Chapter 9 #2
“I know where I’m supposed to go,” I automatically responded, my eyes darting around until I located the table I’d noticed last time I was here.
Bottles of hand sanitizer sat beside a couple boxes of masks, as well as one filled with disposable gloves, a sign next to them announcing that masks were optional but encouraged.
Even with all the pandemics, few people bothered, but since I was sure my breath smelled of booze, I was grateful for the offering.
The man’s gray eyes followed me as I walked to the table, growing softer when I plucked a mask from the box.
“So few people make an effort these days,” he said, his words dripping with regret. “But, really, it just makes sense. It’s been almost four years since the last pandemic and another one could be starting any day.”
“Better safe than sorry,” I said as I secured the mask over my nose and mouth.
“That’s what I always say!” he replied in a tone that made it seem like I was the first person to ever agree with him. Maybe I was.
He wasn’t wrong. Almost no one wore masks anymore.
It wasn’t like they’d stopped the spread of any of the pandemics in the past and they probably wouldn’t do a damn thing to stop the next one.
We were living on borrowed time, grasping at straws when it came to understanding what was causing the problem and what to do about the dwindling population. Too bad no one seemed to realize that.
I gave the greeter a nod before heading to the security desk.
The paper covering my mouth was thin but trapped in my breath, making me twice as hot and causing sweat to bead on my upper lip.
Every time a pandemic hit full force, mask mandates returned, but it had been almost four years since I’d had to wear one, and I’d forgotten how stifling they could be.
Even so, I was thankful for them today. Not that I thought it was going to fool my shrewd and observant fertility counselor.
I went through the metal detector and pat down, then submitted to having my purse searched before moving on to the ID check.
There was a different security guard today, and unlike the first one, the man behind the desk didn’t show an ounce of sympathy when I told him where I was headed.
Instead, he peered at me with intense, dark eyes, his bushy eyebrows furrowing in an expression I couldn’t read but instantly didn’t care for.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” he said as he scanned my ID. “You must be just starting the program.”
“Today,” I said reluctantly.
His head bobbed as he passed my driver’s license back. “The human race is grateful for your service.”
I ground my teeth rather than respond, making him frown.
His eyes grew darker, and his expression hardened.
I was familiar with the look. He was a zealot, a person who thought women like me should be grateful, should freely give our bodies not just during our required time, but before and after as well.
He was the kind of person who rallied against compensation, arguing that we shouldn’t expect payment for performing our duties to the human race.
I hated men like him but not as much as the women who believed the same thing. Although, part of me suspected those women were simply jealous that they couldn’t have a baby and wanted to make sure those of us who could suffered. Probably, if it were up to them, we’d all be handmaids.
Even though the man filled me with disgust, I held his gaze longer than necessary, silently challenging him.
Challenging him to do what, though? Say something?
He could say whatever he wanted and most of the population would agree with him.
Even those who didn’t think it was fair would remain silent.
It was how things were. You didn’t rock the boat if it didn’t directly affect you, and The Fertility Act affected so few of us.
We were a handful of dots in a pointillist painting.
So insignificant you wouldn’t even notice us if it weren’t for the fact that the fate of the human race rested on our shoulders.
You’d think humanity would treat its most important assets with more respect.
When I got tired of staring the man down, I moved past him, my head held high despite my churning stomach.
It was only then that I realized the soldier standing just beyond the checkpoint had been watching the exchange, and that he was smirking in amusement.
The smile was small, but big enough that the dimple in his left cheek was visible, and the twinkle in his dark brown eyes emphasized it even more.
He was maybe a year or two older than me, and Hispanic, and cute despite his slightly crooked nose and closely cropped dark hair, with a square jaw and broad build.
But he worked for the Department of Fertility, which meant that even if I was looking for love, I wouldn’t want anything to do with this guy.
I ignored him while I waited for the elevator and ended up alone when it finally arrived. Much to my relief since I wasn’t interested in having another interaction like the one I’d had the last time I was here.
The much too cheery elevator Muzak taunted me on the ride up, and I gnawed on my nails, not even registering I was doing it at first and then getting annoyed with myself when I realized I’d bitten several nails until my fingertips were raw.
It was something I’d done as a kid whenever things got overwhelming and had gotten so bad that by the time I graduated high school, my thumbs had been bloody.
I’d worked so hard to break the habit, but of course it would rear its ugly head at the first sign of major stress.
By the time my stint in the program was over, I’d probably have bloody stumps instead of fingers.
The elevator came to a stop and a ding sounded.
I spit out the sliver of nail I’d just gnawed off and replaced my mask just as the doors slid open, revealing the blue walls of the waiting room.
Despite the soothing décor, hint of lavender in the air, and soft music, I had to force myself to take a step forward.
They could dress the room up however they liked, but it would never feel welcoming to me.
One step out of the elevator, I froze to prepare myself.
I didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to have to do this. It was wrong. This was my body. Mine. How could the government justify using it without my consent? They shouldn’t have been able to. And yet they could, and I was powerless to stop it.
“Miss?”
The chipper voice made me jump, and I spun to find Department of Fertility Barbie staring at me expectantly.
Her fake blonde hair was up today, piled on top of her head in an artfully messy bun, and her makeup, although still thick, was more subdued.
She was prettier than I’d realized the first time I was here.
High cheekbones and big, bright eyes, and an oval face that softened her looks even with all the makeup she wore.
I must have been too distracted by the facade before to see the real person beneath.
I forced myself to walk. “Arabella Murphy.” The words nearly stuck in my throat, so I swallowed and tried again. “Ara.”
Department of Fertility Barbie smiled brightly. “Of course! Our brand-new patient!” She waved to the waiting room, beaming. “I’ll let Hilary know you’re here.”
“Thanks.”
I lowered myself onto the edge of an overstuffed chair, not wanting to get too comfortable, and folded my hands in my lap like the position would hide how nervous – and hungover – I was.
It was ridiculous since I was both trembling and sweating, but I couldn’t force myself to relax because I was too busy thinking about what would happen next.
I’d read through all the information I’d been given and knew they wouldn’t inseminate me today.
No, they had to wait. Had to track my cycle and temperature and choose the optimal day.
But when would that be? My period had been ten days ago, on my birthday, and while I wasn’t an expert on fertility, a quick Internet search had told me that ovulation would occur twelve to fourteen days before my next one.
My cycles were like clockwork, coming every twenty-eight days, which meant I might be ready for my first insemination in just a couple days.
Would they do it that soon? It seemed so fast. Then again, it wasn’t like they hadn’t done a bunch of tests already.
I’d had bloodwork and ultrasounds and all kinds of stuff, meaning they knew my body better than I did at this point.
It was possible they’d be ready for me in just two days.
But I wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot.
I clenched my fists when I began to tremble, willing myself to stay in control. This was too fast. If only there was some way to put this off.