September 31st, 1984

13

"Hello Mike." I say shyly as he enters the training room.

"Hi El." He smiles at me as he sits in his chair, setting a large stack of papers on the table. I fidget nervously with the hem of my dress, a new one Papa gave me. It is simple, dark blue, knee-length with long sleeves and a fitted bodice, but it makes me feel good to wear it.

"Wait… are you wearing a new dress?"

"Yes. Like?"

"Uh… yeah. Looks nice. I, uh, thought you might be a little cold in the hospital gown."

"Yes." I nod, smiling a little. He thinks I look nice! That makes me feel nicer than how I look. My hair is still short and ugly, and dark bruises mottle my arms and legs, but that doesn't matter as much if I get to wear a dress that looks nice.

"Smile looks good too." His face is a little pink now. I've learned that

"Thank you." I grin at him, making my smile as wide as possible.

"Eleven." Papa stands in the doorway, a scowl etched on his face. I feel guilty. Maybe I'm not supposed to smile.

"Papa?" I say.

"Dr. Brenner!" Mike stands up quickly, adjusting his white coat.

"Sit down Wheeler." Papa looks at the two of us for a minute. "How clever are you?"

"I think I'm… pretty smart sir." Mike shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I watch the encounter with curiosity.

"Clever enough to help her sneak into Russia, pose as the daughter of a diplomat there, infiltrate a party hosted by a top Communist official and assassinate him?"

"You mean… kill someone?"

"Precisely."

"Uh, yes sir."

"We need someone medical, and I don't want to send any of our more experienced men. Can I trust you to serve this country and this mission faithfully?"

"Yes sir."

"Papa?" I interject warily. They both look at me with surprise.

"Mike is smart."

"Is he now." Papa looks at me with a considering expression.

"Yes. He teach me."

"You're dismissed Wheeler." Papa waves his hand at Mike.

"Sir, I haven't had a chance to go over today's lesson with-"

"Get out." Papa's voice is sharp and Michael gathers up his things quickly before leaving. As soon as he is gone, Papa slaps me sharply. I squeak.

"You speak when spoken to."

"Sorry Papa." I whisper. I don't stand up. That will make him more upset if he hasn't told me to do it.

"Come here." He pats his lap and I sit, already feeling the telltale hardness underneath me.

"I don't want to hurt you Eleven. You know that. You must be a good girl. You don't want to be punished, do you?"

"No Papa."

"Aren't you glad that I gave you such a nice dress? Don't you want to thank me?"

It feels gross when Papa calls my dress nice. He doesn't say things the way Mike does.

"Yes Papa." I whisper, reaching around to undo the buttons on the back of my dress.

"Good girl."