Imitation Read Online Free PDF

nervous at the thought. For
a second, I miss the humming pipes and the room full of even
breathing and sleepy mutterings.
    “ Is there a problem?” Gus
asks when I don’t move.
    “ No—no problem,” I
say.
    “ Good. Someone will come
get you in the morning. Sleep tight.” He shuts the door and there
is a decided click as a lock only accessible from the outside is
turned.
    I am a prisoner.
    I am Raven Rogen.
    I am here to die.
     
     

 
Chapter Three
     
     
    A maid brings me dinner on a rolling
tray. Other than her, I see no one. I hear nothing outside the door
of my room. I can only assume that means they have some device set
up to monitor me from inside. I’m not surprised. Or deterred. Being
watched is inevitable in Twig City; it’s no different
here.
    After eating, I spend a full hour
reveling in the silkiness of the sheets on the bed that I’m sure
would sleep five comfortably. When I sit up, a carving made in one
of the posts catches my eye. I lean closer and run my fingers over
it, trying to identify the shape. The lines are rough and jagged
close up, as if they’ve been carved by hand with a dull knife or
some other blunt instrument. Small shavings come away when I brush
my hand over it, and I wonder how recently this cut was made. It
looks like a version of my own mark but this tree is different,
with branches sprouting into the trunk instead of around
it.
    I change into the pajamas laid out—a
silky, smooth fabric that feels amazing against my abdomen and
arms. I am reminded of the chafing cotton I wore just last night
and try to take comfort in the benefits, small as they are, of my
new life.
    The luxuries of this place, combined
with the utter silence that rings in my ears, has me wide awake. I
decide to explore my expensive prison. I find a refrigerator
stocked with bubbly water that sighs when you twist open the lid
and some sort of creamy frozen treat in the freezer. The box says
“ice cream,” though it tastes nothing like any ice I’ve ever
had.
    After eating the entire container of
pecan ice cream, I lie down and pretend with all my might that I
really am Raven Rogen and there is no danger here. It doesn’t work
but I succeed in sleeping.
    The morning comes too fast.
    I feel sluggish and slow when the lock
clicks and the door opens. I don’t bother raising my head as Gus
pokes his head into the room. He is already frowning.
    “ Get dressed. I’ll be back
in ten minutes.”
    In Twig City, ten minutes is twice the
time we’re expected to take for showering and dressing, but here,
where nothing is familiar, I’m almost positive I should demand
longer. He is gone before I can argue.
    I scavenge the dresser and closet—and
discover the latter is large enough to stand inside and stretch my
arms out to both sides and still not touch the clothes hanging on
the racks around me. This makes me almost smile. I pass by silk
gowns and chiffon skirts and gawk at the shelves of shoes that I
can only hope I’ll live long enough to wear. Ida would love
this.
    Near the back, I find tailored pants
and a blouse. Not exactly the bland jeans and T-shirt look that we
all share in Twig City, but then I don’t expect Raven Rogen owns a
pair of jeans, especially ones with holes in the knees. I used to
fuss at Lonnie for purposely ripping her pants but after a while, I
caught myself doing it too. In a sea of sameness, I needed to do
something to feel individual. I suspect that was Lonnie’s reason
also, although she would say she just liked the ventilation. Twig
City’s lower levels can be stuffy.
    Upon mirror inspection, I find that my
blond locks have graduated from bedhead to zoo animal. I do my best
to smooth it and then decide I don’t care. According to Titus, no
one but staff is going to see me today. While I’m still playing a
part, the pressure feels lessened within the confines of these
walls.
    Gus is waiting for me when I emerge
from the bathroom. I follow him out, refusing to allow myself to