My flinch makes Anton startle with an interrupted snore and open his bleary eyes.
"Anton," I breathe as I realize it's his shampoo I can smell. I can't believe he's actually here.
"Hey," Anton says with a voice husky from sleep. Then everything comes back to me – Garmen, Father George. The dream is fading quickly, but I can't get the image of Grace smoking out of my head.
"I'm so sorry," I say and my voice cracks.
"Don't be," Anton says. "I was basically awake anyway."
"No, not that," I say. "About last night. I can't even imagine," I bite my tongue, but he deserves a full apology. "I can't even imagine what you must have thought. I'm so sorry."
"No. I only thought you were grieving," he says with more kindness than I deserve and brush my hair over my ear. The brush of his fingers sends a shiver down my arms. "And I thought Father George must have somehow deserved it?" he says with uncertainty.
"I never told you about him, did I?" I whisper, and Anton shakes his head. I have to remember, that to someone from the White House, Father George is Head of the Church and a kind man, always preaching about the almighty God and maybe even chastity. Anton has probably even been to masses led by him. I take a deep breath and begin talking. About how I caught Father George's eye in the White House, but I was banished before he could manage to do anything so instead he sought me out in the Cave with weeks between visits, although they have come to occur more and more often. Anton stays silent and listens. I don't tell him about everything the priest has done to me, I don't want to burden him with that, but I tell him enough for him to realize I've been hurt, that the man has been a big part of my nightmares, that he's the person in the world who scares me the most because I became accustomed to do as he told me to. And then last night happened and with Garmen gone it just clicked for me and I bit off his penis.
At this, Anton can't contain a giggle although he desperately tries to clasp a hand over his mouth.
"I'm so sorry," he wheezes and squeezes his eyes shut. "It's not funny."
"It kind of is," I say. "I bit a priest's penis off." And then I begin laughing too. Because it's actually hilarious.
"And you're still covered in penis blood," Anton guffaws and I reach up to feel the cracks of coagulated clots on my face and clothes. My fingers come away with crumbs of it.
And I can't stop laughing either, however wicked it is.
"Oh God," I say between laughs, which makes us both howl again. "I should really wash this off," I manage when I've regained the ability to breathe and think that I might as well change the sheets too considering they're probably as bloody as my robe. Which, if anybody is keeping count, is also completely ruined.
It takes us a while to rise, but Anton refuses to kiss me before I'm clean so I have no choice but to get up and in the shower. I'm not letting go of Anton though, because I have a ridiculous feeling that he'll disappear if I ever do. Besides, he also needs to get cleaned up so I drag him with me.
On our way to the bathroom, a lot of the others look at us quizzically. They can obviously see the blood and knows I now have some sort of relationship with the Potentate son, which makes for a lot of different reactions. Ki Aimi still looks as if she'd like to murder me but she can't really decide what to do about Anton, and Quills seems almost palpable as I pass her in the hallway. Hannah looks at me as if she's a proud mother which is weird as heck but ignores Anton completely, and Ricardo actually hugs me and tells me he'll have my back if I decide to bite off any other rapists' junk as long as I don't get near his ever again. Then he sends Anton a giant grin and winks which makes Anton turn bright red. I laugh and promise him I have no intention of ever doing anything like that ever again. Carrie-Ann, Frei, Ginnifer and Sammie bumps into us in the bathroom and Anton has to answer a whole lot of questions about what it feels like to be the Potentate's son, and whether his mother is okay. He answers as many as he can truthfully, and the girls can't help giggling. I can hear their conversation as I wash off the blood in lukewarm water of the shower, trying to breathe as deeply as I can and willing myself not to have another panic attack or whatever it is I get which seems to make it hard for me inhale air. When I hear the rustle of the girls leaving I step out of the shower. As I do, Anton – who's washed the blood from his arms off into the sink – gasps and looks away, and as I glance in the mirror I see why. The blood and robe was covering most of my injuries and the new blooming bruise in my face, but now I realize why I'm aching so badly. My body has gradually eroded into something from a battle field. Blue and yellow marks which hadn't healed properly have come back, my knees are scraped raw again and the whole of my left shoulder looks like something from a painting with many dark colours spreading down my arm. Then there are all my other minor infirmities like the scratches on my neck after the noose and the bruise on my knuckle and my cracked lips. I also realize that I can see a lot of dark roots in my hair beneath the blue. I'm definitely in for both a hair-cut and a coloring.
"I'm fine," I say before Anton can ask and take his hand to drag him back to my room so I can get into some clothes before he begins calling for help or telling me to lie down or something.
"You're a horrible liar," he says with a sigh.
"How dare you," I joke as I drag on my jogging pants. "I'm a terrific liar."
"By omission," Anton says. "It's not the same thing."
I roll my eyes and reach out a blue t-shirt towards him. "Here. It might fit."
Anton takes his own caked one off and pulls on mine. The sight of him in my shirt does something weird to my stomach and I have to keep down a smile. Then I feel guilty for feeling happy. Then I think that Garmen would probably want me to be happy. Then I decide that emotions suck.
I'm just about to ask Anton the question which makes my hands shake of whether he's going back to his mother when there is a knock on the door. This is cause for suspicion in itself. People don't usually knock without entering immediately after – no-one but Carrie-Ann anyway.
"Come in," I say. The door swings open and Brice's face comes into view. Well, half of his face because he's covering his eyes with his hands.
"Is it safe?" he asks with a grin. "No funny business going on?"
"For heck's sake," I say and slaps his hand away from his eyes. He's still grinning though. "What?" I demand.
"Barooba asked me to check on you," he says. "She wants to talk to you."
I suck in a breath through gritted teeth. I'd completely forgotten about Barooba. She's probably finally had enough of me. Maybe she's waiting downstairs with a load of Pacifiers here to arrest me as the molester of Father George. He'll be spreading psycho rumors about the Cave now. He probably won't tell about his penis being bitten off, but if it was me I'd get this place closed at once.
"I should go downstairs then," I say.
"I'll come," Anton immediately says, but I shake my head at him.
"You can't," I say. "If there are people to arrest me they can't see you here. Just stay in my room, I'll be fine."
"Still a horrible liar," Anton grumbles.
"Only to you," I say. "Please stay. You can't save me if you're arrested too."
"Fine," Anton sighs. "But if there's any more biting I'm coming down and getting myself arrested too."
I smile at him and kiss him gently. He doesn't want to let go of me, I can see it in his eyes, but he does anyway because I've asked him to. I follow Brice out into the hallwa and downstairs, walking past a few of the others who are already finished with breakfast, and straight to Barooba's office where Brice leaves me to knock. After a second the door opens and Barooba steps aside to let me enter. I do and sink down on the bed as she closes the door and sits in the chair. She takes her glasses off and looks at me for a long time where none of us say anything.
"Are you going to tell me what happened yesterday?" she asks. I briefly contemplate staying silent out of sheer habit, but I can't see any reason to, so instead I start talking. I don't tell her about the test. But I do tell her about Anton and how I went completely psychotic when I saw Father George, which ultimately led me to impair him for the rest of his life. Barooba doesn't say anything as I talk, only listens and spins back and forth in her chair a little.
"So there might be Pacifiers on their way here right now to arrest or shoot me," I say. "Although there might not, because then Father George would have to admit that he's been here and gotten a prostitute to suck his dick."
It's meant to be funny but Barooba doesn't smile. She only sits quietly for a moment and stares into nothingness before she opens her mouth.
"Alle Bronze called me this morning," she says. "They found Father George's body around five am, having bled to death in the middle of the street. They need dental records to find whoever killed him and they don't have yours, so she believes you to be safe although she has someone watching it all closely."
So Ridder, I think. Great.
"She wants you to stay here until further notice, but Dr. Max will come to take a look at you some time today."
"And you're okay with that?" I ask. "Me staying here?" Barooba shrugs.
"I have stopped trying to figure everything out," she says. "Did you know that big black dude-"
"Poppy," I say automatically.
"Poppy then. He offered me a job as a speech writer?" She chuckles and shakes her head. "I said I have enough on my plate getting all of you to listen to me, I can't do it for a whole nation." So they've tried to recruit Barooba too. As many bodies as they can get, I suppose. Barooba is not done yet though. "But I want you to know that I realize it's been a hard life," she says unnaturally good-naturedly. "And that no matter what happens, this is still your home. If you want it to be."
I sit motionless as the words settle within me. Alle must really have worked her magic if she's gotten Barooba to agree to let me stay, and even making it seem like my choice. Or maybe I'm being too cynical. I've always known Barooba cares, and maybe the latest couple of deaths have made her realize too.
"Can Anton stay?" I ask, and Barooba rolls her eyes and throws her arms up in the air.
"If anybody sees him I'll tell the Potentate he has been threatening with getting us all killed if we don't hide him," she says and I smile at the empty threat.
"Deal."
Barooba nods at the door and puts her glasses back on. "Get," she says. "Eat some lunch. Oh, and it's your turn to clean the kitchen tonight if you've forgotten."
I grin and exit the room as Barooba turns back to her pad. Then I sneak a lunch tray upstairs consisting of spring rolls and some kind of sweet tea which Anton and I share in my room. When I ask him to stay he says he will, but he has to tell his mum, so when Dr. Max comes by to take a look at me Anton quickly takes a trip home. I hate the idea of him leaving, but I remind myself he's made the trip to the Cave at least twice now and back once. He knows his way around the city, as he keeps insisting.
"And how are you feeling?" Dr. Max asks as he shines a light into my eyes. We're sitting in room 1 where Dr. Terry usually does all of her business. But this time there's no waxing og checking whether or not I have any STDs. "Keep your head still and follow my finger."
"Like one giant bruise," I say honestly as I try and follow his finger with my eyes. "Everything aches." Dr. Max nods and checks out my different wounds and bruises with rough but light hands. He must have kids – people with kids always have gentler hands it seems. Maybe because they've actually held babies in their life. Or maybe he had kids and that's why he's wearing his wedding ring on the wrong hand.
"What about your cravings?"
"Actually better," I say and lift up my wrist to show that the hairband he gave me in the bunker still adorns it. "The hairband helps a lot. And with everything that has happened I haven't had much time to worry about getting high."
"That's good," he says with a nod and makes me turn my head so he can look at my jaw. "What about mentally?"
"Oh, haven't you heard? I'm the town loon," I say with a dry laugh that falls away like glass splinters of a cracked mirror. Dr. Max doesn't even seem to realize I've tried for a joke, he just looks at me with his eyebrows scrunched together. I swallow a lump. "Like I'm held together by scar tissue," I rasp.
Dr. Max nods and then sits back and begins putting some kind of ointment he's brought with him on my giant shoulder bruise and my other minor wounds. It's cool and soothing and probably hugely expensive. Not that I care anymore – it takes away my pain and that's all I need to know.
"Can you tell me what happened yesterday?" he asks.
"Do I have to?" I say, and he gives me a smile as if he doesn't think I'm serious. But I suppose I might as well. I like Dr. Max. He can fix my bruises, maybe he can also fix my head. "I honestly don't know," I say. "Usually I just can't breathe, that has happened a few times before. But this, with Father George?" I shake my head. "I don't know, it just clicked. I have no idea what happened in my head. I just snapped. Literally."
At this, Dr. Max actually chuckles, but he also sends me a dirty look which tells me to stop making fun of things that aren't funny but actually are a little bit funny anyway.
"Tell me about these times you can't breathe," he says.
"Uh, well it's kind of like," I exhale deeply. How can I explain this? "It's like somebody has hit a giant gong right beside my head. My whole brain shuts down and my vision shakes and I can't breathe. It used to only happen when I was really upset, but then again in the shower a little earlier. Just not as aggressively."
"Hmh," Dr. Max says and frowns at me. "I think you're having severe anxiety attacks. They're often related to a situation, and I think you've been under so much pressure lately, stress and worry and a lot of traumatic experiences that your mind hasn't been able to take it anymore. I think it's trying to protect itself the only way it knows how to."
"By stopping me from breathing?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. Even as we sit here, completely calm and talking, I can feel my heart beginning to shudder and pick up the pace.
"No. Anxiety attacks, even panic attacks, can't keep you from breathing – it just feels like you're dying but you won't actually die. It's your brain trying to tell you it needs a rest. It needs time and healing and less stress." He almost makes it sound like I need a vacation or something. Then, "Are you familiar with the word psychologist?"
"Is that another word for psychopath?"
"No," Dr. Max says and shakes his head. "It's like a head doctor, but instead of cutting into you they just talk with you. It can be quite liberating."
"I'm usually not good at talking," I say. Alle is the person I know who is able to spin words to best suit her purposes. I may have a questionable knack for dramatizing stories, but that's about it really.
"You don't have to be good at talking to go to a psychologist," Dr. Max says and wipes his hands in a pair of sanitary napkins. "You just have to show up. You can tell her about your favourite meal, or the latest episode of a show you've seen. She might ask some questions now and then, but it's up to you whether you want to answer them. You don't even have to open your mouth if you prefer not to."
"It sounds like you've already got somebody on your mind," I say.
"She is a good friend," Dr. Max answers. "And she knows something about trauma and PTSD if you know what that is."
I don't, but I don't answer either. A head doctor. It seems like something Alle might offer to do – ask me all sorts of questions and twist me into believing the sky is actually green. But Dr. Max is not Alle, and if he trusts this 'psychologist' I might ought to give it a shot.
"I'll think about it," I say and he smiles.
"That's all I ask."
We spend some time doing some breathing exercises which he calls it. Dr. Max keeps telling me that it's all in my head when I think I'm having a heart attack, and so I have to force myself to inhale deeply for four seconds, then hold my breath for seven and exhale for eight. It's supposed to make my heart rate go down and he even has me do it three times so I know what to expect from it. Then he complains that he has no way of getting an MRI from me because the resistance doesn't have that kind of equipment, and that's it.
I go to clean the kitchen as the others get ready for the line-up – I'll be surprised if Barooba will let me near a customer for the next decade. Then I try out the breathing exercises again, and the more I use them the slower my heart beats. It changes when a pair of arms comes around me and a spectacled face presses a kiss into the back of my neck.
"Your hair is all shaggy," Anton mumbles as I lean into him.
"I know, I should get it cut some time," I say and turn around. "You really should too." He makes some sort of satisfied sound and closes his eyes against my forehead. "How is your mother?"
"Fine," he breathes. "Well, as fine as can be expected. She thinks she'll accept the offer to join the rebellion."
"Seriously?" I ask and scrunch my face as I try to read his. "Is that good news?"
"It's her choice," Anton says, but I reach up with a knowing smile and squeeze out the nervous lines in his forehead. He sighs. "I'm just worried, that's all. It's silly."
"She's your mother," I say. "It's not silly."
"What did the doctor say?" Anton asks, possibly to change the subject.
"Basically that my brain has imploded," I answer and wriggle out from him as I begin putting the last of the washed utensils back in place. "You've really chosen a good one."
"I have, haven't I?" Anton says, and he says it so effortlessly I almost believe him. I'm just about to kiss him when there is a loud knock on the front door. Anton and I both jump and look at each other before we rush out to see what the Hell is going on. It's nowhere near rush hour yet.
"Another uproar?" Anton asks.
"Maybe you should hide," I mumble.
"Both of you should," Barooba says as she rushes past us. "Into the kitchen and don't say a word, alright?"
I nod and shove Anton back so he almost stumble over the doorstep. I grab his hand and clench it as we listen to Barooba outside.
"Who is it?" she asks. There is an answer which I can't hear, and then the door opens and at least three people rush inside.
"Where are they?" Alle's voice sounds. I swear, that woman is the sole reason I have anxiety.
"We could just hide here forever?" Anton whispers with a serious demeanor and I smile.
"Anton and Noah," Alle says and I turn around to see she's made it past the bar and into the kitchen. Behind her is Hansel and Ridder, all wearing dark clothes. Hansel has a big bag pack on and Alle a cloak as always, but this one has an attached hood which she pulls off with a rash movement. And when did she begin calling Anton by his first name? What happened to Mr. Thelonious?
She is all out of breath, as are the others behind her, and their boots and pants legs are soaked. "There's going to be an attack," she says with shiny eyes. "And it's going to be a big one. We have to move you."
"Excuse me?" I say. "I'm not going anywhere."
"There is a chance the Government is going to bomb the city," Ridder says and behind me I hear Anton gasp.
"We have to do something," he says.
"We are," Alle says. "We have a strategy in place and Laur is trying to get it out to as many people he possibly can as we speak, but we cannot guarantee your safety here so you have to be moved."
"No, we have to help these people – we have to tell them to flee!" Anton says, and for some reason that sentence reminds me so much of Garmen I want to grab into my own chest and squeeze my heart to make it stop hurting.
"You can't help people by telling them to run away," Alle says and looks straight at Anton now. "But you can help them by joining the rebellion."