And that fear trumps the other.

The light goes out. The room is dark except for the pale glow that crawls in through the open doorway. She hears his footsteps return and sees his shadow enter the room moments before his body does. He closes the door and she hears a snap. Her nerves calm.

The room is now completely dark. A few moments pass before she feels his cold fingertips under her chin. She naturally drops her jaw. A ball of sugar and happiness is placed on her tongue. An ever-too-long craving of satisfied euphoria explodes within her skull.

Her body, numbing through her taste buds as her eyes roll like loose marbles in her skull, is lifted off the floor and carried over to the mattress. Even before she is placed back down, she begins to feel drowsy, the fireworks in her mind settling into twinkling stars. His icy skin turns into a warm blanket. His stillness levitates her, undisturbed and safe, removing any fear of falling. Her insides relax in suspension. She is tired. Ready to lose control of her consciousness.

She barely notices the sting in her arm nor the suction beneath her skin. The long, dragging pull from her veins. The sound of gentle slurping.

When she wakes, she is alone.

The light is back on, yellow and blazing. A new freckle has popped up under the supple, pale skin of her arm.

In the center of the room, waiting for her, is a brand new syringe.

CHAPTER XI

Despite how beautiful and golden the new syringe is, it does not fix the dog. There is still nothing in its chest, and she has grown less and less afraid of that nothing with each passing moment, realizing there are possibilities other than that thump-thump thumping.

In the lonely moments after waking, she whispers in weak breaths to the dog:

“There, there, my sweet . . . you are here with me now. You are safe. The creatures didn’t take you from me while I was asleep. They didn’t take you to the Outside and shred your stuffing to pieces. You are safe with me . . .”

And then her mind loses track of its stream of thought and she falters into exhausted unconsciousness. Or she stares at the happy freckles across her arm that have resurfaced and loses herself in how they double and float above her skin.

The scratching and the freckles and the thump-thump thumping.

The nothing.

The lock snaps.

She lifts her head up toward the door and smiles lethargically as it creeps open.

“Who is ready for their new dress?” Daddy pops his head out from behind the metal frame like a jack-in-the-box, a delighted grin smeared across his delighted face.

She giggles at his goofiness.

He frowns.

“I said, who’s ready?” A dark tint in his voice.

“Oh. Me!” she attempts to shout, raising her arms up into the air, feeling her heartbeat momentarily spike before dying down. Her arms drop with fatigue.