Flawed / Perfect. Cecelia Ahern

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.

      For me, school is solid. I like going. I feel comfortable there. I look forward to each day. I don’t have any fears about it. I work hard but not so hard that I get bogged down or overly stressed. My teachers like me, and I like them. I don’t give them any trouble. I have a great group of friends. Six of us, three girls and three guys including me and Art, and one of which is Marlena, who spoke for me at the Guild. We have fun. We are neither nerdy nor jocks. We might be remembered; we might not. We just are.

      But for the first time in my life, I am experiencing what Juniper must feel every morning. I debate long and hard over what to wear. Everything in my wardrobe represents being carefree to me, bought and worn by someone who blended in and had nothing to hide. I am not that person any more.