The Girl Who Dared to Think by Bella Forrest (best novels of all time TXT) 📗

each other seemed stupid to me. Why did my rank mean that I was seen as inferior, even though I’d never even done anything other than entertain an emotional thought? What was so wrong with emotions? As an AI, Scipio was supposed to be programmed with them. Did he ever have a bad day? Did he ever feel bad about himself when everyone treated him like crap for not working optimally? What gave him the right to judge us?

“I see.” He tapped a few things on his screen and looked at me, the pair of spectacles perched on his nose turning white from the light of his screen. “All right, Squire Castell, we’re going to do some word associations.”

I bit my lip and shifted. “What is that, and why are we doing it? I thought I was here for medicine.”

“Not everyone has the same problem,” Dr. Bordeaux replied patiently. “Some low numbers are caused by depression, or grief, or hormonal imbalances. We can’t treat every case in the same manner, which is why we do a psychological examination as well as a physical one. What will happen is this: I’ll say a word, then you, without thinking, say the first word you can think of. Do you understand?”

I nodded, but inside I was suspicious. It seemed too easy a test. I had expected more torment, but hey—the appointment was still young.

“Trees.”

My brain spun. For a moment, it was just blank.

“The first word that comes into your head, please.”

“Green,” I blurted out.

His face remained neutral as he tapped my response onto the pad. “Scipio.”

“Computer.”

The answer came easier this time. I could feel my brain leaning into the task, growing more accustomed to it with every word he said.

“Knight.”

“Stern.”

“Blood.”

“Mistake.”

The words started to come faster, my responses rolling off my tongue as he tapped away.

“Fire.”

“Water.”

“Friend.”

“Zoe and Eric.”

Dr. Bordeaux gave me a look. “Try to limit yourself to single words.”

I flushed. “Sorry.”

“Insurrection.”

“One.”

“Sadness.”

“Home.”

“Tower.”

“Prison.”

I felt that word slip out before I could catch it, and saw Dr. Bordeaux pause. He looked up at me, his brow thick, then slashed out the answer in a few quick flicks of his wrist. I watched them, instinctually knowing I had just completely destroyed any chance of getting out of here without medication. Comparing the Tower to prison was not an appropriate thought for anyone living here, end of story. It was all I could do not to bang my head against the wall.

“The test results have been collated into a report for you, Dr. Bordeaux,” Jasper announced, his voice stiff and affronted.

Great—apparently I had offended him, too. I closed my eyes and tried not to give in to the despair of knowing that I couldn’t even keep it together for this exam, this one exam. I heard Dr. Bordeaux get up, and when I opened my eyes, his back was to me as he examined the screen on the wall, reading the results there. He sighed heavily, and, with a swipe of his hand, dismissed the report.

“I was hoping it was a hormone imbalance or something easily treated, but it appears you’ve been exposed to some other psychological contamination at some point.” My mind went to Grey, and then immediately dismissed the thought. My problems had started long before I met him. Besides, I had come to the conclusion that psychological contamination wasn’t an actual thing: I’d never been in contact with a one before I started falling. Therefore, my so-called problems were just me. Little, inadequate me.

“I’m putting you on something we call ‘Peace,’” he announced, and immediately a slot on the wall opened, a tray morphing into existence with a burst of light. Massive red pills began to pour from the wall into the dish, falling in what seemed to be a never-ending tide. I watched as the tray then poured the pills into a wide pill bottle, a lid placed on top of it by a slim robotic arm that extended from the wall. The bottle then dropped into the waiting hand of Dr. Bordeaux. “The chemical name is Parlexotalopram,” he said, a forced smile coming to his lips as he held it out to me.

I took the bottle with numb fingers. “Will I have to be on these for life?” I asked, fearing his answer.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “We’ve had more than a few people become stabilized enough that we could wean them off, but right now the majority of Peace users need it continuously.”

I bit my lip and stared at the red tablets. They felt heavy in my hand, as if they were ready to drag me down into the depths of the Tower.

“Side effects?” I squeaked out, hoping somehow it wouldn’t mean the end of everything that culminated in my personality, like it had with Theo.

“Nausea,” Dr. Bordeaux announced gently, his face knowing. “Memory loss, suicidal impulses, and loss of sex drive. You may feel dizzy for a few days, but the sensation should fade.”

“Oh.” He didn’t need to tell me more—these pills were exactly what I feared most. The slow death of my self, trapped behind glassy, dead eyes. At least it would be in service to the Tower. Finally, Scipio and my parents would get the version of Liana they’d always wanted, never mind what it did to me.

At least you’ll still have a home, my mind whispered at me. I couldn’t help but wonder if the price was worth it. Maybe that was why I was a three.

“Sir, Squire Castell’s dopamine levels are falling, and I’m detecting increased signs of depression.”

“To be expected, Jasper,” Dr. Bordeaux said. I looked at him, and his smile was kinder now. “It’s good that you feel so sad about this, Squire Castell. It means you recognize a problem, but are resolved to do something about it. These will help you, I give you my word. Now, take two in the morning and two at night, with food. The first week you’ll be a little groggy, but give it time and be patient.