Chapter Twenty-Three Annihilate the Armor
The next night, Poppet, Candy, and I are getting ready. Though I’m still on edge from my fight with Mercy, it’s my dream I can’t stop thinking about. A memory, really, of the thing my father did that led to Wilson’s birth.
I haven’t spoken to my father in five years. He left me alone with my mother. A woman who grew bitterness in her heart and wrapped it in barbed wire. A woman who loved me and demanded I love her back. Oh, how I loved her, Wilson and I both.
Mercy doesn’t pop her head in to ensure we’re dressing. She doesn’t stomp up and down the hallway or clip orders. Best guess is she’s tending to her face, making the cuts and bruises work in her favor. Anything to earn those coins.
Mr. Hodge caught us right after the fight ended and demanded to know whose fault it was. Surprisingly, no one said a word. The girls have all taken sides: Mercy’s, mine, or no man’s land. But regardless of who supports whom, when it comes to Mr. Hodge, we’re an army of ten.
When Candy leaves the room, Poppet turns in my direction.
“Are you sure you don’t want to borrow one of my dresses?” she asks for the fourth time. Poppet hasn’t thanked me for coming to her defense, and I’m terrified it’s because she’s afraid of me. But her offering me a dress says all is not lost.
I glance at the door and think about my plan. I’ve been turning over an idea in my head ever since I made the decision to stay. I need enough money to get my own place, and I want Poppet to get her car. After ensuring no one is listening in, I sit on my bed and lean toward Poppet. “I want to talk to you about tonight. What are your thoughts on teaming up?”
Poppet licks her lips. “How so?”
“There’s only one Point Girl per flower. But maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. If we showed Madam Karina that we work better as a duo, maybe she’ll divide our profits evenly. Then we could share the title of Point Girl and eventually be promoted to Daisies.”
Poppet lowers her eyes. “I can only sing.”
“Poppet, you’re a terrible singer,” I say. “What you do have is personality. Customers are drawn to you because you’re enthusiastic and outgoing. It makes them feel wanted. But you spend so much of your time worried about the microphone that they don’t see it. Tonight, if you agree, you stay by my side. I’ll ensure no one messes with us and use my sketchpad to provide entertainment, and you keep them talking.”
“I’m not that bad of a singer.”
“You’re the worst.”
Poppet laughs. “We’re not close enough for you to say that.”
I smile and nod. “We’re exactly close enough for me to say that. Any less and it would be outrageously rude, any longer and we’d be the kind of friends who lie to each other.”
“I don’t want to lie to you,” she says.
“Okay, so then—”
“My turn to be truthful,” she interjects. “This heavy makeup, these piercings, the wigs…it’s not working for you.”
I cover my heart in mock horror. “How dare you.”
Poppet stands up, grabs my hand. “I accept your proposal. But only if I can give you a makeover.”
“That’s not happening.”
Poppet purses her lips. “Look, if you want to be a team, you have to trust me the way I trust you.”
I don’t trust anyone. We trusted Dizzy and look what happened.
“You get coins because you’re real,” Poppet continues. “You don’t put on an act like the other girls and guests dig that you’re authentic. But you need something more to draw them in.”
I grin. “That’s what you’re here for.”
“Sit down.” Poppet points toward the vanity ottoman. “Either you shed that shell of yours or we don’t have a deal.”
“No dice.”
“Domino, sit down.”
I sit.
She leaves the room and returns with a wet washcloth. “I’m going to remove your makeup. It might take me a while since you’ve been caking new stuff onto old for days. Yeah, I’ve watched your beauty routine.”
I try to feign shock, but I can’t move a muscle. My body shuts down as Poppet scrubs away at my face. I don’t know why I’m letting her do this. I haven’t left the bathroom without my armor in months, ever since I realized how good it felt to have an extra layer between me and the world. But because I don’t want Poppet to be scared of me, and because I know she may be right, I let her work. My heart hammers in my chest, and a cold sweat breaks out across my skin.
I feel exposed.
I feel ugly.
“Look how beautiful your skin is beneath all this junk.” Poppet turns the washcloth over.
“Please don’t say that,” I mutter.
“Say what? That you’re beautiful.”
I wince.
Poppet squats down so that her head is near my lap. She looks up at me, lays a hand on my knee. “Domino, it’s okay to be pretty. And it’s okay to be complimented.”
My throat aches with emotion. She doesn’t understand why this is impossible. She wasn’t there when I used my mother’s beauty to lure them in and do unspeakable things. She didn’t hear when Wilson silenced my tears and offered to take over so that I didn’t have to remember.
“I don’t know what happened to you,” Poppet says quietly, “but I know you’re not the only one with a past you’d rather forget.” She holds my gaze. “I’m going to remove the rest of this makeup, okay?”
My bottom lip trembles, but I refuse to cry.
As Poppet wipes away my foundation and moves to my ears, unhooking my piercings with tender hands, she says softly, “Thank you for what you did last night. You were right. The other girls don’t like me. But that doesn’t matter now.” She meets my gaze with uncertainty. “Because I have you. My partner.”
I grab her wrist and she stops unhooking my lip ring. “That’s right, Poppet. You do.”
At that exact moment, Candy strides into the room. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting a moment?” She shakes her head. “Gag me.”
An hour later, Poppet has removed my gold wig, and I’ve washed out my hair. She’s taken a blow dryer and round brush to my mane, and applied lip gloss, blush, and a touch of mascara to my face. Regardless of how many times I plead, she won’t add any more. Candy sits on the bed, blowing bubbles with cherry-scented gum, as Poppet hands me a white dress.
I hand it back to her. “I don’t do white.”
“You do now.”
“Put it on, Minnow,” Candy urges. “Not like you’ll look any worse in that than you do in any other color.”
I smile at Candy, because I know she wants to see the completed makeover.
I point the dress at Candy and then start to pull it on. “For you, Candy dearest.”
“Bite me.” She blows another bubble.
When I’m done, Poppet gives me two silver studs and a pair of nude pumps. Then she walks me over to the mirror.
“We have to go,” Candy says. “We’re going to be late.”
“Can it,” Poppet snaps, surprising up both. “I want to see her reaction.”
She positions me in front of the mirror, and my stomach churns.
I’m completely and utterly exposed. Blue eyes popping, blond hair shining, thin legs showing, small chest heaving. I turn away and fight rising bile. Poppet takes my chin and turns me back toward the mirror.
“Look at yourself,” she says.
I shake my head.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Minnow?” Candy chimes in. “Look in the damn mirror.”
“I already did.”
“Well, look again.”
I do, but only because Poppet worked so hard. When I turn back, I see my parents staring back at me. My mother’s cheekbones. My father’s nose. They’re gone, but I still can’t escape them. Though my mask is removed, I remind myself that my serpent tattoo still vines up my side—a token I got after I left home. A lifeline that tells me I am still me, and that though I’ve done terrible things, I can slither through tall grass unseen if need be.
You know what you look like to me? Wilson says gently. Strong.
Mercy chooses that exact moment to round the corner and stick her head in. The skin surrounding her eye is black and blue, and there are bruises shaped like fingerprints on her neck. She sees me, and her mouth parts. Her eyes run over me for an excruciatingly long time. Then she says, “If you were trying to look like a tramp, then you’ve succeeded.” She pauses. “Time to go. Now.”
Mercy practically jogs down the hallway so that I can’t retaliate.
She shouldn’t worry. Last night, after I attacked Mercy, I stayed up most of the night pushing Wilson away. Because even though Mercy may have deserved a good butt kicking, she doesn’t deserve the things Wilson wanted to do to her.
There’s a big difference between letting Wilson into my head and letting him take control. Last night, I came way too close to letting that second thing happen. And so I vowed, as the other girls slept and my hand ached from smashing into Mercy’s face, that I would never, ever let Wilson out again.
But I’m still here, he whispers. Just in case.