The Girl Who Dared to Think Bella Forrest (best classic literature txt) 📖

the hall? They were my friends. I thought they’d stick by me no matter what. But once I hit three...”

Her voice broke, and she covered her mouth with her hand, tears leaking from her eyes while her shoulders shook. I couldn’t bear seeing it without doing anything to comfort her and immediately moved to her side, placing my hand on her back and rubbing her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” I soothed. “It’s going to be okay.” I looked over at Grey, who gave me a small nod in confirmation, and I exhaled.

“No, it won’t,” the woman keened softly. She reached down, caught the hem of her shirt between two hands, and pulled it up. I gasped, a hand going to my mouth as she revealed a landscape of bruises. A mottled, angry series of marks. No wonder she’d still been able to talk in the hall—her composure in the face of violence had developed after being on the tail end of several beatings. I took in the sight of her bruises, and then gently moved her hand away, pulling her shirt back down for her. She continued her silent sobbing, and I comforted her. Grey stood up and went into her kitchen, returning with a cup of tea in his hands, having used the hot-water spigot and a tea bag he must have found in there.

She accepted it, the cup and liquid sloshing as her hand shook, and she took a moment to collect herself by taking a deep sip.

“Sarah,” Grey started after she’d calmed down some, “it’s not your fault that things have gotten this way, and it’s not your fault that the people in this department are treating you so poorly.”

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears again, but she nodded, staring down at her hands clasped around the teacup in her lap.

Grey took a deep breath and glanced at me. “Sarah, what would you say if I told you there was a solution?” he asked.

She froze, then turned slowly, gazing up at Grey with apprehensive eyes. I also looked at him, and saw him draw out a small blue pill from his pocket. He wasn’t showing it to her, though; he was just holding it. I stared. Paragon was white. What was that drug? What was he planning to do with it? I was more curious than alarmed—I felt strongly that Grey would never hurt someone in anything other than self-defense.

“I would say,” Sarah said, carefully, “that I have an appointment to receive Medica treatment in two weeks, assuming I can keep my number up. And if I can’t... well... then I’ll be in the Medica a lot sooner, I suppose.”

“Do you want that?” I blurted out. Grey shot me a warning look, but I plowed forward. “Medica treatment changes you,” I said. “It makes you into someone you aren’t. It improves your number, yes, but at a steep cost. Is that truly what you want?”

I wanted to know her answer—it was important to me. Grey and Roark shared my opinion on Medica treatment, but not everyone did. I suspected it was critical to know her opinion in order to determine who would be best suited to us and what we planned to do. After all, she didn’t know the truth of Scipio, but if she was willing to let the Medica dope her so that she could continue being of service to the Tower, then she wasn’t ready to come with us. It was ultimately her decision to make—just like it was mine, Roark’s, and Grey’s.

Sarah gave me a weary look. “Is this a test?” she asked.

I kept my face serious, but kind. “No.”

She looked at Grey, her expression suspicious. “I lost my husband,” she said. “I have been beaten by my neighbors, cast away by my friends and family. It’s been hell to endure, and the person I’ve become now... I don’t know... I miss my husband, but if I want to avoid the Citadel, I suppose I have to do what Medica says.”

I felt my stomach sink, but was unsurprised by her answer. I looked around at the plants, the disorderly display of life and love that surrounded me, and imagined this place in three weeks. Swept clean, everything tidy and neat, and Sarah with those blank, drugged eyes. A version of her that didn’t feel anything. A version that didn’t miss her husband. Just like I had been a version of myself who alienated my friends and couldn’t even remember what I had done with my family.

I sat back, wondering how I could reach her. After a moment, I exhaled. “My sister died when I was young,” I said, and she looked up at me. “I... I didn’t react well, but I wasn’t in the ranking system then. If I had been, I’m pretty sure my parents would have had to arrest me as well, because I didn’t think Scipio was good. I thought he was responsible.”

“You were a child,” she said, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine before pulling away. “You were in pain. I’m a three—a monster. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

I looked down at the nine on my wrist and smiled ruefully. I forgot, sometimes, what I appeared to be now. But I could almost see the one beneath the nine, red and struggling to get free. But one or nine, it didn’t matter. I was still me: funny, sarcastic, tough, and smart. It might not be enough for Scipio, but it was good enough for Grey, Roark, Zoe, Eric, and my brother. And really, they were the only people whose opinions I cared about.

“Your name is Sarah Thrace,” I said. “You love plants and life, and your passion for your husband drove you to desolation when you lost him. You take beatings without threatening retribution, instead seeking only to make peace. You are kind, and filled with grace and perseverance.” I paused and met her eyes, and even though she had dried them not too long ago, they were now wet