Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
Once it was in place, Marc swept me into his arms. We stumbled toward the bed, already undressing as we kissed.
Our brief encounter in the kitchen had left my blood sizzling, and the hours since then had done nothing to cool the flames of desire.
If anything, the anticipation had made me more desperate to be with Marc.
Too bad I’d had a visitor this morning.
We were on the bed, half dressed, him kissing his way down my body as he undid my pants when I broke the news. “I’m on my period.”
Marc froze, his lips just above my belly button. “Well, shit.”
“I know.”
I let out a frustrated breath as he climbed up the bed and stretched out next to me. He was on his side, his head propped up on his hand as he stared at me. Smiling.
“What?”
“I already told you,” he said, then planted a gentle kiss on my nose. “I’m happy.”
“Even though you’re not going to get laid?”
His grin stretched wider, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight of his dimple. “There are other things we can do.”
I laughed and swatted him. “You mean other things I can do.”
He chuckled as he brushed a hair off my forehead. “That’s not all I meant.”
His expression grew serious when he leaned closer, and I wrapped my arms around him.
We made out like teenagers. It had been years since I’d fooled around like that, and I’d forgotten how both frustrating and satisfying it could be.
I’d also forgotten how much I liked just kissing a man. And damn if Marc wasn’t a good kisser.
Afterward, I lay in his arms like I had the night before, and we talked. About home about our childhoods, about what we wanted our futures to be like, about the friends and family we’d lost and the people we’d left behind and the people we’d met here.
“My friend had her baby,” I said as I swirled my fingers through his dark chest hair.
“The blonde you always eat with?”
I smiled, loving that he knew who she was without even knowing why it meant so much to me. “Yeah. It was a boy, Warren Alexander, and he’s absolutely beautiful. It’s strange, though, that I was so excited to see him. I’ve never exactly been a baby person.”
“Really?” he asked, sounding more curious than surprised. “You don’t like babies?”
“I’ve never been around them,” I replied, “and I’ve never wanted one for myself. But I guess it’s different when you know the baby was planned and wanted and will be loved.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He paused before saying, “But you don’t want one. I mean, you’re not going to keep the baby if you have one?”
I shifted so I could look him in the eye. “I told you I wasn’t here by choice.”
“I know,” he said, shrugging, “but I’ve heard some women keep the baby anyway.”
“Not me.” I rested my head on his chest. “I don’t want to be a mom.”
“That’s cool,” he replied, sounding genuine.
Again, there was a pause, and I braced myself, knowing we’d reached the point where we were going to have to talk about the elephant in the room. The conversation was inevitable, but that didn’t mean I was looking forward to it. I really, really wasn’t.
“Should we be using condoms?” Marc finally said.
I closed my eyes and exhaled. It wasn’t what I’d expected him to ask, but it led to the same topic.
I swallowed and with my eyes still closed said, “So, you know your status?”
Almost fifty percent of men were also infertile, and while the Fertility Act didn’t require them to get tested the way it did women, they could easily go to the Department of Health and find out. Not everyone did, but it happened. It was better to know than wonder.
“The girl I dated in high school was fertile, so I got checked. In case.”
That was a scenario I hadn’t even considered, and it hit a little too close to home for comfort.
When I said nothing, Marc shifted, pulling his arm out from under me so we were side by side.
I opened my eyes to find him studying me like he was either trying to figure out what was on my mind, or to come up with something to say.
Since I had no idea what to think or how to approach this situation, he wouldn’t find the answers to his questions.
It was all so confusing because I was here to get pregnant, and we were having sex.
But what should we do about it, if anything?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Marc said, his tone gentle and slightly hesitant.
“I know you’ve thought about this. I know you’re thinking about it now.
I need to know, Ara, so I can figure out what I should do.
I mean, you’re the one in the program, and you’ve already had enough taken from you.
I don’t want to be responsible for taking more. ”
“I’m thinking,” I said, pausing as I tried to collect my thoughts, “that I don’t see the point in using condoms. One way or another, I’m going to get pregnant. It’s the only possible outcome to this scenario. This way, maybe I’ll have a better shot, and then maybe I can go home.”
Marc frowned. “And leave me?”
My heart twisted just thinking about it, but I couldn’t lie to him.
I didn’t want to stay here. At the Stanley Hotel, I was a prisoner.
Nothing was up to me, and my life wasn’t my own.
If by some chance I could go home, I could be free.
But I also wasn’t going to lie to myself.
We barely knew one another, but I didn’t want to leave him.
I took Marc’s hand and lifted it to my lips, pressing a kiss on his knuckles. “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t. But this place is horrible, and the longer I’m here, the worse it will get.”
He exhaled and flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “I know.”
“Can you leave too?” I asked. “Assuming I am allowed to leave after giving birth, can you get reassigned?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He frowned, still staring at the ceiling. “I could check into it.”
“Then that’s what we do,” I said. “When the time comes, we try to get out of here together.”
I put my hand on his cheek, turned his head so he was looking at me, and kissed him gently.
For the next two nights, we were like teenagers trying to abstain from sex, and it was great. Amazing. And so were the conversations we had. That didn’t mean I wasn’t thrilled when my period finally came to an end.
The sex that night was great, but it wasn’t nearly as important to me as the time Marc and I got to spend together.
With each passing day, I got to know him better.
Got to know the real man. The one behind the uniform.
And with each conversation we had, I liked him more.
I even began to suspect that I might be falling in love with him.
But did he feel the same?
He wanted to be with me; the looks he shot me when we saw one another across the dining room told me that.
And I knew by the questions he asked and how attentive he was that he wanted to get to know the real me, too.
But was he falling for me the way I was for him?
If so, would he feel differently if he knew the truth about my past?
Abortion wasn’t just illegal; it was considered morally reprehensible by most people.
Humans were on the endangered species list. We were living on borrowed time.
Which meant we had to do whatever it took to ensure we didn’t go the way of the dinosaurs.
Yet I’d ended a pregnancy. Ended a life.
Most people would see that as unforgivable, but what would Marc think?
Would he understand, or would it change how he saw me?
Five days after my period, I knew I had to bring it up.
In a matter of days, I would be ovulating, and between my nights with Marc and the IUI, the odds that I would get pregnant were good.
I had no clue how he’d react, how I would react, or what it would mean for us if things got that far, but I did know one thing.
I needed to make sure he knew who I really was before we reached that point.
The fourth floor was brighter than usual when I reached it, which immediately had me on edge.
Sometime between last night and this evening, someone had replaced all the dead lightbulbs.
With everything else going on, I’d barely given what Marc told me on our first night in room 417 much thought, but it all came back now.
The government was rounding up all the fertile women and girls who weren’t in the program under the guise of keeping them safe.
It sickened me, but also had me wondering what Marc and I would do once this floor was occupied. Could he come to my room? It would be risky, but I thought it might be possible. That was assuming he’d even want to continue seeing me after he learned the truth.
He was waiting for me as usual, pacing in front of room 417 like a caged animal. He stopped when he spotted me, but looked around like he was expecting someone else to show up as well. It had me even more on edge.
Instead of waiting for me to reach him, Marc met me in the middle of the hall. “We can’t do this tonight. They’re getting the rooms ready for the new arrivals.”
I swallowed, afraid I’d missed my chance to tell him the truth, but even more terrified that we might not be able to find a way to be together. That this might be it for us.
“What now?” I asked.
Marc’s eyes darted to the hall at my back. “I made sure the bed was made and there were no other clues that we’d been using the room, so that’s taken care of. Other than that, I don’t know.” He chewed on his bottom lip. “I don’t want to quit seeing you, though.”
“Me neither,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Real regret shone in Marc’s eyes when he took my hand. “We’ll find a way. Somehow. But it won’t be tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow. In fact, we shouldn’t even be here right now. Things are just too crazy.”
He was right, I knew he was, but I couldn’t let him go without telling him the truth about my past. I owed him that. Even if we never figured out a way to be together again, he needed to know who I was.