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

the blanket over my head, trying to calm the rising tide of panic threatening to tear through my chest.

A week. An entire week, I thought, fighting back tears. I had no idea what I’d been like—who I’d been like—and that terrified me. I could’ve done anything and never known.

Why was I suddenly me again? Had I missed a dose last night?

Or was this what it was going to be like? Brief periods of lucidity during which I was in my body, but looking at the life of a stranger?

I shuddered, a burst of anger at the injustice of it all making me throw back my blankets and look around. If this girl was taking over my life, I might as well get to know the new Liana.

No, I thought to myself, perhaps a bit maliciously. Her name is Prim.

I got up and moved over to my desk, intent on checking the pad. It was password-protected, but my usual password worked—thank God. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like waking up and knowing that a version of myself had changed my passcode.

I went to run a nervous hand through my hair, and paused when a flash of orange at my wrist caught my eye. I focused on it, and was momentarily shocked by the number emblazoned there.

Five.

It flickered to and fro between four and five, as if it could sense my conscious mind rebelling against the drugs that had clouded it, then settled on five again.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather some calm and force it into my body. I could stop taking the pills now. It had taken me years to fall from five to three, so this had to have bought me some time to figure things out for myself. Like a little boost to my morale or something. I looked down at the five… and saw it flicker again with the thought.

“I don’t think I have years,” I admitted out loud. I honestly wasn’t even sure I had days.

I began searching through the pad, opening up recent files and studying them. It was strange to see things in my handwriting—things I didn’t remember writing. I had notes on water treatment, suggestions about improvements to Tower security, and even (this made me gag slightly) a quote from Gerome scribbled in a margin. It seemed that Prim was an industrious and conscientious student.

Well, that’s good for Prim, I thought. But that isn’t me! I don’t like notes—I like action! Why is that such a bad thing?

It dawned on me that this room was no longer even my room—it was hers. Sure, it was filled with my things, but she’d made them hers just by putting them away, creating a space that was just as familiar as it was foreign.

I needed to get out.

I pressed the button, and my door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. I stumbled out and into the hall, looking around, trying to find the other ways that Prim had taken over my life.

My mother looked up from where she was standing by a bookshelf in the small communal space we shared. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said as I stepped out of the hall.

I paused. Sweetheart?

“Hey. Mom.” This was so incredibly awkward. She never called me sweetheart, but the way she said it told me that today was not the first time she had done so. Which meant that somewhere in the forgotten memories there were examples of her saying it to Prim. Not to me. That meant there was a version of me she loved.

She looked over at me, a warm smile touching her lips. “Gerome just came by, sleepyhead,” she said.

If she didn’t stop with the pet names, I might run screaming from the room.

“Oh? What did he have to say?” I asked, trying to focus on the question and not give away any of the emotional turmoil I was feeling.

“He said he was really impressed with how you’ve been adapting to your new medication and stepping up in your responsibilities.” She shut the red Knight’s manual she was holding and placed it neatly back onto the shelf. “I just want you to know, your father and I are so very proud of you. We see you finally becoming the woman Scipio always knew you could be.”

I nodded, my mouth dry. “That’s nice.” Prim was succeeding where I had failed. God, I hated her so much.

My mother’s smile flickered, and she took a step toward me. “Are you feeling well? You seem strange.”

“No, no!” I said quickly, suddenly terrified she would figure out that something was wrong and make me take those pills. I forced a smile onto my face. “I’m fine, just a little groggy.”

She prowled closer, though, her eyes sweeping me up and down. “Is your medication okay? Should I talk to Dr. Bordeaux for you?”

“Mom, that’s one of the side effects,” I reminded her, recalling Dr. Bordeaux’s words. “I’m sure it will pass—maybe some air will help. I might go find Zoe and see if she’s free for a walk.”

“The six,” she said, her voice flat, and I blinked, confusion radiating through me. My mom had never had a problem with Zoe before. What was her problem now?

“I’m a five,” I quickly pointed out, my mind grasping for straws. “There must be some things she can teach me.”

My mother grimaced, but then nodded. “I suppose you have a point there. But when your number levels out as higher than hers, I expect you to end the relationship.”

My heart pounded against my ribcage as I stared at her, defiance already creeping into my spine. My relationship with Zoe would end over my dead body, and not a moment before. My mother looked at me expectantly, and I kept my tongue in line, trying to come up with a non-pithy reply that made her believe I was still Prim.

“Yes, ma’am,” was the only thing I could stomach saying, and even then it came out strangled. My mother must not have noticed,