I’m still lying on the floor in a heap when Judge comes to my room two hours later. When I see him, relief floods over me, bringing tears to my eyes. That is until I notice the expression on his face.

“What the fuck have you done?” he clips out.

I stare up at him in confusion, and his eyes rake over me with contempt that turns to something else when he sees the pile of puke beside me. That same suspicion I noticed before flares again, but I couldn’t explain it even if I wanted to right now. I’m too weak. In too much pain to move. It feels like my head is going to fucking explode.

“Why did you do it?” he demands. “Why, Mercedes?”

I shake my head, not understanding. At least not until Miriam appears behind him with two black eyes and a cut adorning her cheek. He turns and gestures her inside, his anger palpable.

“Why did you attack her?”

“I… didn’t,” I heave the words out, but they’re barely audible.

Whatever happened to her is a result of what she did when she left my room. That becomes painfully clear when she smirks behind Judge’s back. Judge isn’t paying attention to her, though. He’s looking at me the same way everyone always does. Like I’m a disappointment. Like all I ever do is ruin everyone’s lives.

“Miriam, you may go rest,” he tells her. “I will handle this.”

“Are you sure?” she asks. “I can help you get her to the cellar…”

Panic takes over me, and I try to shake my head, but another streak of pain forces me to stop and cry out. Some of the anger in Judge’s eyes ebbs away as it turns to concern.

“Leave, Miriam.”

She does, reluctantly, and I feel like I can finally breathe again when she’s out of my sight.

Judge kneels beside me, his eyes moving over my face in confusion. “Why do you keep throwing up?”

My only response is to release a quiet sob, which doesn’t help the situation. He’s never going to believe me. Not after Miriam made sure of that. And why should he? That’s the whole reason I’m here, isn’t it? Because I lose control and bad things happen.

“Get up.” He reaches for me and tries to sit me upright but stops abruptly when I cry out in agony.

“What is it?” he demands, his eyes searching mine.

“My head,” I croak.

He frowns. “Miriam said you tried to escape, and you fell in the hall. Did you hit your head?”

“She’s lying,” I rasp, but it doesn’t sound believable, even to myself.

“So you didn’t try to escape?” he challenges.

“I did, but—”