“Dr. Barnes,” she says, turning her gaze to him. “It’s nice to meet you, but if you came to check on me, I can assure you I’m fine. My headache is gone, and I feel like myself.”

Dr. Barnes glances at me, confused.

I clear my throat. “That’s not why he’s here.”

I think her plan was to ignore me outright, but this makes it impossible. “Then why is he here?” she asks, getting to her feet, the thick duvet making her appear small.

“He’ll be conducting a virginity test.”

It takes her a minute. “Pardon?”

“A virginity test. It’s standard practice with The Society, as you know.”

“Are you serious?” she asks me.

I turn to the doctor. “Would you give us a minute?”

“Of course.” Dr. Barnes steps into the hallway, and I close the door behind him, then turn to Mercedes.

“What the fuck, Judge?”

I step closer, my breathing somehow normal even through this rage growing inside me all day.

“So, 39 Wooded Way, Mercedes?”

She opens her mouth, stunned, color leaching from her face.

“Georgie. Is he your fucking boyfriend? Are you living together?”

“Wh... what?”

“I saw his clothes. In your house that I’m certain Santiago knows nothing about. Your behavior, the vomiting—”

“I’m not pregnant! I told you that.”

“Even if you’re not, if you’re not a virgin—”

“I know the rules, Judge. I wouldn’t do that to Santiago. Shame him like that.”

“You know the rules, yet you’re living a second life outside of The Society.”

“A second life is a bit much—”

“A life I’m not sure I understand.”

“How could you? You’re a man. The rules, you have none. Me? I can hardly breathe without permission. There are expectations of me that are so outdated, you can't even begin to understand. You? You have the fucking Cat House to fuck around as much as you want, and we have to submit to a fucking virginity test? Does that seem remotely fair or normal to you?”

Her eyes are bright with rage and something else, something like hurt. And for as much fight as Mercedes has in her, there is something submissive about her. Or maybe she’s learned sometimes it’s easier to submit.

I go to her, close my hands over her shoulders.

“Don’t touch me!” She shoves me off.

“The texts between you and this man.”

“He’s my friend. My friend!”

“You call him your boyfriend.”

She looks at me like I just sprouted a second head, then chuckles, and it’s that same unhinged sound as when she dumped the bowl of soup on me. The one that warns she’s coming undone. It’s what I want, right? To break her down so I can build her back up.

I shake my head, wrap my hands around the back of my neck.

“Fuck, Mercedes."