Get your party pants on! It’s time for your introductions to our hosts, Jordan ( @jordanmsip ) and Wil ( @wilsip ). This challenge will be a group challenge and there will be eliminations hosted at the end.
Your challenge submission should answer the following questions (but can have more):
have you picked which host you’d like to pursue?
what are your impressions of the island?
what are your impressions of the hosts?
In order to complete this challenge, everyone must join this google hangouts chat (it’s helpful if your ‘name’ is your character’s name, but if not, just try to make it clear who you are.) This chat will be active from Monday through Saturday. (We can pick specific times if it’s easier for everyone.) If you are not active enough, you may be eliminated.
You will have one (1) week to complete this challenge and, as always, it can be fulfilled in any form. This challenge will close Sunday, July 30. Results will be posted the following day.
Direct any and all questions to this blog, the Alina blog, or the SiP chat.
We are proud to announce the following women have been voted into Selected in Paradise.
@yanely-genovious
@lady-naomi-lafleur
@cillia-elizabeth-rountree
@sophiaravensfromillea
@adri-mari-fabrica
@cressidaledger
@lizzy-matthews
@fandomhunterss (Arielle Westbrook, couldn’t find a blog)
@ladyhollygwen
@gracebella-sinclair
@lady-cornemuseur-prinz
@viola-smithin
How to accept:
Everyone must MESSAGE ME, and I will send them the link for a new group chat (we will not be using a tumblr chat.)
Send me a picture of your face claim to put up on the SiP website, and a small description about your character (see the host introductions for ideas).
Direct any questions to me (this blog, the Alina blog, or my personal blog).
We will start challenges (no practice challenges) ASAP!
Challenge 4 | Birthday Ball and a Visit from the Former Selected
Due to some time constraints, I’ll be publishing this challenge before I publish eliminations. They’ll hopefully be up soon, but in the mean time, we’ll get a head start on the next challenge:This challenge will count against you in the Selection, or for you, and is not optional. You can use anything to fulfill this challenge (edits, gifs, fics, etc.)
Prompt: This week you’ll be attending a ball in Prince Haiden’s honor for his 20th birthday. Along with that, we’re expecting a visit from 7 of the Elite from the last Selection, so you may speak with them as well.
How are you feeling as a member of the Elite?
What did you do at the party?
Did you speak to any of the former Selected? Why or why not?
How much further do you expect to come in this competition?
The former Selected that will be attending are as follows:
@avalonbrooks
@winter-havilliard
@yanely-genovious
@roxanawatelovesbritishliterature
@gracebella-sinclair
@cillia-elizabeth-rountree
@lady-cornemuseur-prinz
You will have one (1) week to complete this task, and there will be more to follow. This challenge will close Wednesday, March 22nd
A/N: Wow, I can’t believe it’s almost over. This has been so much fun, and I have met so many wonderful people. I’m so grateful to Livi and Alex for coming up with this and coming up with Ashton. Anyway, without further ado, I give you the my last challenge. (RP courtesy of @ashtonschreave)
Warning: Suggestive dialogue and a lot of language
Another round of eliminations.
And it’s not me this time.
My mother is long gone and I think God for that. So many things have happened since she’s been here, including a few bruises that decorate my skin. They’re impressive shades of blue and purple as I apply makeup to cover it. It used to be hard to hide them, but I’ve perfected it. No one would ever know unless I told.
Gracey is gone. It was heart-breaking to say goodbye, honestly, but I kept up appearances like one should. Our goodbye was awkward, but it went better than I expected. She may have assaulted the prince, but at least she got out alive.
I wander the halls, unsure of what to do now that it’s so quiet. Winter’s staying for obvious reasons, but she’s moving upstairs with Cody, so that means I’m alone down here in the midst of one girl I like, one girl I vaguely like, and one, well, not so much.
I stay out of everyone’s way mostly, preferring to keep everything to myself. Nick is alive, which is great, the little motherfucker. “That’s what you get for jumping to conclusions, Yan,” he had said. Honestly, I had to agree. I’m definitely not good at getting the right facts before I jump to every horrifying conclusion.
It’s hard to hear his voice after so long, but it makes me feel better, less likely to drink myself into a coma. I feel, dare I say, happy?
I risk a glance down the hall and sigh. No eye contact usually gets the “Don’t talk to me” vibe across, but it seems that not even I can avoid this conversation. Ashton stands there, and his face is unnervingly calm. But he’s not smiling.
“So…” I say when I finally face him.
He swallows. “So.”
“Things are coming down fast.”
“Yeah...”
Shit shit shit how do you have these conversations. “You eliminated Gracey.” As soon as the words escape me I know it’s probably not the best thing to say, but it’s a question I have to ask.
“I did.”
I let out a sigh.,”Um… okay.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “But you didn’t eliminate me.”
I can sense his annoyance, and I internally smile. “What? Just say everything you want.”
“I'm sorry I'm just a little shocked.” God, you have no idea. I’d expected Gracey to stay for so much longer than me. She’s sweet, likeable, smart… everything I’m not.”
“So were a lot of people.”
I’ll say. “Yeah, I could tell. Apparently Gracey tried to assault you.” I snort. “Honestly doesn't surprise me.”
He shrugs. “Thank you... for keeping me. It's a lot quieter now without everyone,” I say quietly. I hate to admit it, but I kind of miss the noise of the girls giggling and chatting.
He scratches the back of his neck, almost looking uncomfortable. “That's for sure. and a little more stressful
“I can imagine. You're so close. Bet you thought it'd never come. So did I, if I'm perfectly honest.” I let out a breath. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Why are you keeping me here? The real reason.” Not because you feel pity for me.
“Surprisingly enough, Yanely, I like you,” he says, a smile tugging on his lips.
My eyes trail down to the floor. “Can’t imagine why.”
“Me either.”
I almost laugh, but I force myself to remain serious. This is not the right time. “For a long time I didn't know why I liked you. I think I do now, though.”
“Oh?”
My stomach flutters with some kind of emotion that I’m not sure of. Fear maybe? “I think so,” I mumble. Out with it, Yanely, I say to myself. I take a deep breath. “I think... I wanted your life from the very start, in the beginning. And then you actually talked to me, you know, like a real person, like I wasn't a piece of meat. I think I actually had a moment a long time ago where I admitted to myself I actually wanted you, not because of my mother, not because everyone else wanted me to.”
I remember that day. If I think really hard I can bring myself back there. It was the second time we had sex. All I wanted was touch him, for him to touch me, but I hadn’t realized the reason. My head was in a rush, panicked, and saying his name was the only thing that would take me back to where I was. He was there, he was with me. He wouldn’t hurt me.
That was the moment I realized, truly realized, I wanted something more.
“You treat me like a person, like you actually care.” I swallow the lump that begins to form in my throat. “And then one day again I realized I wanted you, and again and again. And still I'm here wanting you and I don't know how to stop it.”
“Beats me.” He tries to seem nonchalant, but I can sense his nervousness.
I lean closer. “Any ideas?”
“None at all.”
“Should I stop? Any reasonable person would.” Any reasonable person wouldn’t have put themselves through this Hell. Any reasonable person would face reality and leave. Any reasonable person wouldn’t have applied for this.
“Do you want to?”
I shrug. “Not really. It's nice to actually love something for a change.”
He looks up at me from where his eyes were trained firmly on the floor. “What?”
“What?”
His lips threaten a smile. “Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“What you just said.”
What had I said? “It’s nice to actually…?” And that’s when I realize. “Oh.”
“Oh.”
Shit shit shit. This could not be happening. This shouldn’t happen. This isn’t—I… I need to figure out how to backtrack. “I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that,” I say quickly, but I can’t even convince myself.
“No, it’s good.”
Good? Good. How could he say it’s good? No, this is horrible. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to get freaked out or anything.” Honestly, him freaking out is the least of my worries. It’s me I’m worried about.
“I’m not,” he says. I try to read his expression, but it’s blank, unfeeling. Shit.
I groan at myself. “It wasn't supposed to come out like this. God, I'm so stupid.” I gnaw at my bottom lip, thinking about every other possible way this could have happened. It could’ve been so much easier. Jesus Christ.
His eyebrows raise. “How was it supposed to come out?”
I sigh, wrapping my arms around myself. “I don’t know. Differently. Maybe not at all.” I probably shouldn’t admit that, but it’s true.
“Oh.” Damn it.
“I'm terrified of you, Ashton,” I whisper. I need to stop. I need to stop right now before I make an even bigger fool of myself. “The way you make me feel, the things you make me do. It's terrifying.”
“I’m sorry.”
I sigh. Shit, I’ve broken him. “I’d say it to you again, but I don’t trust myself.” Would he even want to hear it again?
“Why not?” His face shows emotion again, and it’s flushed with curiosity.
“Because I can’t love things.”
“Why not?” he prompts again.
Something in my chest aches when I say, “Because nobody loves me back.”
He’s silent for a moment until finally he whispers, “Oh.”
“I'm not asking you to love me,” I say quickly. What are you asking then, Yanely? “I just…” I trail off, my mind running in frenzies. I swallow and look at him, my hands balling into fists. “You know what? I fucking love you.”
He silent for a moment before meeting eyes. “Fucking?”
“What?” Dear God. “You’re so funny.”
I can vaguely see a smirk lining his lips. “Hilarious.”
“Do you think I’m funny?” I don’t know why I ask this, but it’s the first thing that comes to my mind.
“Sometimes.” I know what he’s thinking about, and I can’t help but cringe at the thought of my previous statements of tried humor. Wonderful.
“Fair enough.” I risk a glance at his lips. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Always.”
“Even when I fight you?” I ask, somewhat annoyed at the memories. So many fights.
His smirk is definitely evident now. “Especially then.”
I shrug. “You're not too bad yourself. Your cheeks get red when you're annoyed.”
His smirk disappears. “Do not.”
Well, I have news for you. “Trust me. You do. I have to stare at something to keep myself from wanting to pin you against the wall.” I’m not sure how or why the last part slips out, but I’m not too worried since I’m sure Ashton won’t mind.
He grins. “Oh really?”
“What I intended to do to you on said wall was up for discussion.” Beat your ass to the ground, among other things.
“Well, then let’s discuss.”
Ah, what a pleasant turn on this conversation. At least it’s not awkward anymore. “Mm, well, I'm never really sure what I want to do to you. We walk a fine line, you and I.”
He leans closer. “And what’s on either side?”
“Depends on the day,” I whisper, a smirk lining my lips.
“Today?”
Mm, so many thing I could do. “I think I’ve expressed what I want to do to you today.” Had I? Even if I hadn’t, considering my confession of love a few minutes ago it’d be fairly easy to assume.
“Then do it,” he says, challenging. He shouldn’t have done that, but I definitely don’t mind.
I lean my head towards him until our foreheads brush. “Are you sure?” I’m not sure why I ask, but it feels good. I want to make sure this is what he wants as well.
“Yes please,” he mumbles.
Within a second he’s pressed against a wall, my fingers running down his chest. His smirk is knowing and his eyes are narrowed. I can’t help but find it sexy when he stares at me like this, like he wants me and only me. Like he thinks I’m perfect. Even if it’s not true, it makes me feel… I don’t how to explain it, honestly.
I catch a glance of myself in the mirror on the wall and groan. I hadn’t even bothered to put makeup on anyplace except my bruises today, and the freckles dusting my cheekbones are now rather evident on my skin. You can see the dark circles under my eyes from my sleepless nights and even faintly a small scar on my forehead from when I fell down the stairs when I was nine. “I’m a mess,” I mumble. Inside and out.
“Not a problem,” Ashton says quietly, his face and unreadable combination of amusement and something else I can’t quite place.
I kiss him roughly, digging my fingernails into his shoulder. If it hurts him, he says and does nothing to indicate it has. I can guess I’m being too rough when I feel the faint metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I pull away. “God, I've missed you.”
He takes my face into his hands, squeezing gently. I’m not sure if he notices my freckles, but he says nothing, which I’m thankful for. “How much?”
Always such a tease. I press my lips against his neck, smiling. “Depends on the day.” My answer when I can’t will myself to say the truth.
He kisses me, not even fighting to get off the wall, though it can’t be comfortable. I press myself against him, grasping his suit coat and pulling it off. “We should stop,” I mumble, undoing the first button on his shirt.
“If you want.” He doesn’t try to fight it, coerce me to keep going, which could be a good or bad thing.
I laugh for a moment. “In the hallway, I mean. Don't need any scandalous pictures, do we?” I think back to every time the Gossipel asked for my nudes and smirk. Too late, darling.
“Need? No,” he says, sliding a hand down my hip. “Want? Maybe.”
“Let me rephrase that,” I say. “We don't need any public scandalous pictures.” I lean toward his ear, grasping his shoulders. I’m glad I’m tall because this move of seduction would definitely not work if I were Gracey’s height. “I've always thought they were fun for recreational uses.”
He chuckles deeply, his breath on my neck sending shivers down my spine. “Lead the way, madam.”
I grab his hand and pull him down the hall. If anyone were to stumble upon us it would be very obvious what we were just doing—or are about to do—but I can’t be bothered to fix Ashton’s hair.
Sliding my arm through his keeps me well enough restrained that I don’t say ‘Screw it’ and pull him into a storage closet. “I must ask, Your Highness, have you ever been caught in bed?” I say, trying to distract myself.
“Of course not,” he says, his eyes mischievous. “I’m quite sneaky.”
“Good. The first rule of sneaking is always lock the door.” Learned that one too late, I suppose. “Where's the most exciting place you've ever done it?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Exciting? Depends.”
“Fine, then the riskiest.”
“Ferris wheel probably.”
I nearly snort. And here I was expecting him to say “High school bathroom.” But ferris wheel? I need to get the story on that someday. How does one even—? “How unpredictable of you. Any kinks?”
“No more kink questions. I forbid it.”
Ah, the question Gracey’s had been trying to milk out of him for months. “How disappointing.”
He smirks. “Bummer, really.” But you didn’t say you had none, so that’s a point for me.
“Do you like dirty talk?” My fingers stroke his arm, as much as I’ll allow myself to touch him. Self-control was never one of my strengths.
“Maybe.”
“Dominant or submissive?”
“You’re acting like we’ve never had sex before,” Ashton says, a smile playing at his lips.
I roll my eyes. “I'd just like to hear it come from you.” Though, I definitely know the answer to that question.
“Dominant, normally.”
“Ever done a strip tease?” I ask, smirking. These questions are getting rather ridiculous, but I can’t be bothered to stop.
“Can’t say I have.”
I squeeze his arm and stare knowingly at him. “What a shame.”
He chuckles.
“What’s one of your turn-offs?” A very important question, and since we’re being honest, well, might as well ask.
He thinks for a moment before saying, “Acting dumb.” I can see why he eliminated a few of those girls, then.
“Ever watched porn?”
He laughs. “What do you think?”
“Avoiding the question, dear?” Even if he said no I wouldn’t believe him.
“I’m a teenage boy, of course I have.” Interesting.
I laugh. “I’d hardly call yourself a boy.”
He smirks. “Oh no?”
“Definitely not.” I glance at him and dig my fingernails into my hip. “Would you consider me a girl?”
“No.” His face is emotionless, but there’s something behind his eyes that I can’t quite read. I feel like if I try hard enough I’d know why, but I can’t find the will to try.
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me your kinks?” I ask quickly, changing the subject.
“Yep.”
I fake a frown. “Really? I’ll tell you mine.” There are definitely plenty on that list. It’s a matter of sharing them.
“Nope.”
I lean closer to him. “Are you embarrassed?”
“Nope.”
I groan. “Hm, fine. You’re no fun.”
He smirks, glancing at me. “I’m plenty of fun.”
I shrug. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Don’t lie,” he says, a smirk on his lips.
Such a large ego. “Maybe I like lying.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s easier than telling the truth, that’s for sure.” I lean closer to his ear. “Tell me one of your turn-ons?”
“Why ask when you can figure it out for yourself?” he says, his voice low and dangerous. Finally, we arrive outside my door, and I don’t hesitate pulling him inside.
The door is locked and Ashton’s pinned against the wall the next time I speak. “Mm, and tell me, do you prefer dominant or submissive women?” My face is flushed, but it’s not from embarrassment. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I’m rather comfortable this way, actually. I feel powerful, dangerous, like no one can control me.
And they can’t.
No one will control me.
We don’t kiss, but it feels more intimate with the looks we send each other. I feel his eyes on my body, almost looking right through my core. These clothes don’t mean anything. “What do you think?” he asks, pulling me closer and nipping at my ear.
I grasp his arms and pin them above his head. He could wriggle free of my grasp if he tried, but I know he won’t. “I don’t think it matters,” I whisper into his ear.
“Me either.”
“Good.” I pull him from the wall and shove him onto my bed. I walk toward him and reach behind me, unzipping my dress. “You have such a large ego, Ashton,” I say, biting my lip.
He smirks, trailing his eyes down my body. “Maybe so.”
I climb onto the bed and straddle his waist. His hands settle on my thighs as rake my eyes down his chest. “Preferred method of seduction?” I murmur into his ear.
“All.”
I unbutton his shirt slowly, though I want nothing more than to rip everything off right this minute. This is my first time I’m sober and in control, so I want to take my time. Hopefully I don’t freak out on him like last time.
I pull off his shirt and toss it to the side, then start focusing on my dress. It’s easy to slip off, but I take my time letting it drop to the floor. His eyes rake over me as I stand only in a blue bra and underwear. I straddle his hips and start pressing kisses to his neck. Our breaths mingle and my hands probably grasp his arms a little too hard, but he doesn’t say if it bothers him.
He likes being in control. I like being in control. It’s a rough combination, but as long as one of us is willing to submit it shouldn’t be a problem. “Like lingerie?” I mumble, toying with his belt.
“Yes, but…” He trails off, and I look down at him.
“But?”
He’s quiet for a moment before sitting up on his elbows and sighing. “We should stop. I want to, Jesus, I really want to, but I'm... this is almost over, and I'm as confused as ever, but I never want you to think that I'm using you for this like Gracey did, and I'm not going to risk that.”
I’m taken back for a moment, trying to process this information. A million emotions run through my head—anger, annoyance, sadness. He’s doing this because of Gracey? She’s not even here. I’m not her. Why—? Finally, I let out a deep breath and gently grab his shoulders. “Hey, if you want to stop we can stop. I'm the last person who wants to force this on you. And I understand. Things are going... fast. I don't mind.” And I don’t. I mean, I shouldn’t. He has every right to say no. I of all people should know that. I’m not going to be the one who pressures him into anything.
“I normally wouldn't.” He pushes himself up. “I'm sorry. I just... uh... don't wanna risk anything, I guess.” Risk what?
I stand up and start putting my dress back on. I don’t meet his eyes when I say, “You don't have to explain. It was a bad decision anyway. I should be more considerate of you and everyone else here for however long this takes to finish.” I hadn’t meant for it to sound so bad, but that’s the way it came out.
“Yanely…”
“What?” I snap.
He stands and faces me. “Are you okay? With all of this?”
No. “I will be… eventually.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, not trying to meet my eyes.
“Don’t be.”
“Well, I am.”
I take a deep breath. Time to be a big girl, Yanely. “Honestly, it's okay. Things are confusing for you, and you have every right to say no.”
He sets a hand on my shoulder. He’s still not wearing a shirt, and it’s rather distracting considering everything that’s been running through m mind, honestly. “I don’t want you to think it means anything bad about you.”
Too late. I shake my head. Shut the fuck up. He’s trying to talk. “I know, but you don't have to worry about me.”
“Yes, I do,” he says, staring at me to the point of uncomfortableness.
“Why would you? Ashton, honestly, I'm fine.” It’s not a total lie. I’ve been better the past week or so, less likely to drown myself in a bathtub.
“Why would I not?”
I shrug. “Because... I don't know, there's better things for you to do.”
And it’s true. Literally anything would be better than me. Doing pot while pregnant would be better than me. I don’t think Ashton actually understands what a mess I am, and I would hate for him to find out too late.
He smiles lightly. “Good thing I'm a good multi-tasker.”
I fake a smile. “Very true.”
He’s silent for a moment, and I wish I knew what he was thinking about. I wish I knew what I was thinking about half the time, honestly. My mind’s just this big jumble of fears, doubts, insecurities, anxiety, inhibitions, and sex 99% of the time. The other 1% is when I’m drunk out of my mind, not caring when, where, or if I wake up the next morning.
“I’m always gonna care, Yanely,” he says quietly.
“You don’t have to.”
“But I will.”
“Why?” I snap, moving away from him. God, I can’t take that cologne anymore. “I already said, I don't want your pity.”
“It’s not pity,” he says, staring at me with confusion. “It’s feeling. If nothing more, it’s friendship.”
Did I… just get friend-zoned?
Well, fuck.
I try to swallow my feelings, but I can only take so much at once. “Well, I'm glad I can at least call you a friend if nothing more,” I manage to say.
“I am pretty cool.”
I want to groan. Not helping, Ashton. “You will forever be an attention whore,” I mumble.
“I’m a prince, did you expect something else?”
I smile and shrug. “I never expected anything from you. You have surprised me time and time again.” I finally meet his eyes. “Unpredictable you could say.”
His smile mirrors mine. “Told ya.”
I laugh, though it pains me. “Take care of yourself, Ashton.”
“I always do.”
Finally, I let out a breath and squeeze his hand. This is it. I’m gone now. “Goodbye.”
He looks curiously at me, pulling me back. “You know i just wanted to slow down, right?”
I stare at him blankly for a moment. Look it’s Yanely back it again with her jumping to FUCKING HORRIBLE CONCLUSIONS. I can’t admit that, though. “I know, and I still mean it.” Not technically a lie, but still better than admitting that I immediately jumped to him eliminating me before anything else.
He nods. “Okay.”
I should leave the conversation, but inside I don’t want him to leave. Inside, I never want him to leave. “But you know,” I begin, unsure of what to say, “I don't want you to feel bad for eliminating me. I won't hurt myself, and I won't kill anyone most likely.” Most likely. I never make promises.
Ashton sends me a look. “I haven’t eliminated you, Yanely.”
“I know that, but, you know, I'm just preparing myself.” I know he hates when I say this, but I can’t help myself.
He sighs.
It just takes that small motion to make my anger boil over. “God, don't stand there and act like you haven't thought about it.” I know everyone else has. “I know I'm annoying with my pissy moods and pessimism. I'm just saying, I'm an annoying bitch and everyone knows it.”
His face is serious, but there’s a bit of amusement in his eyes. He leans toward me. “Maybe I like that you're an annoying bitch, ever think of that?”
His answer takes me by surprise. He didn’t disagree with me, which I appreciate. I stand there for at least ten seconds debating what to answer. “You’re an annoying bitch.” Immediately after saying it I sigh. Not your best response, Yanely.
He smiles. “That’s why it works.”
I sit down onto the bed with a groan. “This works?”
His expression is blank once again, though the air suddenly turns tense. Damn it, I did it again. “You don’t think it does?”
I shrug. “It’s hard to tell sometimes.”
He sits down next to me. “Oh.”
I look over at him. “Do you?”
“Well, I thought so, but maybe I'm wrong.”
Oh. Does he… does he really mean that? How could someone think that this worked? I act like I hate him half the time. I fight him, I hurt him, I hurt myself. But maybe I’m looking at it wrong. Maybe he sees something totally different. Maybe he sees a girl trying her damned best to put herself back together from years of no affection. Maybe he sees a girl that spilled her heart out to him even though there’s a one in four chance she’s leaving. Maybe he sees a girl that says the wrong thing all the time, and hates herself for it, but tries to fix everything she’s wrecked.
I know why Piper, Alizé, and Holly are here, but why am I here? And not why he’s keeping me here, but why I’m here. I insist that I love him, but why? What do I see when I look at him?
I see a little boy trying to be just like his father, copying everything from his posture to the way he speaks. I see a little boy falling in love with the French princess, yearning for her attention with dimpled cheeks and a crooked smile. I see a teenager sneaking out of the palace to experience life and meet people. I see a teenager suddenly thrust upon these royal duties, knowing and respecting that someday he’ll have to rule this country. I see a man with great ideas and kindness, finally serious about his future for once in his life.
I see a man trying to find his wife in the midst of chaos, war, unrest, and he’s trying so hard—so fucking hard—to stay strong.
I look at him and for once I think I actually see him.
I realize he’s staring at me for my response, so I quickly say, “Do you want it to work?”
“Maybe.” I didn’t expect him to answer.
“I think I do,” I mumble, “but if it doesn't I won't blame you. I'm a pretty hard person to deal with.”
He turns to me. “Maybe if you weren't so down on yourself all the time that would change. you think you're hard to deal with, so then you make yourself hard to deal with.”
I groan. “Thank you for that wonderful lecture on my self-esteem.” Though, I can’t argue, because it’s true.
He sets a hand on my shoulder. “I just want to help, Yanely.”
“I know you do. It’s hard to accept other people’s help, though.” It’s always just easier to do it myself, make sure it’s exactly perfect and if anything fails, it all falls on me.
He shrugs. “Yeah, but that's the way life works.”
I sigh. “Doesn’t make it any easier, though. I don’t like people.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, staring awkwardly out into my room.
I stand quickly, dragging my fingers through my hair to smooth it out. My heart still pounds from everything that’s happened, but I refuse to let it show. The sex doesn’t even bother me anymore. It’s the realization of… him. It terrifies me.
“I should go and douse my feelings with lilac and vodka. If you'll excuse me…” I curtsy and rush out of my room. It doesn’t even occur to me that I left my own room until after I’m long gone, but I can’t go back there now. It’s a matter of pride.
***
I lied about the vodka. For once I don’t drink myself into oblivion.
I lied about the lilac too. The bath isn’t scented with anything. It’s just wet and cold.
It makes my fingers crinkly, my lips purple, but I don’t mind much. It’s nice to have no distractions, no fancy scents that makes my head spin. Everything feels clear in my head. For once things straighten out like they should.
I stand up and wrap myself in a towel. This isn’t even my room, and I have no clothes, but it doesn’t matter, honestly. Not anymore.
I spare a glance in the mirror as I walk out of the bathroom. With all my makeup washed off my face and body I can see every imperfection. I can see every freckle that stands out on my shoulders, face, and chest. I see every scar that mars my body, whether it be from the gym or something else. And then I see every bruise. I see every bruise, but there are few on my body. I see every bruise, but they’re not the ones you want to talk about.
I look at myself again, and for the first time in five years, I allow myself to sob.
My submission for challenge 5. Roleplay courtesy Gracebella. Trigger warning for mentions of rape, child abuse, and drinking.
Eliminations tear out of every inch of my soul this time around. I was so sure I’d get eliminated, so, so sure, but when it came down to it, I wasn’t. I can practically hear my mother’s screams when the announcement is made. A part of me is relieved, joyed actually, but another feels shaky. This small bit in my heart prayed that I could go home and wait for my brother to come back.
But he’s never coming back.
I almost think I’m home free, but then Ashton mentions the next challenge: “This next challenge is probably less of a challenge and more of a treat. In my hand I have plane tickets for each of your families. This begins family week at the palace.”
The words make me want to scream.
This is horrible. It’s been such a wonderful break from my mother the past few months. Now she’s coming to the place where I have actually found some degree of happiness.
“Yanely, do you hear me?” she says.
I sigh. “Yes,” I say into the phone.
“Well? How is the weather in Angeles?”
“What do you think? It’s
It’s obviously hot.” She hasn’t even asked about me being sick for days. Not any of her concern really, only if her prized possession died without doing her bidding.
“Don’t be lippy with me,” she snaps. “I’ll not have a disobedient daughter. You will obey me.” She’s silent for a moment. “I can’t wait to come and see you. Neither can your father. He’s talked about it for days.”
Lies.
talked about it for days. My father never speaks to my mother. “I’m glad you’ll finally get to meet my friends.”
“They’rw not
, Yanely, they’re the competition. I will not have our family humiliated by you getting beat by a bunch of lower-casted hooligans.”
“You know what? If you don’t want to meet my friends then don’t come. Nobody wants you here anyway!”
“Watch your mouth, little girl. I am not a woman to test. You know this.” Yeah, the bruises on my ribs knew it. “When I arrive I expect you to be completely civil. Do you understand?”
That’s not possible and she knows it, but there’s no point in arguing. “Yes.”
***
My hands shake as I stand in one of the main halls with the other girls. It’s been only ten minutes, but each passing second makes my heart pang. This is going to be horrible. Nancy, our supervisor, examines us, making sure everything is perfect for the camera crew that awaits. Out of the 7 of us that’s left, I am definitely the tallest.
“Your parents have arrived,” Nancy says, listening intently into her earpiece. “They’ll be up in just a moment.” The other girls giggle and chatter excitedly, but Gracebella and I share a look of pure exasperation. What an interesting day this shall be.
The photographers come down the hall first, their cameras flashing. I have no doubt this will be the top story in Illéa tomorrow. Behind the photographers are a line of people, our families. The girls giggle in excitement.
First it’s Piper’s, her mother crushing her in a hug while the rest of her family chatter around her. Then it’s Holly’s. Then Roxana’s. Then Alizé’s. Then Gracey’s.
She stares at her family for a few moments, though I’m not sure ‘family’ is the word she’d use to describe it. Slowly, she leans over and hugs her mother. It’s not genuine enough and can only be used for pictures. And then she turns to her father.
Winter’s family practically topples her over with excitement, and it has to be the best pictures taken of the day. In the midst of the chaos of Winter’s insanely huge family, I see Amber. She meets my eyes, and though she’s not here for me, we both grasp each other.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I wish this hadn’t happened. I wish he hadn’t left the way he did. I’m so sorry.”
Tears fill my eyes, threatening to ruin my makeup, but I force them back. Yanely Genovious does not cry. “It’s not your fault. It’s okay. He’s… it’s okay. It’ll get better.” Slowly, Amber pulls away and stares behind me. It takes me a moment, but I find her gaze and come face to face with my worst nightmare.
“Mother.”
Her arms wrap around me, and I’m shocked until she whispers, “Be nice for the camera.”
A moment later she lets go. My father is just as I left him—quiet, reserved. He hugs me, and then I suddenly realize he’s only done this particular action five times in my entire life.
My family isn’t very affectionate. Even when their marriage was happy, my mother and father never kissed around us. The only hint that I knew they were in love was the general proximity that they sat together. They started off close, but throughout the years they sat farther and farther away. They don’t even sleep in the same bedroom anymore.
Every ounce of emotion that my mother has worked up for this trip is fake. And that includes me. “I’m so glad you’re all here,” I say, plastering a smile on my face. “There’s so many people I can’t wait for you to meet.”
My mother sends me a warning look, but it’s quickly transformed into a smile when Nancy claps her hands. “Okay, everyone! We are so excited for you all to be here! We understand you desperately want to catch up with your daughter, but before that we’d like you to meet one of your daughter’s future husband.” She smiles. “Ladies and gentlemen, Prince Ashton Schreave.”
He comes down the hall, a smile on his face. All the girls’ families look absolutely thrilled to see him, including mine. I know my mother is, probably more than me. “Welcome, everyone. As Nancy said, we are absolutely ecstatic to have you here, and I can’t wait to meet you all.”
He starts introducing himself to each family. My mom stands next to me, she holds my waist in a painful grip. “Have you behaved?” She keeps a smiled plastered on her face for the cameras.
“Yes,” I hiss. “I’ve done basically everything you’ve told me.”
“Basically is not good enough, Yanely.” She squeezes my hips painfully. “I want everything done.”
“Mother, I can’t. Despite what you think, I actually care about him.”
Her fingernails dig into me, imprinting marks into my skin. “I don’t care. You’re going to marry him, Yanely. I don’t care what it takes to get it done, but you will.”
I want to cry, but I can’t. If not because I’m in the middle of a hall surrounded by people and cameras, then for the fact that I will not allow myself to break down. There are very few people in this room that actually know what happened between me and my mother.
Ashton makes his way down the line, greeting and talking to each family for a minute. I know my mother is getting impatient by the way her eyes flicker around in annoyance. Finally, after an uncomfortable conversation with Gracey’s family, he turns to us. “Mr. and Mrs. Genovious, such a pleasure to meet you.”
My mother curtsies deeply, a smile spreading across her face. I rub my side where her nails were embedded. “Your Highness, Yanely has told us so much about you.”
To anyone else he’d look completely normal and polite, but his eyes have a strange glint in them, his hands unnaturally shaky. He could be nervous, yes, but the situation is obvious: he knows.
I told him about it. I should’ve expected this, but I just hadn’t seemed to realize this would affect him as well. His eyes flicker over to me, almost a reassuring look, before turning to my father.
***
Oh God. Jesus Christ, I can’t do this. Fuck fuck fuck. No.
I throw a vase down to the ground. “God-fucking-world-of-shit-psycho-bitch.”
I hear a voice come from behind me. “Ummm, yan-yan? You okay there?”
I push over a potted plant, not paying much attention to the shoe falling out of it. “No.” God, no. I’ll never be okay. My world’s gone to shit and nobody can help.
She approaches me cautiously setting a hand on my shoulder. “Um, do you want to talk about it?”
I take off my shoe and jam it into a landscape painting. It was fucking ugly anyway. “Not particularly.”
She puts a hand on my arm. “Chill.”
I pull away viciously, snarling.
I throw my show across the room. “I will NOT chill. My mother is here commanding my every move, my brother his dead while I have to stare at his old fiancée, and I have to look at Ashton's face every day and wonder what the hell I'm doing here when I have no chance. So no, I will NOT chill.” It all comes out at once, and I can do very little to stop it.
“You need to chill, your feelings don't matter to people, all you're doing is tearing up the place and acting like a child, suck it up.”
I scoff in disbelief. “I'm acting like a child? Let's not forget that you can't have a civil conversation with Alizé because she called you unstable, even though Ashton's asked you to. You act like a pissy 9-year-old 99% of the time! And think back to when your sister died. Did you chill? Did you have a few moments of bad judgement where you just couldn't take it? Did you have days where your mother wasn't there when you needed her most?” I press a finger to her chest. “Think back and think real good because I don't care who you are or what you've done. I am Yanely Genovious and I will. Not. Chill.”
“I can't have a chill conversation with her and I will, and when my sister died, I didn't care. I. Moved. On. And you need too as well, life doesn't let people mourn. I dealt with it by myself, I didn't have my mother, or my father, or any siblings, no one was there for me so I moved the fuck on. You're the one throwing a tantrum and you need to chill.”
Who does this bitch think she is? “Just leave me the fuck alone. I'm sorry you have no shred of emotion for anyone, but that's not my fault. I don't fucking need you.”
“Fuck off Yanely, I'm trying to help you.” Someone starts walking down the hall, so she pulls me into a safe room, one of the things were briefed on when we came here for rebel attacks. For a moment I wonder how she finds it, but I don’t care enough to ask.
“I don't need your help. Get me out of here.” Not only am I ticked off, but I am
claustrophobic.
She crosses her arms across her chest. “What if someone sees you acting like this?! Ashton would probably send you home for vandalism! Then how do you think your mother would react?”
“I don't fucking care. Let them send me to the butchering block for all I care.” And I don’t. In fact, I might be glad. I knew seeing my mom would hurt, but I hadn’t realized how much.
“Yanely no! And you can't get out on your own, it took me awhile to figure out how to get out. You're going to sit here till you calm down.”
“I'm not a fucking 3-year-old. I'm an adult and I can and will make my own choices.” I beat on the door. “Let me out now.”
“I will when you stop acting like a three year old.” God, this woman.
“I am not acting like a 3-year-old.” I bang on the door again, cringing at the stinging pain my palm sends me. My injury must not be fully healed yet. “Goddamnit.”
“Yes you are, adults don't push over vases and rip things to shreds when they're upset!”
“WELL, MAYBE THIS ADULT DOES!”
She rolls her eyes. “That doesn't even make sense! Adults don't act like that and you can't deny it, you're not acting like an adult so you can't say ‘maybe this adult does!’ You're just acting like a child.”
“How old are you, like 16? Don't tell me what adults do when you're basically a child yourself.” A low-blow, but I don’t give a shit about anything right now.
“I'm not 16! I'm eighteen, and I might be younger, but I act ten times more mature.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on, Gracey. All you do is bitch.”
“I bitch less than you.”
Yes, you’re totally more mature than me. “True, but at least I bitch about adult things.”
“I bitch about adult things.”
I roll my eyes. “Like what?”
“I don't know, I don't bitch often.”
Oh, God. “You literally bitch about everything. You bitch about the carpet, you bitch about the lights, I've heard you bitch about pencils. You're the bitchiest bitcher I've ever seen.”
“Those are lies, you seem to be confusing yourself with me.”
“For a girl who says she forgets nothing doesn't seem to have a firm grasp on reality,” I say, turning away from her.
“I don't forget anything, you're just being psychotic due to depression.”
That bitch. “I'm not depressed.”
“Liar.”
“Stop talking like Ashton, God.” I rub my temple. Dear God, get me out of here.
“It's true, I think the way Ashton talks is reasonable, if all he's doing that you dislike is pointing out the obvious truth.”
“You don't even know what you're talking about,” I mumble.
“Neither do you.”
I sigh. “I know exactly what I'm talking about. I'm not ‘instable.’”
“You're more unstable than me, at least I could admit I was a bit. You act like you're so mature and calm and collects but really you spend all of your time sobbing and breaking things, you're an open book, you have no defenses, you're whiny and act like the most victimized person on the world.”
How could she? She’s supposed to be my friend. She knows what’s happened to me. “I admit I can be unstable sometimes, but maybe think about yourself once in a while? I know, I break things, I hurt people, I hurt myself. And I do act victimized, I'll admit, but that's because I fucking am. At least I acknowledge what went wrong instead of fucking closing the door and never think about it. At least I'm not a fucking robot like you are.”
“I'm not a robot okay! If that's how you'll see me then fine, but I do have feelings!” She folds her arms across her chest. “I might have been raised to repress but it doesn't mean that I'm not affected. And I try to acknowledge what went wrong, I even tried making friends when I go to law school! I may have been a robot in the past but I'm not now. And even if you are a victim you don't have the right to act like everything that goes wrong was a personal attack on you.”
“I'm not fucking saying that,” I bite back. “I know everything is not a personal attack on me, and I can't believe you of all people would insinuate that.”
“I'm saying that because it's how you act!”
“Get me out of here, you bitch, before I make you.” I’m done. I’m not doing this anymore.
She snorts. “You can't make me. I'm not letting you out till you calm down.”
I curl my fists. “I'm fucking calm, but keep me here much longer and I won't be anymore.”
“You aren't calm. If you were calm you could have a civil conversation with me, without cursing.”
She obviously doesn’t know me. “You know I curse no matter the situation.”
“Yes,” she seers, “but you use curse words lightly, now you're spitting them.”
“Maybe I just fucking want to. Open the Goddamn door.”
“Fine. But if you start breaking things again I'll lock you back up.”
She unlocks the door, and it swings open. I snarl and stomp out. “Try me. You're just a short, little girl that doesn't realize what she's saying half the time.”
“I always know what I'm saying, I've studied it, just because you don't like doesn't mean it's not true. And I'm not short, I'm average, you're just tall.”
I want to leave, but I want to slap away every little ounce of her knowledge. “Yes it is,” she says.
“It is not.”
“Is.”
“Right,” I mumble. I turn away, staring at the hall filled with dirt and glass. “If anyone asks, it's Tomato's fault.”
“Gosh I can't blame a dog, I'll say I tripped.”
“Everyone would believe that.”
She shrugs. “I mean maybe they would.”
“They definitely would.” I turn away. “I should go. My mother is probably looking for me.”
“Same,” she says. I want to turn back to her, but something in my mind makes me walk away.
***
“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying, Yanely.” My mother sits down her suitcase onto her bed and faces me. “I have a plan to make you princess.”
“I don’t want that, mother. I don’t want you to do this for me. I don’t want you to manipulate him into loving me.”
She presses a finger to my chest, pushing me into the bed frame. “This is not your decision. I will not have our family be made a fool just because you aren’t sensible enough to realize what needs to be done.”
“I wish you never had come here,” I mumble. Not a second later, her hands comes painfully across my cheek. I fall back against the bed, clutching my face.
“You will not disobey me, young lady. You will do as I say and when I say it. Understand?” She grabs my wrist and pulls me to my feet. “Understand?”
I don’t meet her eyes. “Yes.”
***
I hadn’t been lying though. I so desperately wish they never came here. But that couldn’t happen. My mother would find a way to get here no matter what. And it definitely wouldn’t help myself in the media’s eyes.
My face isn’t bruised, thankfully. I can’t imagine how it would look to have a handprint across my face. I’m pretty sure no one would think it was my own mother, and all eyes would immediately go to Ashton.
She’s gone now, off to mingle with others, though I am quite sure it’s against her will. She puts on a great face, but I know for a fact she hates every single one of these girls with a passion. She probably doesn’t even like the prince himself, just using him as a tool to get me in a better position.
My face doesn’t hurt as much anymore once I lie down on my own bed. I’m plagued with the memories of other bruises in different places. And they weren’t all from my mother. I particularly remember one bruise, right across the ribs. I had disobeyed her once again, so she used a belt. I had taken a picture of the bruise, stored in a box somewhere in my room with all the others.
It had slowed down over the years once I started learning what to say, what to do. The slap was the first one I’ve gotten in months, and not because I’ve been in the Selection. I know my mother loves me and wants the best for me. She just doesn’t know how to show it.
Vaguely I wonder why I never mentioned the bruises to Ashton, but it hadn’t felt necessary. They don’t happen anymore, so there’s no point. This was only a one-time thing.
That’s what I’ve been saying for five years.
I drink. The butler I use sends me a worrying gaze, but ignores it as I douse myself, and I’m immediately thankful. My head spins, but it makes me feel better, less attached. It pains me to do this every time something goes wrong, but it’s the only thing that makes me feel remotely well.
The door opens, Nancy running inside without even knocking. “Lady Yanely,” she says, puzzled at the bottle. She holds a phone. “It’s urgent.”
Would you rather have all the Elite (if this was before the recent elimination) tell Illea every single embarrassing thing about you and the Selection on live TV or have Yanely wax all your hair (ALL YOUR HAIR AND I MEAN EVERYWHERE)
My submission for challenge 4. Roleplayed with @gracebella-sinclair Warning: Swearing and mentions of suicide, rape, and death.
***
He’s dead.
That’s it. It’s over. He’s dead. Ohhh shit.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Of course, God hasn’t cursed my life enough already, so now my brother is taken from me. What a big fucking joke. Absolutely hilarious.
I’ve never been a crier. Ever since I was a little girl it was always a silent, passive. Mother said crying was for the unwise, for the weak, and I believed her. My mother was my idol. I did everything exactly the way she wanted me to. Maybe this is the price I pay for not obeying her.
My maids are gone when I reach my room, and I’m glad for it. My throat is already tight to the point where I can barely speak, every breath making it harder to breathe. I’m barely in my bathroom before sobs tear through me.
God no. Everything I’ve lived for… He’s gone. What’s the point anymore?
I gasp through my tears and hit my palm on the mirror with all my might. It shatters beneath my touch and sends glass shards inside my hand. I clutch it to my chest and slump down to the floor. Blood trickles down my arm, staining my dress a dark crimson.
I wish I were dead. I wish I had died that day 4 years ago when none of this would matter. I wish I never had come here. I wish I’d killed myself so I didn’t have to go through this.
I had tried to once, twice actually. The first time was thought out and planned. I had made sure no one was home, that Nick wouldn’t hear until it was all over. I had planned to take all my mother’s pills, to die quickly and painlessly. It was supposed to be pretty, that way my body would look perfect in the casket.
I hadn’t done it, though. I was selfish. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
The second time was a different story. It was on a whim. I was upset, I was hurt. I wanted to die because I knew I deserved it. I had used a kitchen knife. Everyone was home. Nick knew something was off and saved me.
We never did wash my blood out of his clothes.
I had scars on my wrist, deep and unforgiving. They’re gone now, removed through surgery and cosmetics until I was perfect again in every way. And though the scars may be gone, I’ll never forget the scars inside me.
***
There are still glass shards in my hand when I get the news: eliminations. I had told Gracey I felt sick, so a maid comes running to me with the news.
“You made it,” she says breathlessly, busting through the door. I sit on my bed, clutching my hand aimlessly.
“Good.”
She stares at me, as if expecting me to jump up and down for joy, but soon turns away. A moment later, Gracey appears in my doorway.
“Hi sicky, I’m here to inform you of our next challenge.” Of course she would be. Winter would be going at it with Cody right about now.
My eyes stare at nothing in particular. I’m just blank, empty. I don’t seem to care anymore. “Nick is dead.”
“Oh… I’m sorry,” she mumbles. I don’t expect her to know what to say. There’s nothing you really can say when a person loses someone, nothing that really matters.
“I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home.” It’s an obvious decision. Nick was the only good thing in my life. I had to be there.
“Yanely, you need to push through this, going home won’t do anything but crush your chances of happiness.”
Tears flood my eyes. “I can’t. I want to go home. I want to be there when his body is buried. I just can’t do this anymore” He was everything to me. He’s always been there, no matter what. He always wanted our family to perfect and loving. I could at least try to give him that.
“How do you know he is dead? He could still be alive.”
No. I can still hear the words they said to me. I know it will never stop. “They said he took a bullet to the chest and they lost him. How am I supposed to take it?”
“I don’t know, after my sister died I thought about quitting, just quitting everything, but it was better to push through with everything, it helps you push through the grieving process to try not to change your daily lifestyle.” Gracey would know what to do. I know I should listen to her, but I can’t.
“I don’t care. I just want to go home and see my family. I want to see my mother.” Not a lie. I do want to see her, but I wish it were under better circumstances.
“Isn’t your mother an asshole though, wouldn’t you rather stay here with your friends?”
“She needs support too. I just want to go back. Ashton doesn’t even like me.” It’s true. I can kind of feel it. I want to stay, but not if I’m not enough.
“If he didn’t like you, you wouldn’t be here, and I like you, are my best friend, please don’t go.”
“What’s here for me? He’s obviously picking Alizé. I can’t take another heartbreak.” I’d be fine if he chose Gracey, but Alizé? No, I… can’t.
“He might not pick her.” A lie. “And I’m here for you. What friends do you have back home? I know most Twos are forced to be friends with dumb socialites and I can’t see you enjoying having to listen to them gossip and chatter while you grieve.”
I think back to Tara and April. It hurts how true it is. “I don’t have any friends there anymore. I don’t think I ever did.”
“So wouldn’t you want to stay here more than, where there are people to support you?”
I bury my face in my hands. “No. Yes! I don’t know okay. I want to be with my family, but I almost feel like my mom would turn me out for leaving.” She would. This is what she’s wanted for me since I was a child. She was torn up that I was born before him, thought she’d miss the deadline and be made a fool, but I hadn’t. A part of me still wonders if she bought my way into this.
I sigh, shaking my head. “I don’t want anything. Please just leave.”
Gracey looks down at my hand and sighs. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” She leaves for a few minutes and come back carrying a small bag. “Give me your hand.” She puts gloves on and pulls out tweezers to start removing the glass from my hand.
“I hate you,” I whisper, trying to ignore the stinging in my hand.
“Thanks, love you too.” She takes the glass out, putting it on a tissue paper from her first aid box, then got a cotton ball and poured some disinfectant on it. She starts to pat it on my cuts.
“I’m not leaving,” I say finally, averting my eyes.
“Good, should we tell your maids that you accidentally threw a book at the mirror of something?” She starts to bandage my hand.
I briefly wonder how she became so good at this, but I shake the thought away. “That might be best. I don’t really want Ashton to know I broke my hand slamming a mirror.”
“Hey, maybe the mirror deserved it.”
I want to laugh, but I can’t seem to force it out. “It kept staring at me, reminding me I’m not good enough.”
But I’m not. I never will be.
“You’ll get used to it, I spent about a year never looking at photographs of my sister, I couldn’t stand looking at the one of us who was truly supposed to be destined for greatness. In time the mirror won’t be as taunting.”
I clutch my knees with my newly-bandaged hand. “I have so much bad luck now. How could any man want me like this?” Alizé thinks Gracey’s unstable, but she seems like one of the most stable people I know. She seems like she’s always had her life straight, but I know better. Still, she handles everything so well.
“I’m sure some will,” she says, “and the mirror smashing doesn’t give too much bad luck. Once I smashed a mirror and got a free cake a couple hours after.”
I laugh. “Because you’re Gracey. You’re sweet and innocent and… I’m not. Nobody besides you and our group likes me. Ashton’s just using me for my ass.” It hurts. God, it hurts, but it’s a raging thought in my mind.
She rubs my shoulder. “Plenty of people like you, you might be a bit more guarded than most, but that doesn’t mean you’re any worse. Once people take the time to know you I’m sure they’d love you, and those who don’t, well, they don’t deserve you anyways. And if you really feel like Ashton’s just using you for your ass talk to him about it.”
I sigh. “I don’t think he’d understand. He’d think I’m telling him he’s a horrible person and shit.” I like Ashton a lot, but he has a tendency to take everything I say the wrong way. “I hate myself for becoming attached.”
And it’s true. This whole time I was preparing for him to show me out within the first month, but every time I talk to him this one, horribly stupid part of me just holds on a bit more.
***
I don’t leave my room for days. My maids come to check on me, but I send them away along with my friends. I excuse it as wanting to work on my project, but I barely lift a finger to try. I almost wish Ashton would come and just eliminate me so I could go home, but there’s a part of me that wants to be here with him, for him to treat me like I actually am something worthwhile.
If I think about it I can still smell him in these sheets. I can still feel his hands on my skin. It was… it was slow and intimate, something I’ve never felt before, and it makes my skin tingle. It’s what my first time should have been. Maybe if I focus enough I can forget everything they did to me.
But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to make it go away. No one can ever find out about this. I could be thrown in prison, executed even. I could become an Eight. That’s worse than death if I’m perfectly honest.
My head throbs. God, I should eat something, but I don’t think I could keep it down. The last time I ate, I threw it all up within five minutes. To anyone else it’d seem like I was pregnant, but I know better. Despite my mother wanting me to end up with-child, that’s not happening. I may a manipulative bitch most of the time, I can’t force Ashton’s hand with a baby that he could easily reject. I can’t hurt him like that. I can’t hurt myself like that.
I know I’m not pregnant, but I wonder if I’ve caught something. I rarely get sick thanks to the access to medication we have as Twos. Or in my mother’s case, quite the opposite. It wasn’t rare for her to take too many prescriptions and get put on bed-rest for a few days.
I guess in a way Twos are just like all the other castes. We find ways to kill ourselves too.
It saddens me, though, that we get access to enough narcotics to kill ourselves for no fucking reason, but lower castes can’t get enough money to get antibiotics for a common cold. Hell, lower castes barely have enough money for food. I had always wondered how teenagers didn’t end up pregnant every time they had sex. Not long after that I realized one thing: pre-marital sex is illegal. They can’t afford birth control or condoms. I bet most women can’t even afford regular healthcare.
I’m a selfish person. I never realized how much I had, despite how horrible my childhood was. Gracey had spoken of some kind of service project. I had mostly half-listened to what she had said, but I got the general gist of it. Think of a program that I feel is needed to help better Illéa and make a plan to implement it into our country.
Well, it looks like I’ve found my project.
***
This law is absolutely fucking ridiculous. If an unwed girl is found out not to be pure on her wedding night, then a man can legally divorce her, no matter his status of virginity. In fact, the amount of males thrown in jail to females due to fornication is 1 in 9. This is apparently because they end up pregnant or the police get an “anonymous” tip. And rape? What’s rape? They don’t account for rape. According to federal law, if a woman wants to prosecute for rape she’d have to fess up to not being a virgin and get thrown in jail.
So that means even if I wanted to prosecute for every time they sold my body to grown men as a teenager, I’d have to be thrown in jail beforehand. This is not right. If they would just allow sex, acknowledge rape, and give lower castes access to birth control and condoms, then the amount of women jailed for pregnancy would go down, meaning less money spent and more room for actual criminals in jail.
Most of the girls in this competition want to spend time on a pretty project, but I… I will bring this down as far as it can go.
Writing is hard with my cut hand, but I manage to ignore the pain as I write every piece of information about this law down. I’m lucky I’m good at math, I realize, as I calculate approximately how much each prisoner costs compared to lowering the price of birth control and condoms, and though it’s a tad more money, it is manageable. We’d just have to modify the budget slightly to allow more room for this and less money to fund some of the higher castes’ golf courses.
It’s around midnight when I finally get on the phone with the palace offices. They say they can’t give me information without their supervisor’s consent. I find that pretty ridiculous considering these particular documents are usually open to the public, so I make it very clear who I am. “I’m Yanely Genovious, one of the Elite. I need this paperwork for a project.”
But they just repeat the same thing to me each time: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you need to call back during regular office hours which are 9am-5pm. Thanks, hon. Buh-bye now.”
“No, wai—!” Click.
Fuuuuck. I bet they would let Winter have it if she asked. Maybe Gracey. I’m not the people’s favorite—er, anyone’s favorite actually. I’m just the privileged Two that “paid” her way to be here. Oh yeah, I definitely paid a lot.
My mother tries reaching me through letter, but I refuse to answer her. She’s probably heard about Nick’s accident by now, but it’s not like she cares. He was never anything to her. I’m not even sure he’s my real brother. For all I know my mother cheated on my father and I’m illegitimate. Then I’d definitely be an Eight. Sexually impure, a prostitute, illegitimate. If that was true—
No, no one will find out. If this law is repealed, then I’d be safe. And even if I were illegitimate, no one would have to know. We can’t know for sure anyway.
One thing I do know for sure, though, is that I hate my mother. All my life she’s told me to bow down to men, be submissive unless they like it otherwise. She’s sold me, doubted me, and finally when I get the chance to get a way, she wants to control me still. No more. I can’t—I won’t let her do this to me anymore.
I lie down on my bed and let a shallow breath. I need to eat something if I’m going to live to see this project through. I must’ve caught something. It’s either that or I’m so grief-stricken that my body basically shuts down. If I die tomorrow I probably wouldn’t care, if not for this project. I need to see this through for as long as possible. I’ll get food in the morning.
I haven’t seen Ashton in days. I feel slightly upset that he hasn’t checked on me considering I haven’t been to any meals the last two days, but then I realize it’s a total possibility he’s just as sick as me right now. Though I doubt it. He’s probably got doctors 24/7, and I refuse to even let in my maids. Is this how Sevens and Eights feel? Fives and Sixes? Do they suffer for days and hope that it goes away lest it turn into something worse?
Suffering is probably good for me. I need to suffer. It makes me feel real, sane, like I’m not already gone in a lifeless, mind-numbing sleep. But it’s satisfying to have a purpose like this. Though I like Ashton a lot, it’s not quite the same as making a difference. Being with him would just make it so much better.
***
My head is pounding when I’m woken up by the slight knock at the door. My maids shuffle in like they do every morning, their eyes cast to the floor. “My lady,” the tallest one says, “we’re very concerned for your health.”
I squint at them, trying to make the dots clouding my vision go away. My muscles groan as I try to sit up, but my head spins enough that I’m forced to lie back down. “I’m fine. I just need to rest.”
“You haven’t eaten in days, Miss. People are worried. The doctors want to come and see you.”
“No, no. I’m fine. I’m not hungry.”
The shortest one steps forward. “Ma’am, no offense, but you look horrible.”
I smile lightly, though I’m sure I look rather sadistic with my tired eyes and smeared makeup. “I’m okay. I just want to be alone.”
“No, if you don’t eat something you’re going to have to go to the hospital and they will force you to eat something.”
I honestly don’t feel hungry, and I know that if I eat something I’ll just throw it up anyway. “Maybe some crackers,” I say. That seemed to appease them enough, though I’d probably just flush them down the toilet later. They left, leaving me to my own devices.
I force myself up and sigh. I can’t blame them for coming time and time again. It’d probably look bad for them if their lady died on their watch. I have no plans to die, luckily for them. I go into the bathroom, stepping subconsciously over the glass over the floor. There’s still blood on the mirror and sink from my hand, but I don’t pay any mind to it.
I feel absolutely horrible. My body aches, I can barely stand, but I need a fucking bath or I am going to scream. I fill the tub and slip into the water. It takes me a second to realize I’m fully clothed, but I can’t find the will to care. I’m practically delirious. Any second now I’ll see the Ghost of Christmas Past.
My maids return within minutes carrying a tray of crackers and cheese. They stare at me strangely as I lie in the bath fully-clothed. “Ma’am?” the small one asks. “Are you alright?”
I don’t answer. Either that or I don’t hear her. I’m not exactly sure.
She gasps as she enters the bathroom, finally seeing the mirror. “What happened? You need a doctor! You should go to the hospital!” She sets a hand on my forehead. “God, you’re burning up! Enid, go get the doctor!”
“Don’t need doctor,” I mumble.
Her arms wrap around my shoulders and with the help of the other maid, slides me into the floor. “Miss, your skin is burning up, you’re dehydrated, you haven’t eaten anything in days, and now I find a broken mirror in your bathroom? No, you don’t get to have a say in this.”
I admire her for standing up to me. She had always been quieter than the rest, but she was quick and could catch any mistakes. “If I ate I’d throw it all up,” I mumble, though I’m not sure why. “I need to work on my project.”
She smiled and pats my hair. “You can when this is done.”
***
“To prove… my point, there are… thousands o-of women imprisoned for not being a… virgin while their pa—partners get to… oh, Goddamnit, I can’t do this.” I lean back and close my eyes. The hospital doesn’t do me much good. I still feel horrible, but at least now I can actually feel my body.
“You’ll get it, Miss,” my maid says, the one that cared for me yesterday. “You just need to rest. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
She’s right. The doctors said I caught the flu and I won’t get better for at least a week. I can’t present like this, but I refuse to be eliminated. “No, I have to. I need to do this presentation. You still have five days. You’ll be fine.”
“I have to get this done. Please. Just let me go back to my room.” I can barely keep my eyes open, though. It’s an outlandish request, even for me.
She shakes her head. “No. You refuse to eat and drink, and if you die under my watch the royals will not be happy.”
“It’d be better for everyone if I just—”
She slaps my hand. “No, don’t say that. I see you, Miss. We’re all glad you’re here. You send us away, so we get paid for doing nothing except playing chess and fiddling our thumbs. You don’t tell yell at us or make us run to get you things. You may be slightly unapproachable, but you are a good person and I would be honored for you to be our queen.”
My insides churn in what feels like either happiness or vomit. Probably both. “He doesn’t even like me.”
She brushes a hand across my cheek. “Don’t say that. I see the way you look at him. Maybe he doesn’t see you that way, but maybe he does. If you die and he shared your feelings you’d be throwing away his happiness, as well as yours.”
I clench my jaw. “Get my notebook.”
***
My head spins as I get dressed while my maid, whose name I finally learned as Amelia, sat a bottle of pills onto the desk in front of us.
“These are your antibiotics. Take them before you go. I also have a fever reducer if you need it.”
“I feel awful,” I groan, sliding on a black blazer.
She pats my back. “Just don’t throw up on the queen and you’ll be fine.”
“What if I do, though? God, I’m glad this isn’t televised.”
“You’ll be fine, Miss. Now go out there and win.” She slaps my back, and I smile, walking out of the room, all my supplies in hand.
I’m so early, I realize. I could go back and sleep for an hour and still come back with time to spare. My muscles are still aching, and I immediately regret my choice of heels.
I lean against the wall, heaving a breath. I’m already sweating, from nervousness or sickness I’m not sure. I fight the urge to throw up. Despite the medication I took, my head still pounds.
I’m about to turn back to my room when I hear a high-pitched voice. “What are you planning on doing for your next challenge?” A blonde woman with black glasses and red lipstick shoves a tape recorder into my face.
Goddamnit I was so close. I could turn and leave now, but what would that get me? I heard stories about this girl, about how she attacked their projects, but I had nearly successfully avoided her by being locked into my room. I have a while until my presentation. I can do this.
“Oh, um, I’ve decided to do a Women’s Health and Sexual Liberation Initiative.” I curse myself for not speaking well, but there’s only so much I can do to avoid slowly dying in a palace hallway.
She scrunches her nose. “Isn’t that kind of a flawed plan, since you know having sex outside of marriage is illegal, but anyways, can you go into more detail of how you’d like to go about this?”
I internally smirk. I’ve prepared for this. “Yes, it is flawed, but that’s part of the reason. I don’t think sex before marriage should be illegal. The whole reason it was put in place was to keep children from being born to those of different castes out of wedlock, but I think with some education and the poor being better equipped with birth control or condoms, then the law shouldn’t be needed anymore.” I think through my answer. Yeah, that should be good.
“How would they be handing out the forms of birth control to the poor?”
“Usually it’s only taken by the higher castes, to people who can afford it, but with a little budgeting it’s totally possible to help it become available. We would of course need to add sexual health back into school because a lot of necessities that kids need to know aren’t there, such as safe sex, protection from STDs, or even what rape is. Kids have to learn it from their parents, who could give misinformation or not even talk about it at all.”
Her eyes are narrowed, testing me for all I have. “Some parents may not believe that it is right for their kids to learn that stuff at school, aren’t you worried that the people would revolt.”
I want to roll my eyes. “Over a little education? Sure, it may cause some discomfort among parents, but it’s something the kids need to learn. I remember when I first got the talk. I was 13 and very lucky I had a mother willing to talk to me, but a lot of others don’t have the luxury. Some parents would feel better if their kids knew the mechanics and consequences of having sex. A better education and resources to birth control and condoms could even help prevent a lot of pre-marital pregnancies.” Yes, I was very lucky to have my mother.
“Some parents will be very upset, even if you say it’s just a little education, the parents see their education as a strong influence of what is raising their children, and if their children aren’t being raised how they like they could easily start a protest.” She purses her lips, and then a vile smirk masked by a curious glint in her eye. “Have you had sex out of wedlock, if you yourself haven’t broken the law how can you say it’s okay?”
Ohhh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. What do I do? Do I lie? Do it reveal everything? I let out an internal deep breath. No, don’t lie. Come clean. It’ll be fine.
“A lot of Twos and Threes and some Fours go to private school, and private schools can teach what they prefer to, but those castes have access to a lot more supplies (condoms, birth control, etc.) The lower castes definitely don’t have a lot of the right information or supplies, which is why the pregnancy and STD rate is so much higher. In the end, it may be the parent’s decision, but just offering the information could lead to a whole lot of difference.”
I take a breath. “And if you must know, yes, I have. I am not ashamed of it, and I never will be.”
Her face is blank, calculating. “You claimed in a past interview that you weren’t going to say if you had sex with Prince Ashton. Has your stance on not claiming that changed if you aren’t ashamed of sex?” she asks, completely ignoring my previous statement.
I want to scoff. “I’m not ashamed of the sex at all. Even if I had slept with him, it would be one of those things that should have both parties consenting on giving out the information. That’s why I won’t be giving out the names of my former sexual partners.” Mostly because I don’t know who half of them are.
Her eyebrows raise. “Partners? Plural?”
I roll my eyes, for real this time. “Yes, plural. I have been with multiple men, and Prince Ashton is aware of this.” Well, some of it.
“What about women?”
Well, that’s a strange question. “Women? I don’t swing that way, but I respect those who do.”
I can tell the reporter is getting fed up. “Have you ever smoked weed? Killed a man? I mean if you’re fine with breaking the law of wedlock where does it stop?”
Jesus Christ, this woman. “Having sex isn’t and shouldn’t be the same as killing, so long you have consent and the proper supplies. And no, I’ve done neither.”
“Aren’t you worried that once you get eliminated, or if you make Prince Ashton mad, he’ll have you arrested for sex outside of wedlock?”
“It’s always a risk,” I say, “but Prince Ashton isn’t spiteful. I highly doubt he would because he’s told me himself he’s agreed with me on a lot of these sexual issues.”
She sneers. “What if he’s lying because he wants to have sex with you the toss you out?”
Wow. Okay. “He wouldn’t. The Prince may be a lot of things, but he wouldn’t do that to me. I trust him.” It’s stupid of me, but I do.
“You seem like a very credulous person then.”
The nerve on this woman. I have the sudden urge to slap her. Swallowing, I clutch my notebook. “Maybe so, but he could possibly be my husband. I want him to know these things beforehand.”
“You can know someone, Lady Yanely, without trusting them.” Doesn’t this woman know where to stop? Good God.
“I appreciate your opinion, but I know what I’m doing.” I straighten myself and send her a side-eye. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend to.” I leave, not waiting on her response.
***
I wait.
People go by. Some guests stroll, smiling lightheartedly at each other. Maids bustle down the hallway, attending their own duties. But the air is tense around me. My stomach is tied in knots, no matter how much medicine I take. Winter and Gracebella join me, but we don’t speak.
After a while, I sit in the bathroom with my head between my knees, willing myself not to throw up. Finally, Gracey runs in. “You’re up.”
I glance in the mirror once before heading toward the doorway. There stands the wooden doors that hold what could very well be the most important moment of my life.
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