Cecelia Ahern - Flawed / Perfect

“What’s she eating?” he asks, looking at my plate of food with disgust.

“They’re grains,” Mum says. “They’re pumpkin seeds. And that’s salmon.”

“It looks like dog food.”

It smells like dog food.

The others are eating chicken and rice. The chicken looks dry and the rice claggy, and I wonder if it is deliberately so. Mum has also cooked cabbage, which she knows that I hate. I can see she is trying to help me, to make this easier for me. I know Mum has tried to keep it basic, but I still want to eat what they’re eating. I don’t want their food because it looks better than mine, or because I’m remotely hungry, because I’m not. I want it because it’s what I should be having. I want it because I’ve been told I can’t. I wonder, again, where this part of me has sprung from. I was the girl who followed the rules; I was on their side. I never questioned anything. Now I find myself on the wrong side of everything, questioning everything. This must be how Juniper felt every day. I look at her. She has her head down and is playing with her food. Once again it irritates me that she isn’t eating it. She can eat it. She has the right and she’s barely touching it. She looks up just then, sees the look on my face, swallows and looks away again.

Ewan is staring at me. At the dressings on my hand, covering my temple. He eyes my chest curiously.

“Mum, Dad,” he whines. “She keeps looking at me.”

“Shut up, Ewan,” Juniper spits.

“She’s allowed to look at you,” Dad snaps. “She’s your sister.”

Ewan continues eating, in a huff.

“You know you’re allowed to speak directly to me, Ewan,” I say softly, finding strength within me to be gentle. He’s my little brother. I don’t want him to be afraid of me.

He looks startled that I’ve addressed him.

“Could you pass me the salt, please?” I ask.

It’s closest to Ewan. He freezes. “I’m not allowed to help you. Mum, Dad,” he whines again, absolutely terrified. He looks to Mary May, who is sitting in the corner of the kitchen, observing with her notepad and pen.

My heart hammers in my chest, and I feel like I’ve been punched, as if the air has gone out of me. I have caused such terror on my own baby brother’s face.

“Oh come on!” Juniper yells at him, picks up the salt and bangs it down in front of me. “You’re allowed to pass her the salt.”

They all continue eating in silence.

I watch them, like robots, heads down, shovelling food into their mouths. All except Juniper. I know none of them wants to eat. None apart from Ewan, anyway, but they are, and I know they’re doing it for me. I wish Juniper would. I have a bizarre feeling of wanting to force-feed her that chicken. And then I can’t take it any more, the anger, the hatred that I’m feeling towards my own sister. It’s not her fault, and yet I’m blaming her.

I stand up. I take my plate and carry it over to the bin, beside where Mary May sits. I press the pedal to open the bin, and I throw the entire plate inside. I hear it smash as it hits the bottom. She doesn’t even flinch. I stick out my finger, ready for her test. I just want to get this over and done with and go back to bed. She pricks my finger, puts a drop of blood on a test strip and places the strip into a meter that is strapped around her wrist like a watch, which displays my blood results. Instantly, the machine says, “Clear”.

She then puts a contraption on my finger, similar to a pulse oximeter, which is attached by a wire to her wrist sensor, and she asks the question.

“Celestine North, have you followed all Flawed rules today?”

“Yes.” My heart is beating wildly. I know that I have, but what if it says that I haven’t? What if they try to trick me? How truthful are these tests? How can I trust them if they’re controlled by the Guild – they can say I’ve lied even if I haven’t, and it’s their word against mine.

The watch once again gives a brisk, “Clear,” and she removes the device from my fingertip.

I don’t even look back at my family; I feel too humiliated. I go upstairs. I want to sleep.

Sleep, however, doesn’t come. My painkillers have lessened. I don’t feel as distant any more, not as groggy, and I long for that feeling to return. I hear Mary May leave, satisfied that I have obeyed the curfew. I sit at the window and look across the road at Art’s house. It’s large and imposing, the largest house on our cul-de-sac. I suppose you could call it a mansion. It is at the head of the street, looking down on everybody. Crevan’s brother developed it, the one who has shares in the football club, and they wanted to keep those working in Crevan media on the same street. To control us. Why didn’t I see it before? Bob, Dad, Judge Crevan all together on Earth Day. I thought it was so cosy and fun. Now I know it was all about control. The many windows in Art’s house are all dark. There must not be anybody home. The only life I’ve seen come and go over the past few days is Hilary, their housekeeper. I understand that he can’t visit, that there are too many journalists and photographers outside for him to be able to do that, especially if he is in hiding from his dad, but no real harm could come from visiting me. It’s not illegal. It would be a show of disrespect to his father, but isn’t he doing that anyway? Or failing that, a phone call, a text, or a letter like the one he sent me when I was in the castle would show that he cares, that he’s thinking of me. Just something. Anything.

I wouldn’t think that a visit to the Flawed could be seen as aiding, though I know that one minute in his arms would save me completely. Even though I’d tell anyone who’d listen that I know there’s no hope for me and Art now, deep down, it still makes sense to me. It could still happen. It would just mean his taking a stand against his father once and for all, and it could be me and him against most of the world.

I scroll to his name in my mobile phone and press call. I know what will happen: the same thing that has happened for the last couple of days. It goes straight to answer phone. But I listen to the sound of his voice, jovial and always close to laughter, a cheeky look on his face, and then I hang up.

Downstairs I hear Ewan get a firm talking-to, a going-over of the rules.

I pretend to sleep and feel both Mum and Dad kiss me good night. I hear them go to bed. Talking in low voices and then nothing.

And exactly what I was anticipating happens next. I hear Juniper sneaking out.

I stand naked in front of the mirror, my dressings removed. I hate what I see. My tears fall as my eyes run over the scars on my skin. They have taken away ownership of myself, and they have made me theirs. I want to rip the brandings from my skin. I look away from the mirror. I will never look at myself again. I will never let anyone else see my naked body. Not friends. Not a man. No one.

School is many different things to different people. It makes Juniper nervous, I know that. School is something she worries about constantly from the minute she goes to bed at night to the moment she returns home. She feels uncomfortable, restricted, maybe out of her depth. She can’t wait for it all to be over so she can get on with what she considers the more important parts of her life. She worries about homework, about getting answers wrong in class, about her exams and about what to wear. Her worrying isn’t because she’s lazy and doesn’t try or because she’s not clever. She’s smart. She is constantly working. She constantly talks about studying, doing study, trying on outfits, laying out clothes, starting again. She has one close friend, both of them glued to each other as they walk around the halls, heads together, sticking to themselves. They don’t want anybody else; they don’t need anybody else. They just want to get through it and be done with it.