Chapter 12 #2
His voice cracked on the last sentence, which twisted my heart into knots and made me hate myself just a little. What had I been thinking? Not about anyone but myself, that was for sure.
I took his hand, whispering, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I swear.”
“And if you have thoughts like that again, you’ll tell me?”
“I’ll tell you,” I agreed.
He held my gaze for a few seconds before letting out a long breath, obviously believing me.
Which I was glad of because I was telling the truth.
I still didn’t completely understand what had come over me, but I wouldn’t let myself go down that road again because doing that would mean they won, would mean they had taken all of me.
As Trevor refilled his lungs, his attention shifted to the mess on my kitchen floor. “I guess I should clean that up.”
“I can help,” I said, starting to stand.
He got to his feet. “Sit. Relax. I’m already wearing shoes.” Trevor gave me a crooked grin. “Plus, I’m much better at cleaning.”
I snorted out a laugh. “You’ve got me there.”
I watched from my position on the couch while Trevor swept up the mess.
The shards clinked against one another as he brushed them into the dustpan and dumped them into the trash, a piece he’d missed occasionally crunching under his shoes.
It didn’t take long, and once he’d finished and put the broom and dustpan away, he flopped onto the couch at my side with a huff.
“Not exactly the best wakeup call,” he grumbled, his head back and his eyes closed.
“Sorry,” I said, meaning it.
Trevor exhaled and opened his eyes. “It’s fine, Ara. You know I’d do anything for you.”
“I know,” I mumbled.
I watched in silence as he pulled his right shoe off, then gingerly picked a few pieces of glass from the sole. He set the shards on my banged-up coffee table before removing the other shoe and repeating the process, this time freeing four pieces from the rubber.
When they’d joined the others, he turned to face me. “I guess we’re going to have to get you a new carafe.”
“Don’t see the point,” I said, not even bothering to hide my bitterness, “I might not be allowed to use it for another three years.”
“No coffee?” Trevor frowned. “I didn’t think that was a real thing.”
“Better safe than sorry,” I muttered.
“They’re asking a lot more of you than I thought. I mean, The Fertility Act in and of itself is wrong, but I had no idea how many restrictions there were and that you’d have to wear that.” He waved to my wrist. “It seems like a human rights violation.”
“Haven’t you heard?” I asked, my tone biting. “I’m not a human anymore. None of the fertile ones are. We’re walking uteruses. Incubators. We have no rights.”
“It’s so messed up.”
“Most of the country doesn’t see it that way. Believe me. Do you know what the worst part is, though? The worst part is that people think I should be happy about it. No, not just happy, grateful. As if I should be thanking God every day that the country has commandeered my uterus.”
“That’s – ” Clearly at a loss for words, he shook his head.
“Yeah.” I let out a breath. “Hopefully, I get pregnant right away and all of this can be over fast.”
“Is that what you want?” he asked doubtfully.
“I don’t know. I mean, in some ways, yes.
There’s also a part of me, though, that hopes it doesn’t take.
But that means three years of this.” I waved to the wristband.
“Three years of appointments and having to abstain from doing things I love, of being poked and prodded regularly. Of being constantly watched. Maybe it’s better to just get it over with since I can’t escape it. ”
“Maybe,” Trevor said, but still sounded doubtful.
We lapsed into silence, which was broken after only a few minutes by a chime from my wristband.
It was low and not nearly as urgent as the one from the night before, but loud enough that it probably would have woken me had I been asleep.
I glanced down, noting that it was eight o’clock in the morning, then scanned the small rectangular face.
My temperature was displayed on the screen, the numbers flashing as if trying to make sure I didn’t miss them.
Ninety-seven point five degrees. I didn’t know what it was normally since I had nothing to compare it to.
“What is it?” Trevor asked.
“My temperature.” I lowered my wrist, not wanting to look at the cursed band any longer. “When it’s elevated, they’ll know I’m ovulating.”
He frowned. “It’s going to ding like that every morning?”
“And again in the evening.” I let out a growl of frustration. “It’s so stupid. I mean, why can’t they just send the information to the Department of Fertility without having it alert me like that?”
“They could,” he said slowly.
I could read between the lines and knew he was thinking the same thing I was. They could, but they wouldn’t because they wanted to make sure I remembered where my duties lay and who I belonged to.
After Trevor headed home, I jumped in the shower, needing the warm water to focus since my mind was still spinning. It helped a little, but not as much as coffee would have. Maybe I could fool my body with decaf, although that seemed like a stretch.
I was dripping wet when I wrapped a towel around me and stepped out of the shower, my gaze automatically moving to the small bathroom counter where I’d left my phone.
The screen was dark, but it lit up when I pressed a finger to it, and I saw that I had three missed calls and a voicemail. All from the same unfamiliar number.
My towel clutched tightly to my body, I unlocked the screen and tapped the phone icon, then put the voicemail on speaker. Hilary’s voice filled the room.
“Ara, this is Hilary Tantor from the Department of Fertility. I woke to a couple worrisome reports and wanted to not only check in with you, but to also remind you of the contract you signed. I understand you’re new to the program, and I am aware that you can’t always control what’s going on around you, but you need to be more mindful of the company you keep.
And it’s important to avoid dangerous or even risky situations, including being around excessive smoke.
” She paused, making it seem like she’d finished, then went on to say, “And I’m concerned about your sleep pattern from last night.
You seemed to have trouble falling asleep and even when you did, you got very little rest. I understand you might have a lot on your mind, but it’s important to look after your health as we move further into the program, so do try to get better rest. If this persists, we can discuss a sleeping aid, although we obviously prefer to avoid such things if possible.
” She blew out a long breath. “Anyway, I don’t necessarily need you to return my call, but you can if you have any questions.
If not, we’ll talk in a couple days. Bye, now. ”
The voicemail cut off, but I stayed frozen in place, my focus on my phone.
I supposed the call wasn’t a shock, but it did have me rattled.
Again. Would she receive daily reports about me?
If so, what would be in them other than my sleep pattern and body temperature?
A lot, probably. Even more importantly, would she be honest if I asked her about it?
Since nothing about the program was transparent, I seriously doubted anyone was concerned with honesty or how I felt about the situation.
The law made it clear I had no choice in any of this, and the contract bound me to silence about anything that went on while I was enrolled in the program.
Hilary could force me to shave my head and perform fertility dances during the next full moon and I wouldn’t be able to tell a soul.
Even if I did, who would listen or care? Almost no one.