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Eleven couldn’t help but cry when they locked her in the room. She wasn’t supposed to, because it was her fault she was there. She hadn’t listened to Papa, she’d disobeyed. The room was to make sure she listened, so that she didn’t become Bad like the other children. Papa told her there used to be lots of other kids, but they had to go because they were Bad. He told her that he made the room to help her, to make sure she wasn’t Bad like them so that she could stay with him.
So Eleven wasn’t supposed to cry when she was there, but she just couldn’t help it. It was so dark in the room, and Eleven was scared of the dark. She pounded on the metal door until her fists started to bleed, she screamed until her voice was raw. She wanted Papa, she wanted her bed. She would do what he wanted now, she promised. She would kill that stupid cat, she would listen to those strange men and their unfamiliar words. She would do anything.
It was pathetic, she would think later, how easily she cracked when they put her in the room. Every time they let her out, Eleven would convince herself it wasn’t that bad after a few days, but then they’d put her in again and she’d remember how terrible it really was. She was just a child, a child who was afraid of the dark and the monsters she saw in there.
After what felt like hours of yelling at the people outside the door, Eleven sat down in the corner. The metal walls were cold against her bare skin, but she didn’t move. She deserved the cold, she had been Bad.
How long would they leave her there? Would Papa come to get her, or would one of the guards? Would he still be angry? Would he still make her kill that cat?
Eleven squeezed her eyes shut, even though it was already pitch black. She couldn’t think about that, she didn’t like the way it made her feel. Like she was drowning, like she was stuck in the darkness in the Bath. It was the same feeling she got every time she was in the room, and all she knew was that she didn’t like it.
Eleven’s hands hurt, and she could hear blood drip from her knuckles and onto the floor, but she ignored it. She was so tired, but she couldn’t fall asleep in the room. It was too cold, too uncomfortable.
How long would it take for Papa to forgive her? How long would it take before he let her draw again, before he praised her again, before he gave her candies after tests again? She worked so hard to be Good, but one moment of weakness—of stupid, stupid sympathy—and she was back at the beginning.
For a moment, Eleven wondered if it was worth it. If she would always end up back here, should she even try to be Good?
No, she couldn’t think like that. She had to be Good. Papa wanted her to be Good, and she couldn’t disappoint Papa. She couldn’t make him mad, or disobey. She didn’t want to be sent away like the other kids. She didn't know anything outside of her room, the Bath, and Papa.
Eleven laid on the ground curled up on herself. She put her arm under her head so it wouldn’t be against the metal floor and tried for a long time to go to sleep. Anything to avoid those thoughts.
When Eleven finally did fall into a fitful sleep, she dreamed of monsters. Of fire, of darkness, of pain and blood and a voice calling her name. It got angrier and angrier and it hurt more and more and Eleven didn’t mean to, it was an accident, she was sorry and she just wanted to leave. Why-
“Eleven.”
A familiar voice woke Eleven. It didn’t yell, and the owner didn’t step into the room. When she opened her eyes, she had to squint against the long lost light.
Towering above Eleven, framed by the light as if he were an Angel, was Papa. When he saw Eleven was awake he stepped in the room, crouched down, and picked her up. Eleven accepted this easily. She was out, Papa saved her from the monsters in her dreams and the darkness in the room.
Her arms and legs were stiff and aching from lying so long on the hard metal floor. Would Papa bring her back to her room now? She didn’t deserve it, she knew that she’d been Bad, but she wanted it so much. Despite her rest in the room, Eleven was exhausted.
As if he knew what she was thinking, Papa said, “You must be tired,” Eleven nodded. “You can sleep soon, but first we need to do one more test. Can you do that for me, Eleven?”
Eleven’s heart dropped, but she only nodded and said, “Yes, Papa.”
He carried Eleven to the testing room. The cat was there, again. “We’re going to try this once more, Eleven. If you succeed, you can go to bed. Do you understand?”
Eleven nodded again. She could be Good, even if she stumbled when Papa set her down, even if pain shot through her hands when she moved them. She could be Good, she had to be. Eleven focused all her attention on the cat, and she tried to convince herself that it only stopped moving and hissing because it was sleeping. That’s all it is, Eleven, it’s just tired. So tired, just like she was. Only it got to sleep, and she didn’t.
Still, Eleven couldn’t tear her eyes away from the cat’s motionless body, even when Papa walked into the room.
He took the electrodes off her head and smiled down at her. A guard walked in and took the cat away. “Good,” Papa told her. “That was very Good, Eleven.”
Then why didn’t it feel Good? Why didn’t she feel Good?