24. Res
24
Res
I t takes me a few minutes after opening my eyes to realize that I’m not in my bed.
It takes a few more seconds after that to notice that I’m lying on some kind of soft pallet in front of a warm fireplace.
It feels nice, and why should I care that I’m not in my bed when I feel this warm and comfy?
I settle back down into the blanket and close my eyes, melting into the warm softness of the blankets against my naked body.
…
Naked.
I snap my eyes open. Why am I…
The memory of being tied up in some kind of orchard and fucked by an unknown assailant comes back to me.
On one hand, I’m relieved to be waking up again.
On the other hand, that means this assailant could still be around. I hear movement behind me and close my eyes, feigning sleep to catch my no doubt assailant off guard.
“I know you’re awake,” he says while stroking my hair .
In an instant, I toss the blanket off me and jump up. Or at least, I try to. I’m wrapped like a burrito or something. So really, I only succeed in partially throwing the blankets off me, and therefore I am only on my feet for all of two seconds before the blankets twist around my feet, and I go tumbling back down to the floor. But not before taking my assailant with me and managing to grab a fire stoker from the container next to me.
I end up straddling him and holding the stoker above his neck before my brain finally registers the voice in conjunction with seeing his face.
“Jaxson,” I say, confused.
“You have quick reflexes,” he remarks, not at all fazed by the fact that I have a sharp object aimed at his neck.
I’m confused for all of three seconds before my brain, free of drugs, is finally able to put together the clues and the pieces I’d noticed before. The familiarity of the touch of my assailant. The aching familiar comfort of his cock in me. The sound of his voice telling me I could take it when I thought I couldn’t anymore.
“You bastard,” I snap, dropping the stoker next to me and opting for hitting his chest. “You had me kidnapped. Chased me through the fucking woods. Drugged me, and made me think I was being raped!”
“The chase through the woods was an unexpected surprise. But I had to improvise when you tried to choke out my men and crashed the car,” he says.
“Improvise!” I yell, hitting him again. “You could have told me in advance! ”
“You being terrified was the point.”
“The point! The point!” I yell, hitting him once more before getting up off him.
I wrap the blanket around me, feeling cold again, and plop in front of the fire. To my shame, tears begin to well up in my eyes.
“Snow White,” Jaxson says, running a hand down my cheek.
I refuse to lean into it, and to make sure I don’t give in to the urge, I suddenly snap my head around and bite Jaxson’s hand.
He snatches his hand back, and I let go to turn back to looking at the fire.
“Asshole,” I say, swallowing to try to keep my tears from falling. “I really thought your father was going to have me killed.”
“You know I would never let that happen.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you do. You told me multiple times that your fiancé was going to kill me,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice as he says it. “And my entire family. Man, woman, or child.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter.
“Language.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” I snap petulantly.
He puts his hand to my face, and this time I lean into the comfort of him, letting him pull me into his arms.
“I’ll never let anything happen to you, Snow White. Even when it looks like I’m not there, I’m there with you. Just like I was with you the entire time tonight. And part of you knew that, which is why even when you thought you were being tormented, you liked it. Your entire being recognizes me,” he says .
I huff. He’s not wrong. I didn’t hate it. I was begging for more. It wasn’t enough. The drug he used on me made sure of that.
“Did you have to drug me, though?” I ask.
“Well, I have to figure out some way to keep our relationship interesting now that you don’t run in the opposite direction in terror when you see me,” he replies.
I scoff. “I’ve never run in terror from you. I’ve never been scared of you.”
He laughs and says, “Now we both know that’s not true. I have the recordings to prove it. And you loved every second of it. Every second of my wrath. Every second of me dominating you. Every second of me making you know your place as your God.”
That may be true, and if I weren’t pissed at him right now, I might even admit that to him. Maybe. But right now, I think he’s just an asshole. A warm, comforting asshole.
“You didn’t tell me you would be in Chicago,” I say instead.
“I didn’t want you to know. It would have spoiled my surprise.”
I pinch him in the thigh for that one, but he only chuckles. Fucking masochist.
“Why are you here?”
“My father called all his national priests to Chicago for a meeting over a certain podcast and smear campaign against him.”
“Oh. The one Landon was in all day?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“He didn’t tell me you were here. ”
That said, he probably wouldn’t have thought to given he spent every moment since I walked in on him and Caleb terrified that I would out him.
“Magdalene didn’t say anything either,” I add.
“I told her I wanted to surprise you. She’s covering for us right now.”
I hum in contentment, my earlier anger leaving me as I continue to melt into Jaxson’s embrace. Lilah and Landon hug me all the time. Magdalene hugs me on Saturdays when I show up at processing. Adah doesn’t hug me, but she will bump her shoulder against mine at a joke. Yet I haven’t been held like this in weeks. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until now.
“Where are we anyway?” I ask, grasping that this is some kind of farmhouse or something.
“An apple orchard I recently purchased.”
“I didn’t know there were apple orchards this far north,” I mutter. Then the significance of an apple orchard dawns on me. “You and your fucking symbolism. No way you purchased an entire orchard so you could fuck me, your forbidden fruit, in it.”
Jaxson makes a noncommittal sound that rumbles through his chest before saying, “It could be seen that way. Or I could be the forbidden, poison apple. The snake in the garden who lures the pretty Eve out of her arranged marriage with Adam into an adulterous affair. It’s more befitting of your name, Snow White.”
I snort and say with a laugh, “You one hundred percent would have been a theater kid if you weren’t raised in a cult. ”
Jaxson doesn’t reply, and I eventually find myself drifting off into a true sleep.
When I wake back up, it’s the next day, and I find myself in a bed this time. Jaxson’s nowhere to be seen, but there’s a dress waiting for me along with my favorite boots, cleaned and shined and looking like they did the day I took them out of the box.
I take a shower, get dressed, and then open the curtains covering the window. It looks like the assumption I made that there was likely a farmhouse nearby was correct because the view looks over the entire orchard. It’s not in full bloom yet, but with it being April, the branches are starting to grow leaves and buds with the promise of flowers and eventual fruit.
Before going to wherever Jaxson is no doubt waiting for me, I decide to explore.
It’s a ranch-style house with five full bedrooms. On one side is the main room with the fireplace that I woke up in front of before and an ensuite with a hot tub, walk-in shower, vanity sinks, and its own washer and dryer. There are also two other rooms with their own bathrooms, with a regular tub and shower, but no less luxurious than the one in the main suite. I pass what looks like a study and another bathroom before walking into the living room. It’s cozy, with its rugs and warm colors and decorations.
Directly across from me is another hall, and diagonally to the right of where I’m standing is what looks like an entryway to a kitchen .
I decide to take the hall across from me, and on the way to it, I pass the entrance to a foyer and the front door. On the other side are two more bedrooms with a connecting bathroom and guest half bathroom in the hall. There’s another hall behind the guest bathroom that leads to a well-lit laundry room, and then at the end of that hall, it opens up to the kitchen where Jaxson is sitting, like I thought he might be, with a cup of coffee and—
“Res!” J says as he stands and runs up to hug me.
I stumble back in surprise. Just a few months ago, J wouldn’t have dared run up and hug me. He wouldn’t have dared been so open. The entire time I’ve known him, he’s been skittish and secretive and quiet—for admittedly good reason. For all my concerns about Jaxson taking him under his care for what are no doubt his selfish purposes, it’s been good for him. Somehow, he’s blossomed under Jaxson’s care.
“J,” I say, getting over my surprise and returning his hug. “You’ve gotten so tall! You’re going to be a giant one day.”
J snorts. “I doubt it. I’ll be happy if my meds can get me to five-nine. But we’ll see. I guess.”
“What meds?” a voice asks.
That’s when I notice the other person in the room, a teenage girl with brown-beige skin and kinky dark hair, the curly coils kept out of her face with a headband.
J lies effortlessly without missing a beat, saying, “I told you. I was really malnourished from being sick as a kid, and now I’m on medicine to help me catch up.”
“Oh. Yeah. You did tell me that,” the girl says .
I look to Jaxson, who simply looks at the girl, who takes the hint and says, “I’m Serenity Yates.”
“Res,” I say and look back to Jaxson because none of this explains why she’s here.
“Nice to meet you,” she says.
Figuring Jaxson will explain it to me sooner or later, I ask, “Have you all had—” I pause to look at the clock, “Have you all had breakfast yet?”
“The answer to that is absolutely no if you’re going to cook it,” J says.
Serenity, on the other hand, shakes her head and says, “No thanks.”
“Have you already eaten?” I ask as I make myself at home in the kitchen, unsurprised to see it stocked with most basics.
“No. I’m practicing only eating dinner since I’m almost sixteen and will be expected not to eat during the day by then,” Serenity says quietly. “And my mom says I’m looking pudgy lately. So…”
I pause with my hand over the flour container in the pantry upon hearing that. It’s not shocking. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard about some arbitrary cult dietary law and a teenage girl in a cult starving herself to keep herself skinny, setting herself up for a lifetime of disordered eating, at best, and full-blown eating disorders, at worst. But I’m still surprised every time I hear it.
I can’t just outright tell her it’s bullshit, though. This is a girl who has likely been spoon-fed this bullshit since before she could talk. Just like I couldn’t outright tell Landon that I think if he’s part of something that tells him he can’t openly love the man he wants to be with, he should leave. I have to speak her language.
So I take a breath and say, “Well, there’s a reason the expectation is set for sixteen. I imagine that if the Supreme Force designed it to be that way, by the time you turn sixteen, you won’t have to practice at it. It’ll naturally happen. So if you’re hungry, maybe you should eat. Surely the Supreme Force doesn’t mean for you to starve yourself.”
Serenity doesn’t say anything for a while and then mutters, “Maybe…”
Not wanting to be pushy, I simply ask, “Is everyone okay with waffles?”
“And a frittata. Oh, and bacon!” J says.
“If you want all that, you’re going to get in this kitchen and help me, young man,” I say.
“Sure,” J says, hopping out of his chair to come help me.
“I’ll help too,” Serenity says. “If you want…”
I start to say I’d be happy to have her help before J rolls his eyes and says, “You hate to cook, Rini. You were just talking about a fight you got into with your mom over refusing to cook for your entire family at least twice a week.”
Serenity blushes. “I…”
“It’s fine. We got it,” I assure the girl.
She stays seated and continues to scroll through her phone while J and I cook breakfast. By the time we’re done, she’s gotten over her shyness and is bantering back and forth with J while happily munching on her waffles and frittata, and scowling in disgusts as J stuffs his mouth with bacon .
“Thanks, Res,” J says once they’re done, standing up with Serenity.
“Where are you two rushing off to?” I ask.
“Babybop Princess is streaming today,” J answers as he leaves with Serenity.
I assume that has something to do with gaming and don’t care to ask anymore. Now that they’re both gone, I turn to Jaxson and ask, “Who is she?”
“Serenity Yates,” he answers.
I glare at Jaxson from behind the counter where I’m making dough for chicken pot pie. It’s been a while since I’ve just cooked for the sake of it. Most of the time, I don’t have the time, and since being in Chicago, the Oracle’s cooking team, some of whom I’m sure are undercover Sentry, does all the cooking. Might as well take advantage of a fully stocked kitchen while I have the chance.
“Jaxson,” I say pointedly. “Why do you have her with you?”
“To keep her and J from getting themselves into a mess they can’t get themselves out of in South Carolina,” he says vaguely.
“South Carolina. What?”
“Someone has been embezzling funds from the national treasures, and Serenity is a key player who I’ve limitedly brought into the know about it, considering she runs all the accounts for the Charleston, South Carolina Altar.”
That somehow explains everything and nothing at all.
“Her mother was fine with you bringing her all the way to Chicago?” I ask.
“As far as her parents are probably concerned, they think I’m scouting her as a future wife. Well, a conduit maybe. She’s way too young to be a wife for me, even by Sovereignty standards.”
I slap my dough against the table particularly hard upon hearing that. Again, not shocking. There’s no person who’s joined a cult and buys its doctrine that wouldn’t sell their daughter to its prophet or messenger.
“You’re not seriously thinking—”
“There you go doubting my devotion to you again,” Jaxson cuts me off. Then he adds, “Besides, J is quite smitten with her. I’m a monster. But not that kind.”
“Not even for show,” I add. “I don’t care what’s expected of you.”
Jaxson comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, burying his face in my hair.
“What have my father’s conduits been telling you about me that makes you doubt me so?”
“Nothing,” I lie. Then, “Nothing I believed. But still. I have to be sure… Or I swear I’ll put you up on a cross and make you atone.”
To my dismay, but not surprise, Jaxson only chuckles and mutters, “Now that could be interesting.”
“Masochist,” I mutter and push him out of the way to put my dough in the refrigerator. I grab the chicken but then spot potatoes and green beans and decide to take those out too.
“When I brought you out here, I didn’t intend for you to stay in the kitchen all day.”
“Tough. After that stunt you pulled yesterday, you’re lucky I’m talking to you,” I mutter .
“You’re lucky there are impressionable children around. Otherwise, I wouldn’t let you get away with saying that to me,” he rumbles in my ear. “I’d bend you right over this counter and fuck you, and I’d make you keep chopping up all your meat and vegetables while I did it.”
“And I,” I say, taking my knife and angling back so it’s at the edge of his neck, “would stab you for ruining my food.”
He laughs. “We both know I’m not opposed to knife play.”
Before I can reply, he suddenly steps away from me, just in time for Serenity to walk into the room.
“I left my phone,” she says by way of explanation before grabbing it and running back out of the room.
Jaxson leaves a final kiss on my cheek and says, “I have some work to do.”
He leaves, and I’m caught between saying fuck cooking and going after him or giving in to my itch to cook. In the end, I decide to cook.
Since leaving Loving Eden, I’ve had a tumultuous relationship with cooking, growing to hate it as it has represented something I was forced to do because of the genitals between my legs, to eventually having a rather ambivalent relationship with it. It’s something I know how to do as a necessary skill of survival and adulthood, and sometimes I used it to help with events One Humanity put on when we didn’t have the money to pay for outside catering.
But every now and then, I get the itch to go all out and use it as an expression of my creativity. An art form. Today is one of those days, inspired by a fully stocked kitchen with all kinds of fresh and locally sourced ingredients by whoever Jaxson has running the place when he’s not here.
I zone out, focusing solely on my tasks. Making the filling for my potpie. Mashing the potatoes. Cutting up two whole chickens to roast. Heating up butter and heavy cream for the sauce for my green bean casserole. And then when I realize I made too much sauce, boiling a pot of pasta for macaroni and cheese to use the rest. Because there aren’t enough vegetables, I cook a pot of cabbage and the winter squash that was in the pantry.
By the time I’m done, it’s well into the late afternoon, and I’ve cooked enough for a small army.
“Lauressa,” Jaxson begins calmly as he comes in with J and Serenity standing behind him. “Who’s going to eat all this?”
“We’ll have leftovers,” I suggest, knowing that it’s absurd.
“Yeah… for the next month,” J mutters.
I bite my lip, and then an idea comes to me. I turn to Jaxson and ask, “What’s the address to this place?”