don't have any drugs, cigarettes, knives. Things like that. You'd be surprised how many do."

"What about- what about cell phones?" I whispered. Her eyes glanced at me and I swore I saw fear.

"Oh no, we aren't allowed phones. Not until training is finished." She said quickly, "speaking of which, we should go."

"How long does training go on for?" I asked, standing up.

"It's different for everyone. Some get through it really fast, while others have been here for ages and still not earned their full privileges." I couldn't bring myself to ask the dozen or so more follow up questions that came to mind.

I reluctantly followed her to the parlour, where for hours I was forced to walk around on the lit up stage, wearing every kind of high heel imaginable. I finally understood why Dunville had taken my measurements; all the shoes, all the clothes I tried on, fit me, and the realization that she was in on this killed me more than almost anything I'd seen yet. How could she have left me with these people?

Each hour I spent here felt like the opening scene to a horror movie. All the fancy furniture, silk drapes and down bedspreads in the world couldn't cover up the evil in the walls of this place. For two straight days I lived in the Parlour. Walking and talking how they wanted, trying, and failing, at keeping my thoughts to myself. At one point I was told of a girl who had her tongue cut out for being sarcastic. I had no idea if it was true but that pretty much put an end to me opening my mouth. Dancing was the hardest part. I wasn't coordinated, I couldn't move my body the way these women could. My feet were throbbing from the heels, my head pounded from the music, and every single time I received a smile from Samuel and the others watching me, it took a small piece of whatever pride I had left.

On Saturday morning at 6:45, I looked at the clock. Happy fucking birthday, I whispered to myself. I laid in bed as long as I possibly could, and at 7:30, a soft knock sounded on my door.