25. Ophelia
OPHELIA
As we head off toward the tower, our feet disturbing the early morning dew on the grass and the spiderwebs glistening like jewels on a priceless necklace, my stomach is in knots.
We had gone to Roman’s room, but he wasn’t there.
It’s too early for classes, and Malachi says he doesn’t go much anyway, so now we’re trying their tower.
I don’t want to come between the Preachers.
It’s absolutely the last thing I want. But do I want to turn my back on them all and pretend that whatever is happening between me and these men doesn’t exist?
No, I can’t bring myself to do that either.
Perhaps the gods, or nature, or magic, or whatever they believe in played a hand here and brought me back into Cain’s life for a reason.
Maybe they’re the ones who will heal me. And in turn, I’ll be able to help them heal, too. It’s probably a fantasy to imagine I can help them—they’re so strong, and they have one another—but I’d like to, if I can.
The birds are singing, and that magical morning light still illuminates the sky.
I used to love the early mornings at the commune the best of all.
They were the time for the women, as the men mostly still slept or were working in the fields.
We would feed the chickens, and milk the cows, and tend to the cooking for the day.
Without those glowering male presences, the air would feel lighter, and freer.
I have two glowering male presences either side of me now, except they don’t feel like a threat; they feel like a promise.
“Let me do the talking,” Cain says.
I swallow hard, still finding it difficult to assert myself, but I force myself to speak up. “Actually, I think I should ask him.”
Cain’s gaze narrows. “He might be an asshole to you.”
I smile. “I can take that, and I think it’s best if the request comes from me. After all, I’m the one who needs his help. You’ll both be there, to back me up.”
“Sure, if you really want to do it that way,” Cain says. “But I swear, if he starts being a fucker—” he corrects his language “— –umm, not nice to you, then I’m stepping in.”
We reach the looming water tower, and I glance up at it. “Is this normally where you’ll find him?”
“Most of the time, if he’s not in his room,” Malachi says. “He does like to be out in the forest though, so we might need to check there next if he’s not here.”
He tries the door and grins when it opens without it needing to be unlocked. “See?” he mutters softly.
The two men step inside first.
“Isn’t it early to be working on new incantations?” Malachi asks the person he finds there.
I follow them into the dimly lit space and spy Roman, sitting on a three-legged stool by the counter that runs down one end of the room. He’s grinding something in a mortar and pestle.
The sight of that simple, plain instrument of domesticity has my stomach clenching. We used them a lot at the commune. Living simply was a virtue, the Prophet said, which meant cooking things in the most labor-intensive way possible. Female labor, of course, never the men.
Roman turns to his friends, and his gaze skitters past them to land on me.
I can feel it all over me, as if it holds special power.
I tremble under his regard and only relax a bit when he looks away.
God, but he’s got a powerful charisma about him.
He might not be as big as Cain, or as striking as Malachi, but he’s got an aura about him that’s impossible to ignore.
“What’s she doing here?”
The fact he asks them, and ignores me, hurts.
“Just hear her out, okay?” Cain’s voice is harsher than I’ve heard it before.
Roman lifts one eyebrow but gives a short nod. “Fine.”
He picks up a cloth and wipes his hands before leaving the stool and heading to the couch. He sits, and I swallow in trepidation when he pats the seat next to him.
“Come talk to me,” he says.
My heart is beating out of my chest. I perch beside him, every muscle in my body knotted with tension.
I ball my hands together and press them between my knees.
Then I take a deep breath, and I tell him what I told Cain.
I don’t need to try to put emotion into my story—my words speak for themselves.
When I’m done, I look at Roman, and bravely holding his gaze, I say, “I think you can help me, Roman. I need you to help me.”
But he shakes his head and drags his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for everything you’ve gone through, but it’s not our problem. We have our own, bigger, issues to deal with, and I’ve already told you that we don’t need the distraction.”
Cain takes a step forward. “She’s more than a distraction, Rome.” His tone is hard.
Malachi joins his side. “We’re allowed to care about someone other than ourselves. If we don’t, what the fuck is the point in all of this?” He gestures around at the water tower.
Roman gets to his feet and glares at Malachi. “You know what the point is. We need to be strong. Powerful. If we’re not, then the people who hurt us will just get away with it.”
“They’re not going to get away with it,” Cain growls.
“They will if she comes in and fucks this all up.”
I draw a breath. “That’s not what I plan to do, I promise.”
Roman snaps at me. “You already are. Can’t you see that?”
I feel myself whither, literally drawing inside myself to hide, but Malachi notices and he reaches out his hand. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet and tugs me to stand beside him.
“Don’t do that,” he tells me. “Don’t let anyone else make you feel small. Anyone.” He delivers that word with a final glare toward Roman.
Cain steps in. “Roman, the only person who is fucking things up right now is you. What’s the point in being powerful if we can’t help the people who need it?
If all we’re ever going to do is look after ourselves, then what the fuck is the point?
By doing nothing, we are hurting someone.
How does that make us any better than the people who hurt us? ”
Roman recoils as though Cain has punched him. “I’m nothing like that man,” he growls.
Cain stands his ground. “Then prove it. Open your heart. Let someone else in. I know, deep down, you want to.”
I glance hopefully at Roman. Does he? I remember the moment we shared next to the tree. Something had passed between us then. He’d fought it, but it had been there.
My knees fold before I’ve even had time to think it through. I find myself at Roman’s feet, my hands linked behind my back, my head lowered.
“Please, Roman. We need you. We can’t do this without you. From what I’ve been told, you’re the one who has all the knowledge.”
Silence settles around the room. There’s a pregnant pause, the air simmering with tension as we wait for Roman’s reply. I dare not even look up, fearful of what I might see in his expression.
Finally, he speaks. “You think your flattery can win me over?”
I risk lifting my chin to make eye contact with him. “It’s not flattery, it’s the truth. You have. And I do believe you can help me, or I wouldn’t be here. It’s a scary thing I’m asking for, and it has taken a lot of courage to put it out there, believe me.”
He scratches his jaw and glances at his two friends.
“Very well. I’ll help you, but it has to be later.
Go about your day. Come back here tonight at the witching hour.
Wear something … simple. Nothing modern.
One of your dresses. No makeup. No scent.
Hair clean and down. Oh, and you don’t shave, do you? ”
I frown. Automatically, my hand goes to my chin as if he’s suggesting I’ve got a hairy face.
He laughs shortly. “No, Ophelia.” He leans in, eyes bright. “Your pussy. You don’t shave your pussy, do you?”
I swallow down my gasp and try to pass it off as a cough, but my cheeks burn. I’m still on my knees, and him speaking in such a way feels wanton.
“No. I mean … um, not really. I haven’t.”
Oh, Lord, what am I saying? I tried a couple of times with a razor and made a mess of myself, and I don’t have a lot of hair there. It’s fine and very pale.
“No,” I say simply and firmly.
“Good,” he replies.
What does he mean? Will he see that part of me?
“Does it involve sex?” I blurt, terror filling me. “The magic, I mean?”
“No,” Cain says softly. “But we need some hair, and not just from your head.” He shoots Roman a deadly look. “You can cut it yourself if you want. Bring it with you.”
“From my … down there?” I feel faint, and I’m glad I’m still on my knees on the floor.
“Yes,” Roman says curtly. “A lock from down there.”
I swallow hard. I can’t back out now.
“So, what time is the witching hour?” I ask.
“Three a.m.” Cain reaches down and pulls me to standing.
“I’ll come to your room, Ophelia, and escort you here.
I’ll be with you at half past two. Be sure to be waiting, as I can’t knock loudly.
We don’t want anyone seeing us sneaking out here in the dead of the night.
Too many people hate us, and I don’t want them seeing you with us and starting to hate you, too. ”
I realize with a jolt that I wouldn’t care if the students hated me, other than Camile, if Cain and his friends accepted me. I don’t say as much, though, as I don’t want to appear desperate.
“Thanks,” I say to Cain. “I’ll be ready.”
I leave the three men at the water tower and head back to college for a day of classes.
The entire day drags, and I can’t focus at all.
During history, the lecturer asks me if I’m feeling okay.
And I lie and say yes. I’m most definitely not feeling okay.
I’m jittery, on edge, nervous. I know I’m doing the right thing by getting the Preachers to help me, but that doesn’t stop me from being apprehensive about what the night will hold.
If they want some of my pubic hair, what else will they want?
I avoid Camile all day and grab a sandwich at lunch to eat in my room. If I see her, she’s going to know immediately that something’s up, and I am scared I’ll blurt it all out to her. It’s best I avoid that minefield entirely.
By the time the evening rolls around, my nerves are shredded. At least I have to get myself ready, which keeps me busy. I shower and put on some non-scented body lotion. For some reason, I want my skin to feel soft. They might touch me, and if they do, I want to feel good to them.
After drying my hair, I take off my bathrobe and put on a silky, champagne-colored slip. I won’t wear a bra today, as I never wore one in the commune. They weren’t allowed. We wore slips under our dresses.
The night is warm for the time of year, and I’m hotter than usual due to my nerves and the excitement zinging through me. I might get rid of my ghost tonight. I might finally be free.
The idea is so huge that I could cry in anticipation at the thought of never having to hear that man in my head again. I hate him, I think, then immediately regret such a terrible, disobedient transgression.
Hate is a sin, child. You’re going to pay for all of this when I get you back.
I freeze, terror turning me into a statue. He’s never said that before. When he gets me back?
“I’ll never come back,” I say, speaking out loud to an empty room.
You will always be part of me is the answer my mind supplies.
Am I going crazy, or is he really speaking to me? I don’t know which is worse. I close my eyes and press my palms together. Please let this work tonight.
I rummage through my underwear drawer and in defiance take out a thong. I never used to own such things, but my mom bought me some when she went shopping for clothes after I returned. If I’m going to try to leave that man for good, then I have to start becoming a new person, one in my own right.
Thongs are for sinful whores .
I ignore the voice for once, pulling the underwear on with a savage smile.
I open my closet and search for a dress.
I pick a simple, pale one. It’s an off-white dress, sleeveless and made of thin cotton.
I don’t want to be too hot, and my nerves are making me burn up.
The last thing I want is to be a sweaty mess or to pass out from a mixture of heat and anxiety.
Once I’m ready, I brush my hair until it shines. Roman said no makeup, but I learned a few tricks from the women in the commune. I pinch my cheeks a couple of times and purse my lips until they have some color in them.
My eyes are bright, and despite my nerves, I look good. Better than I have in a long time. Maybe it’s the fact that I might soon be rid of my ghost. Of him.
The knock at my door is quiet. I open it to see Cain. He’s wearing all black, unlike his usual jeans and t-shirt. He has something showing in his back pocket when he turns to close the door, and I realize it’s his mask.
This just got very real.
“Are you ready to do this?” he asks.
I nod. It’s now or never.