Chapter Thirty-Three #2
April’s question jolts me out of my reverie.
“Who?”
“Sid, of course.” Of course. “I mean, you seem happier. But is it just the sex, or do you love him?”
I should have seen this coming. If my sister is no longer furious with me, naturally, that means questions. The thought of answering gives me that same, clenched feeling I get when I near the road out of the acreage, so I do my best to dodge her. “I am happier.”
“But you were so firm about not sleeping with him. And I thought he promised you he wouldn’t—”
“I like him, April. He…” I have to say something to shut her up. Would claiming I love him do the trick? Would it be true? “He makes me feel safe.”
She nods slowly. “Good.”
“Yeah, it’s really good.” Safe matters more than love, when you think about it. Safe keeps people alive. Safe is what we need right now, because the Grand Astrologue could appear at any minute.
“So long as you’re not freaking out about the Astolia thing anymore.”
“Exactly.”
She still doesn’t get it, but I’m tired of arguing with her about Astolia. She doesn’t remember it well enough to know how horrible it was.
“I couldn’t handle it if you were doing this for me or something like that.”
“How on earth would me sleeping with Sid be about you?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know what kind of deal you two made. If he asked you to—”
“He didn’t ask me to do anything.”
April stares at me like she’s seeing a stranger.
Maria Patterson must be getting in her head again; back when she tried to defend my honour, she said we weren’t sleeping together and now whoops, we are.
I don’t care if a group of teenaged girls calls me a slut, but April is young enough to think labels like that matter.
I place a hand over her wrist, hoping she will listen to me. “Sid would never pressure me into a relationship. I thought you trusted him.”
“Well… I used to. I guess I could again.” She lets it drop, but from the line of her frown, I know she still has doubts. She can smell that I’m lying about something, but can’t figure out exactly what. It makes the room feel tight around me, so I snap the book shut and head out.
In the living room, Sid is seated on the red couch, scowling at a newspaper.
I push the last of my conversation with April from my mind and curl up next to him.
Without looking up, he puts his arm around me—the casualness of the affection is strangely thrilling.
What we have doesn’t require thought or focus. It’s automatic.
That night, I just as easily join him in his bed.
A storm rages outside; we rely on the pounding of rain against the roof to drown us out.
We’re making up for lost time these days, as if that first, needlessly chaste era of our marriage haunts us.
There’s something incredible about getting used to the feel of him, knowing he’ll give me what I want.
I find myself wondering which answer to April’s question is the truth.
Maybe I do love him. Maybe it is just the sex. Does it even matter?
Afterward, I lie next to him in a haze, mesmerized by the sound of water banging against the shingles.
Nights like this used to make April and me miserable, especially if we hadn’t found a ruined house to shelter in.
Tonight, the opposite is true. I’ve never felt safer, despite the storm keeping us indoors.
My skin is slick. Heat pulses through my abdomen. I stretch my bare legs against the thick, wool blanket that covers our bed, delighting in the fuzz.
Sid reaches out to stroke my hair. “So… tomorrow.”
“Yeah?” My eyes drift closed.
“You ready?”
“Mmmm.”
“Main debate topics are going to be economic growth and innovation. Amy’s going to be the obvious standout with all her years working on the Reinventor’s Guild.”
“What?” I raise my head from the crook of his arm.
“There’s another town hall tomorrow,” he clarifies. “We talked about this. Are you feeling up to it?”
I vaguely remember it coming up. I even remember agreeing to go, because that was easier than admitting I couldn’t leave the acreage if I wanted to. Now, my speechless pause says far more than I’d like.
Sid rolls on his side so he can look at me better. He trails a hand down my spine, coming to rest in the curve between my chest and hips. “I’ve never seen someone at a Council election who wasn’t from the island, if that helps.”
“It’s fine. Of course, it’s fine.” My words come out in a rush. “I’m happy to come.”
“Thanks. I like having you there,” he says, still stroking my hip. “It’s nice knowing there’s someone in my corner.”
He’s not asking for much. Just for me to show up and clap when he speaks, reminding people of a domestic scene that died out with the Quake. Maybe even before then. But it doesn’t matter. This is about appearances. Plus, Sid will be there the whole time. There’s nothing to worry about.
But when the time comes to leave the next day, I’m shaking so hard I can’t do the buttons up on my shirt. I collapse onto the bed, breathing hard in an attempt to calm myself down.
No one from Astolia will be there. That’s true.
But Tom will. I should be thrilled by that idea, since I no longer have to fake liking Sid.
We could be gleefully affectionate, until even he concedes that our marriage is real.
But I’m sure he knows that wasn’t my only lie.
Even in the comfort of my bedroom, I feel those cold, pale eyes on me, cutting around, trying to draw out a truth that could get both me and Sid in trouble.
I can’t go. I can’t face him. My papers are a mess.
He could suspend my sanctuary case with enough demerits, no matter what Sid says.
Sid knocks on the door. The waver in my “out in a minute!” must give me away, because he comes in. He takes one look at me, half dressed and white as a blizzard, and that’s it.
“Why don’t you get some rest?” He bends to kiss me on the forehead.
“No, I’m coming. I said I’d be there. And I’ll be—”
“We’ll try again next time.”
“Sid, wait—” But I can’t follow him without a shirt on, and he needs to catch the wagon into town, so what are either of us to do? He’s gone within minutes and I’m still not ready.
I slam the door to our room shut, furious with him and myself, because he knows.
I’m still broken. I’m still the problem that was foisted onto him.
Soon, he’ll tell April, or she’ll figure it out on her own, and the two people I care most about will realize that I’ve become the things I’ve always most despised.
Weak. Useless. Defenceless.