Chapter 40 #2
She set down my tray – chicken fingers, mushy carrots, canned peaches, and a pathetic looking salad – and scooped up the essay.
I was starving since I hadn’t eaten breakfast and grateful the lunch was one of the few good things this place actually served – it wasn’t like you could screw up chicken fingers – and I dug in while Hilary looked over what I’d written.
My scalp prickled, and I couldn’t help squirming as I thought about how much she was going to love every lie I’d scribbled.
Probably she’d tell everyone how this punishment had helped me reflect on things and how altered my view of the program now was.
She’d probably pat herself on the back for her part in it. Stupid bitch.
“Well,” she said when she’d finished, “I’m impressed. I hadn’t thought you’d be able to finish. And so fast, too.”
“Just doing my part,” I grumbled, then took a big bite of chicken.
“Well, it’s very good.” She looked around, smiling when she spotted my dirty dishes. “And you ate all your breakfast, too! Excellent.”
Was she going to give me a gold star or what? God, this lady sucked.
I focused on my food.
“I’ll take this,” Hilary said, tucking the essay under her arm, “and your breakfast tray. I’m very proud of you so far, but remember that this is a punishment, which means no napping.
Use the rest of the day to reflect on how you’ve behaved during your time here, and how you can change things for the better. Okay?”
I glared at her as I chewed.
Apparently, she decided not to waste her breath because she said, “I’ll be back at dinnertime.”
When the door shut behind her, I threw my fork. It hit the door, making a dent in the wood, then fell to the floor. If only I could have chucked it at her head.
I did not reflect on my attitude after I was finished eating.
Instead, I thought about Marc, replaying the time we’d spent together and imagining what our lives would be like when all this was over.
Because it had to end eventually. He and I would leave this hellhole of a country.
Maybe go to Canada or Europe. Or even better, somewhere tropical.
I pictured living on a beach, swimming in the ocean with him, making love in the sand.
It wasn’t a very likely scenario, but I didn’t care as long as we were together.
More in defiance of Hilary than because I was actually tired, I took a nap.
It was short and even more plagued by dreams than my previous night’s sleep had been, but killed an hour, so I was satisfied when I woke.
After that, sitting still was impossible, and since I had no other form of entertainment, I started pacing.
It wasn’t until my tenth pass of the room that my gaze landed on the paper and pen Hilary had brought me.
I froze. Had she meant to leave it? Would she expect it back?
Could I possibly use one piece without her realizing?
I lifted the stack and thumbed through it, counting the pages. There were nearly a dozen left, which was nuts. Had she really expected me to write that many pages praising the government? No way. Would she notice if I used one? Probably not. And it wasn’t like I had anything else to do.
Deciding it was worth it, I took a seat at the table.
Before picking up the pen, I hadn’t really known what I was going to write, but once I had it in my hand, I realized it was obvious. Regardless of the nondisclosure agreement, I was going to write down every detail about my time in the program.
I kept an eye on the time as I wrote. Dinner was at six, so I planned to stash the paper in my dresser around five thirty.
Just in case. There was no doubt in my mind that if Hilary walked in and saw me writing she would extend my punishment.
If she read what I’d written, I would get shipped to a prison hospital for sure.
Unlike when I’d written my essay, my hand didn’t cramp once as I filled the page with my story.
I wrote about getting the letter from the Department of Fertility, about my appointments and meetings, about being shipped here and how I’d been treated since.
My writing was neat and small, allowing me space to get out every thought, to relay every fear I’d had since joining the program, to put every suspicion on paper.
I didn’t know who I was writing to or why, I just knew I had to get the words out.
Had to do something to counteract the bullshit Hilary had forced me to write.
By the time the lock clicked, my truth was tucked between a few items of clothing in my dresser.
When the door opened, Jane stepped into my room, tray in hand. I hadn’t thought I would hate the sight of anyone more than Hilary, but I’d been wrong. I really and truly despised this woman.
“Good evening, Miss Murphy.” She didn’t look at me as she crossed the room and set my tray on the table. “Minder Hilary had some things to attend to and asked me to deliver your food. I trust you’ve had a successful day of reflection.”
She turned to face me, her hands clasped in front of her and her expression expectant.
Unlike with Hilary, Jane wouldn’t be satisfied until I answered, so I mumbled, “Yes.”
“Good.” Her smile was forced and didn’t reach her eyes. “I was very impressed with your essay, although I’m not quite as gullible as Hilary, so forgive me if I’m not quite ready to believe you’ve seen the error of your ways.”
I didn’t bother to hide my sarcasm when I said, “You’re forgiven.”
Jane pressed her lips into a disapproving frown. “As I thought.”
My heart leapt to my throat when she headed for my dresser, and I almost jumped to my feet, but stopped myself when I realized she was going for my lunch tray. For a wild second, I’d thought she knew what I’d written and where I’d stashed it.
“Someone will bring your food in the morning,” she said when she had my tray. “Do attempt a little reflection. It’s for your own good.”
I refused to respond.
Clearly put out by me, Jane sighed then slipped from the room.
I exhaled when I was once again alone.
The first thing I did was get the letter from my dresser. I held it as I looked around, trying to figure out where a good hiding place might be. Since there wasn’t much in the room, my options were limited, so I finally settled on stuffing it under the mattress. Hopefully, it would be safer there.
Dinner was no better or worse than usual and I ate most of it. What was left, I scraped into the toilet, then washed my face and changed for bed. I’d gotten very little rest the night before, and with nothing else to do, decided to turn in.
It was the middle of the night when I jerked awake.
I wasn’t sure what had awoken me at first, but when the click of the door shutting cut through the silence, it hit me that someone was in my room.
My mind whirled with possibilities, starting with Hilary or Jane coming to get the letter and ending with that asshole Richards sneaking into my room so he could inseminate me.
The last thought had me bolting upright.
“Shhh,” a masculine voice whispered. “It’s me.”
“Marc?” I said in a combination of relief and surprise.
The bed shifted, and his hand found my face, and I was enveloped by the familiar scent of the outdoors, and then he was pulling me toward him.
Before I even had a chance to wonder how long I’d been asleep or if I had morning breath, his lips covered mine, and then I didn’t care because he had me on my back.
Briefly, I wondered if this was a dream.
Marc, after all, didn’t even know what my room number was.
There’d been no reason to tell him. But when he shifted so he was between my legs, I knew it was really happening.
“I came as soon as I could,” he whispered against my lips. “I’m sorry about all this. I am.”
“It’s fine.” My words were a gasp because he was moving against me, rubbing me in all the right places. “I missed you.”
“I missed you,” he said, then kissed his way down my neck. “I never want to be away from you again.”
His mouth moved back up to mine, and we kissed for a little longer.
When he pulled back, I was disappointed, but then I realized he was taking his clothes off and got busy removing my own.
The sex was slow but urgent as well, and the way he held me, caressed me, could only be described as making love.
And I did love him. I knew that for sure now.
Loved him more than I’d ever loved another person.
Loved him so much I thought I might actually die if we couldn’t be together.
More than once, I almost whispered the words but managed to hold them back. It wouldn’t be fair to tell him how I felt now. Not when I hadn’t told him about my past. That had to come first.
After we finished, I curled up next to him, my head on his chest. His skin was moist, and he was breathing heavily, and his heart thudded against my ear, the beats taunting me.
Tell him. Tell him. Tell him.
I had to tell him.
“Marc,” I said, my voice low in case someone was in the hall, “I need to tell you something.”
“I know.” He let out a small chuckle. “That was the reason I came here, but I got distracted.”
I couldn’t join in his levity. “Oh.”
He shifted so we were lying next to one another, and although the room was dark, I could make out his features. His expression was serious but guarded as well. Almost like he was expecting bad news.
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
I wondered what he thought I was going to say. Definitely not what I was about to tell him. That was for sure. No way he would expect me to drop a bomb like that.
Deciding to just spit it out, I said, “I was pregnant before.”
A beat of silence followed before he said, “I know. I mean, I saw you go to and from your appointments, saw you leave that day in a wheelchair. It was kind of obvious what had happened.”
Of course, he thought that was what I was referring to. If only that was it.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“It’s not.” Again, there was a pause. “What, then?”
Wanting to tell him before I chickened out, I started talking.
“When I was sixteen, I got pregnant. My mom found an underground group and sent me to California where I had an abortion. I know it’s horrible, I know it’s illegal and immoral, but I’m not sorry.
I also understand if it changes how you feel about me. ”
I’d said it all in one breath, exhaling when I was done before sucking in another deep breath.
I held it as the silence following my revelation stretched out.
It was longer than any of the previous silences.
So long I began to sweat, and my lungs started to burn.
He hated me now. Was disgusted by me. Even worse, he was going to turn me in.
That was how repulsive he found me. I was a monster in his eyes.
I never should have told him.
Tears filled my eyes, but I sniffed them back. I would not cry in front of him. I refused to.
“Ara,” Marc said, finally breaking the silence, “were you afraid to tell me that?”
I tried a second time to sniff back the tears, but they spilled over anyway, and a sob broke out of me. More followed, shaking my body.
Somehow, despite the emotion bursting out of me, I managed to whisper, “Of course, I was afraid.”
The bed shifted when Marc scooted toward me. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against him, pressing his lips to my forehead, and I started crying harder. He was hugging me. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it?
“God, Ara. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult that was for you and how hard it was to admit it to me. I get why you were worried, but you have to know there’s nothing you could ever say or do that would change how I feel about you. I love you. More than anything.”
Joy burst through me. He didn’t think I was a monster; he didn’t hate me. He loved me.
“I love you,” I said through my sobs.
Marc’s mouth found mine in the darkness, and I clung to him, kissing him back, happier than I’d ever been because the man I loved, loved me too.
This time when we made love, I didn’t even try to hold the words in.