F O U R T E E N

Maybe I Got Mine, But You’ll All Get Yours

 

2024 January 6
Saturday

Persephone spat out a mouthful of toothpaste and then made the mistake of looking in the mirror.

There were, to be fair, plenty of things to like about what she saw. Her long hair was in the braid they had taken to putting it in before bed; when she woke up and took it out, her hair would tumble in complex waves over her shoulders and down her back, and would stay that way all day. Her eyebrows had been shaped and she’d had her first professional manicure. A brand-new set of pajamas had arrived earlier today—mint green with little cartoon Greek gods—and she was wearing them for the first time.

But as always, what she saw most vividly was her facial hair. Summer would work on it again tomorrow—during normal business hours this time—and that meant she was back to having to grow it out for her. Growing out the hated hair was necessary to destroy it, but heavens, did she hate doing it.

At least in the year 2024, she could wear a face mask to cover it up when she went out. It must have been harder to hide before 2020; Summer said she’d practically been a recluse at the beginning.

She reached up to touch it, then stopped herself. Don’t torture yourself, Persephone. Instead, she popped a PrEP pill—Summer had brought her to a clinic for tests and meds after asking if she hoped to start dating soon—then switched off the light and went to bed.

Waiting there, of course, was a torture of a different kind. Summer was standing beside the bed, putting a fresh battery in her taser and plugging the old one into a charger. When she woke up, she put the weapon in her purse; when she went to bed, she brought it back to her nightstand.

Another woman might have been alarmed by Summer’s decision to carry a taser, but Persephone had spent her entire life in homes with armed guards. It was just one of those things that was necessary when you had more money than anyone needed or deserved. They didn’t accompany her everywhere—she was safe enough out on the town for a few hours, or even overnighting occasionally—but the only difference now compared to anywhere she’d lived before was that she was sleeping with the woman who carried it.

And therein lay the torture: She was sleeping with Summer, but not sleeping-with sleeping with her.

Persephone had tried something else for the first time this week: progesterone. Summer had somehow gotten vials of injectable depo-provera to go with her injectable estrogen, and had offered to start giving her some.

“Now, if you ask the NHS, this won’t do anything at all except for raise your risk of heart disease.” Summer had told her. “But anecdotally, a lot of trans women say otherwise.”

And so far, Persephone had to agree with the patients, not the doctors. It hadn’t been nearly long enough to see any changes in breast growth, but she’d definitely noticed that a voice or two in the chorus of her dysphoria had gone silent; she was sleeping more deeply, but had more vivid dreams; and…

Well, let’s just say that when Summer climbed into bed with her like she was doing now, part of Persephone couldn’t help but hope that she’d reach for the cuffs she knew were tucked away by the corners of the bedframe. Like she had every night this week, Persephone turned on her side, facing away from Summer, to hide her state.

She could feel Summer shifting closer behind her. “Everything okay, hun?”

“F-fine,” Persephone said. Then after a pause, she added, “Just can’t wait for the session tomorrow.”

“Poor girl,” Summer said. She shifted over a little more, and Persephone felt her press against her back; then Summer’s arm wrapped around her waist, and when she spoke, Persephone could feel Summer’s breath on the back of her neck. “I know it’s hard. Just let me take care of you, okay?”

“O-okay,” Persephone said, and she closed her eyes, trying to ignore both the accidental innuendo and the sudden flood of ideas about other things Summer might tell her to do.

 

* * *

 

Summer awoke to something buzzing under her pillow. It took her about two seconds to process what was happening, and then suddenly she was wide awake, her heart leaping into her throat.

She reached under the pillow and pulled out her phone. The screen said “Dorley Hall Security Room”.

Elle had been right. Fuck.

She swiped the Answer control and held the phone up to her ear. She didn’t recognize the voice on the other end, but she didn’t expect to. “Two men at the door,” the woman said. “One kneeling, one on watch.”

Summer paused for a second; she could faintly hear the sound of metal scraping against metal. They were picking the lock, trying to break in quietly.

“Declare an emergency,” Summer whispered. “Check-in within thirty.” Then she hung up, noted the time, shifted her hand up Persephone’s body, and covered her mouth.

Persephone awoke instantly, eyes wide, and tried to cry out.

“Shhh,” Summer whispered. “It’s me. Someone’s breaking in. I need you to follow my instructions—no questions, no arguments.” Persephone nodded, and Summer uncovered her mouth. “Get in the closet and close the door. Quietly.”

Persephone slid off the bed on one side, grabbing her glasses on the way, hiding in the closet without protest. Summer grabbed her taser, unplugged her phone, and slid off the other side, hiding with the bed between her and the door.

Beatrice Quinn had told Summer once that she didn’t graduate girls who weren’t ready for whatever the world might throw at them. And Beatrice Quinn’s world very much included, for instance, torture dungeons operated by sadistic kidnapping rings. So during a girl’s third year, the sponsors would try to teach her a set of practical survival skills and strategies centered on the “three Es”: Escape, Evade, Exit.

Not every girl took to these skills—but Summer Nesbitt had been exceptional at everything the program had asked her to do. And she was good with a taser.

But the first rule they’d taught her was to not get ahead of herself. Which meant focusing on the first E: Escape the immediate danger.

Fortunately, Summer had spent the last few days planning for this exact scenario. If Albert’s men moved as quickly as possible, they would come at the time when they could be most certain of the girls’ schedule: The dead of night, when they would be in bed.

Summer pulled on her combat boots, not bothering to tie them, and tapped a few buttons on her phone to prepare a diversion. Then she checked the battery level on her taser, made sure it accepted her thumbprint, and took the grip in her left hand; the familiar contours, the weight and warmth, were a comfort. She checked that the curtains were a little bit open, so the reflected light of the street lamps below would pool on her ceiling and provide a bit of ambient illumination; she only had two shots, so she couldn’t afford to miss.

And then she waited, heart pounding, for the intruders to come.

After a long moment, there was a soft click. Summer couldn’t hear the door open, but she didn’t expect to, because she had lubricated the hinges a few days ago. Her plan would work best if the intruders made a slow, stealthy approach; she didn’t want the door to make an unexpected noise that would force them to rush in.

Still, they were better than she’d expected—Summer had to strain to hear their footfalls. If she’d still been asleep, she’d be fucked.

They spent several agonizing moments moving around, their steps too quiet for Summer to tell exactly where they were. She stared at the floor past the foot of the bed, where the fairy lights in the living room splashed a barely perceptible shaft of light through the bedroom door. A few times, she saw shadows cross it, but they disappeared quickly. But finally, two pillars of shadow—a pair of legs—appeared on her bedroom floor, shrinking and darkening as they moved closer. Then two more. A blocky torso appeared, then another. One of them shifted to get past the doorframe—then the other—then—

A Dorley girl is ready for anything, Summer mouthed to herself, and then stabbed the Play button on her phone. The kitchen speaker started blasting:

“But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time”

The shadows shifted as both PMCs pivoted to face the new noises, raising their tasers.

“Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time”

Summer silently stood, flicking the safety on her taser to Armed, thumbing the fingerprint sensor.

“I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined”

She aimed at the nearer of the two men and fired. With a loud pop, the probes caught him in the back, and he yelped and went down like a sack of potatoes.

“I check it once, then I check it twice, oh!”

The other PMC turned back, but Summer was already shifting her aim. She caught him in the stomach before he could line up his own shot, and he hit the floor, too.

Both men had dropped their weapons; she kicked them as far away from their owners as possible. Then she took a beat to catch her breath while the two soldiers writhed on her bedroom carpet.

“Ooh, look what you made me do
“Look what you made me do
“Look what you just made me do
“Look what you just made me...”

Okay, this next part was going to be complicated. They needed at least a few minutes’ head start on these guys to escape, but Summer’s taser would only keep them down for a few seconds at a time. Summer was going to need help. “Come out, Persephone,” she called.

The closet door swung open and Persephone stepped back into the room. “Oh my god,” she said, eyes wide as she took in the scene.

The taser beeped that the five-second discharge cycle was ending. Summer tapped a button on its side, giving the PMCs another dose of incapacitating juice. Taylor Swift continued to provide an incongruous soundtrack.

“Persephone,” she said, “I need you to be my hands while I keep these guys down. When the taser beeps again, grab that one—“ she pointed with her middle finger to the man with the taser probes in his front, “—and pull him up onto the bed, on his back. Do it as quick as you can, and then let go right away.”

Persephone stared at the man Summer was pointing at. “Oh, no. Clive?”

“Persephone?”

The taser beeped. Persephone jerked and quickly grabbed the man, lifting him into place; he may have been taller, but Persephone was plenty strong and had not just had two thousand volts of electricity pass through her body.

As soon as she was clear of the man, Summer pushed the button again, giving the attackers five more seconds of power. “I need you to cuff his arm. There’s a restraint tucked—”

“Here?” Persephone was already reaching for the cuff; Summer wondered when she’d noticed it.

“Yes. Good girl.” For her part, Summer pulled out the cuff on her own side, and once the taser stopped, they quickly bound his arms. Another five seconds of electricity before they did his legs.

(Summer’s sponsor training reminded her that some studies had suggested that repeated shocks might not be safe. Her self-preservation instinct replied that the PMCs should’ve thought of that before they broke into her home.)

During the next jolt, Summer told Persephone, “Next, there should be a pair of handcuffs in the toy chest.” She pointed at the wooden chest at the foot of her bed. “Grab them?”

“Okay,” she said. She walked over, swung it open…and stared for a moment at the jumble of sex toys and bondage gear. “Wow.”

The taser beeped again; Summer hit the button once more. Sucked to be them. “Not the time, Penny.”

“Right! Sorry!” She snatched up the handcuffs.

“You’re gonna pull his arms behind his back and cuff his wrists together. But let me stun him first.”

“Okay.”

Summer waited for the taser’s cycle to end; then she walked up to the guy who was still on the floor and kicked him in the head. He yelled incoherently.

(Concussion risk was another thing he should have thought of before he broke into her home.)

“Go for it.” A few seconds later, Persephone had his hands secured.

“Good. Now grab your new Docs and put them on in the living room. Leave any electronics behind—we don’t know if they’re being tracked.” That was also why she wasn’t taking the PMCs’ weapons—she had no idea what sort of nasty surprises might be tucked away in their circuits.

Summer tapped the taser’s button one last time. Persephone nodded, picked up the shoes, and went to the living room; Summer returned to her bedside table, grabbed her purse, threw in the taser charger and battery, and slung it over her shoulder. Then she walked as far from the bedroom as the taser wires would let her, and when the weapon beeped, she ejected the cartridges and put it in her purse.

Now the clock was ticking—the PMCs could start working on their restraints. They were BDSM-grade, not police-grade, but Summer only needed them to hold up for a few minutes.

In the living room, Summer found that Persephone was indeed waiting with her shoes on, watching the open door nervously. Summer opened the coat closet, tossed one to Persephone, pulled on another, and picked up the go bag, slinging it over her shoulders. Then she picked up two other items leaning against the wall—a pry bar and a thick wooden beam about a meter and a half long—and handed them to Persephone.

“Take these and get going,” she said. Persephone gave her a curious look but didn’t question her.

As they stepped into the hallway, Summer could hear the PMCs in the bedroom starting to thrash and shout. She closed the door behind her, rendering their cries indistinguishable from the muffled music.

Persephone made for the stairs down, but Summer grabbed her arm to stop her. There was only one exit from her building; the PMCs probably had a truck waiting there, and she didn’t know if they’d brought a driver. “This way,” she said, steering Persephone towards another door. Behind it were stairs up and then a door that swung open on the roof.

Though it was a clear, dark night outside, it was bitterly cold; the wind at roof level nipped at their faces and hands, dispersing the visible puffs of white from their breaths. A car faintly rumbled by half a dozen floors below.

Summer strode towards one of the neighboring buildings. The gap was too wide to step across, but she took the wood beam from Persephone and laid it across the opening, then walked across it like it was a balance beam.

When she turned around, Persephone was staring at her from the other building in astonishment. Summer beckoned to her, and Persephone carefully picked her way across. Then Summer picked up the beam and left it on the new building’s roof, in case anyone tried to follow.

They walked to the roof door of this new building; it was locked, but the wooden jamb looked like it had seen better days. Summer took the pry bar from Persephone, worked it in near the latch, and pulled with all her strength. With a sound that was louder than she’d like but probably wouldn’t be audible at street level, the jamb splintered and tore and the door popped open. She left the pry bar there; she wouldn’t need it again.

“How long have you been planning this?” Persephone murmured as they began their descent.

“Since I moved in,” Summer said. “No questions, remember?”

“Sorry.”

As they walked down the stairwell, Summer reloaded her taser, then tucked her hand into her purse to conceal the weapon. When they reached the ground floor, they exited—not into the close, where the PMCs’ vehicle would probably be waiting, but onto the main street. Summer glanced around, then took Persephone’s hand and started walking. Three blocks and two turns away, she decided they weren’t being followed.

Escape the immediate danger: Complete. Evade recapture using local resources: In progress.

Summer glanced at her watch, running through a mental contacts list. Who did she know who’d be in the neighborhood at around midnight on a Saturday?

“I know a girl who’ll help,” she said to Persephone. “This way.” She tugged on Persephone’s hand, and the understandably frazzled girl followed.