The Gender Lie (The Gender Game #3) Bella Forrest (most read book in the world TXT) 📖

I moved through the door, pausing as I heard her soft thank you follow me out of the room. I turned around, offered her another smile, and then hit the button to close the door, sealing her inside.

28

Violet

I felt awful. It had been forty-eight hours since my argument with Viggo, and we still hadn’t spoken about it. A part of me regretted how adamantly I had come down on him. Actually, all of me regretted it. Yet a part of me still felt upset that he hadn’t at least considered the other side of the argument.

Living together had been… difficult. We barely spoke more than two words to each other, and it felt like everything we did was behind a veiled stand-off. It was frustrating. I had opened my mouth at least half a dozen times to bring it up, but each time I did, I reminded myself that Viggo had already made it clear to me that he wouldn’t change his mind.

It wasn’t as if I hadn’t considered the same things he had. I still had a family in Patrus, like I’d told him. I remembered the girl, Josefine, from Merrymount. I thought of Mrs. Connelly, the kind old woman at the orphanage who had taken Tim and me in after our mother died, and all the other kids she looked after.

Face after face flashed in my mind’s eye, reminding me that Matrus and Patrus weren’t just ideals founded on misandry and misogyny—they were people. And in war, it was the people who suffered, not the ideals.

I knew Desmond’s plan involved a lot of collateral death, and it weighed heavily on me, threatening to further taint my soul with the dark stain of blood. I kept asking myself how could I support her in such a plan. There had to be a better way, one that didn’t involve killing the remnants of humanity, and I really believed that the Liberators should be above that. They were supposed to be freeing the people of the lies fed to them by the government, not getting them killed.

But then cold hard reality set in, and I was forced to realize an uncomfortable truth: There was no good way to fix this problem without a regime change, and there weren’t many ways of making that happen. Viggo’s idea was too optimistic and left Matrus exposed to violence from Patrus. People would die, despite best intentions. Desmond faced the body count head on, acknowledging the toll her method would take, and pushing forward anyway. I couldn’t see a third option that would marry the two ideas, and it bothered me.

I rubbed my forehead and stepped through the doorframe that separated me from the training room. Viggo had been up for hours. Desmond had selected the next batch of boys to start training, and the new schedule had sent him into a scramble, trying to come up with how to make it work. He came up with a system where the boys from the first group taught the second group what they had learned, making them responsible for the new group. Today was a trial run, and I was looking forward to seeing how it went.

I leaned against a wall at the back and watched Viggo as he monitored the training and taught his own lessons for the day.

My mind drifted toward the oncoming night and I closed my eyes, dreading it for what it had become. At first, sharing a room with Viggo had been an exciting prospect, to say the least, but now… with this rift between us? I just longed for him to pull me into his arms and reassure me that we were all right. Without that, I felt anxious and barely slept. I hated it.

Viggo wasn’t faring much better, given the bags under his eyes. He was sitting with several of the boys, engaging them in conversation. His green eyes flicked over to me, and I bit my lower lip, meeting his gaze. I held my breath, searching for some indication that he was willing to talk to me, or that he recognized I was there to talk, but then his eyes moved away and back to the circle.

I frowned, a moment of insecurity coming over me. Then I set it aside and squared my shoulders, determined to see this conversation happen. I reminded myself that he was with the boys, and they had to take priority. We were adults, and they needed stability, so it was important for them to see that he was there for them. I could wait for him to finish—I had finished all of my scheduled duties for the day, actually exchanging a few of the better jobs for some less-than-pleasing ones so I could have the whole afternoon off to make sure Viggo knew I wanted to talk to him.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I sat down and watched. A collective sound of laughter rose to my right and I turned toward it. I spotted Tim with a group of boys.

They were all participating in an exercise that involved them working together to get a ball that was dangling from the ceiling, probably eight feet over their heads. I watched as two of them locked arms, forming a square with their wrists and hands. They bent their knees and braced themselves, before shouting encouragingly at Tim.

Tim backed up a few paces, and then launched himself at the boys, his face and eyes bright with excitement, his hair whipping wildly around his face as his legs churned, kicking up gobs of sand in his wake.

He leapt, one foot landing perfectly on the other two boys’ interlocked wrists, and they heaved. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach as he flew through the air, his arms reaching out for the ball. He snatched it quickly and then landed in the sand, rolling once and