Delilah #2
I throw the blanket off of me, only to realize I’m wearing baggy sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt that’s about three sizes too big as opposed to the cocktail gown I was in last night. “Where’s my dress?”
He looks back, waiting for me to catch up. “It had puke on it.”
I cross my arms, chilly now that I’m not surrounded by the warmth of the bed. “And how did I get out of the soiled gown?”
A grunt is his only response, and his utter disregard for basic human decency makes me want to smack him. “You are deplorable.”
“Keep up.” He leaves the tent, and I follow him out, slipping a pair of worn clogs over the fuzzy socks already on my feet. I haven’t worn clothes this comfortable in over a decade, but despite the mountain of fabric I’m buried under, I couldn’t feel more naked.
Scrambling after him, I realize I’m completely powerless here.
I know no one, own nothing, and have no means of escaping.
I would probably descend into hysteria if I wasn’t working so hard to keep up with Maverick’s long strides.
I hold the loose pants to keep them from falling down my waist, taking two steps every time he takes one.
“Where are we going?”
“Doc wants to see you,” he says gruffly.
Although I want to ask why, I’m sure he’ll just have some snarky response, so I keep my mouth shut, taking in my surroundings instead.
We’re in a lush forest, a soft drizzle coating the trees and plants in a fine mist. There are tents like the one I was sleeping in set up every few meters, with people of all kinds milling about.
Men and women mingle, talking and laughing like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Everyone is dressed similarly in unisex clothing, and there doesn’t appear to be any kind of societal hierarchy whatsoever.
Everyone does seem to notice Maverick, though; they jerk their heads in greeting or smile at him, some of them even calling out to say hello.
He responds in kind, and I conclude he must be someone important here if he’s this well-known.
I, on the other hand, am met with looks of curiosity and even some contempt. I can’t say I blame them, though, since I’m looking at them the same way.
If last night’s boat ride was any indication, we’re probably on an island—an uninhabited island, given the absence of actual buildings and electricity.
My conversation with Sister Thomas the other night comes flooding back.
She did mention something about the Resistance taking up residence on the abandoned islands off the Sound.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when something cold and wet brushes against my hand. I look down and scream, staggering backwards. I trip on my own feet and land hard on my tailbone, scurrying away from the creature that touched me.
Maverick looks down at me, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Not a fan of dogs, then.” The animal sits at his side with its tongue lolling out. It tilts its head to the side, ears perked.
I stare up at him in disbelief. “That’s not a dog, that’s a wolf.”
He shrugs. “All dogs are descended from wolves, Mrs. Sinclair.”
I glare at him, still keeping a wary eye on the massive animal at his side. “Why is it here?”
Maverick squats down and scratches the dog behind its large, pointed ears. “It is a he, and his name is Zeus.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“He’s mine,” Maverick says. “Surely you’ve heard of the concept of pets. You know, domesticated animals that people keep around for companionship?”
Apparently this man thinks I’m an idiot. I stand and brush myself off, making sure to keep my distance from the beast. “He looks far from domesticated.”
The Rebel leader gives me a tight smile, and I get the feeling I’ve offended him. “I assure you he’s friendly.”
When I don’t make any move toward the wolf-dog, Maverick just shakes his head and turns away. The animal trots off, disappearing into the dense brush a moment later.
Maverick pushes through the flap of a large white tent, where a woman in cargo pants and a white sweater is turned away from us, hunched over a microscope.
She straightens upon our entry, turning around and greeting Maverick with an easy smile that makes the wrinkles around her eyes more pronounced. “Welcome back, Cap.”
He dips his chin and straightens his spine an almost-imperceptible amount. “Hey, Doc.”
I look back and forth between them. “She’s the doctor?” No women have served as doctors in New Athens since its conception, as far as I know.
The woman extends her hand toward me. “I’m V.”
“V?” I raise my eyebrows, keeping my own hand by my side.
“Only my mother called me Vera.” She shrugs, offering me an easy smile and dropping her hand. “Or you can call me Doc, whichever you prefer.”
“I would prefer not to be here at all,” I grumble.
“Sorry, kiddo. Every newcomer undergoes the same testing.”
“I’m not staying,” I say, shocked by how sure my voice sounds. Something about this place—about these people who clearly don’t conform to anything I believe in—makes me more bold.
Maverick shakes his head. “Good luck, V. Send for me if you need anything.”
The raven-haired woman nods in acknowledgment before turning her attention back to me. “Would you mind answering some questions for me?”
Without Maverick’s commanding presence dominating the space, I should feel relieved, but for some reason, I just feel more anxious. “What do you want to know?” My tone is cold, even to my own ears.
V grabs a worn leather notebook and flips it open to the bookmarked page, scribbling something at the top before bringing the glasses that are perched on her head down to her nose. “Your name, to start.”
“Sister Gabriel,” I answer automatically.
She glances over the tops of her glasses at me, giving me a pitying look. “This isn’t New Athens. You won’t be punished for using your given name.”
I bite my lip, hesitating. Gabriel’s the only one who’s allowed to call me by my given name. “I’d prefer to be addressed as Sister Gabriel. Or Mrs. Sinclair, if that’s more palatable for you.”
“As you wish.” V writes in her notebook, asking her next question without lifting her eyes off the page. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Which would’ve made you ten when the Brotherhood took control?”
“Isn’t all this information available in my file?” I sneer.
“It is,” she answers, unperturbed by my hostility. “But I’d like to hear it from you.”
I take a deep breath. “Yes, I was ten.”
“And how long have you been married to Gabriel?”
“Lord Gabriel has been my husband for eight years,” I correct her.
“And you have no children?” Her pen pauses above the page.
The guilt and self-loathing that always accompanies this topic hits me full-force. “You know I don’t,” I snap. “Stop asking me questions you already know the answers to.”
She holds her hand up in a gesture of peace. “My apologies, Mrs. Sinclair. Do you know the date of your last menstrual cycle?”
I swallow my irritation. “Not without my calendar. They’re rather irregular.”
“And there’s no way you could be pregnant now?” she probes.
I shake my head. “Not unless a miracle has happened.”
“I see.” The doctor—though I doubt she actually has any proper medical training—writes more in her journal. “And are you happy, in your marriage?”
I blink several times. No one has ever inquired after my happiness. My contentment is so far down on my list of my worries, it has never even occurred to me. “Being a wife is the greatest possible honor a woman could hope for.”
She hums, and somehow, I can tell it’s in acknowledgement, not agreement. “Has your husband ever hurt you?”
My eyes scan the tent, looking anywhere but her face. “Any punishment I’ve endured has been the direct result of my misbehavior.”
“Is that a yes?”
I bring my gaze back to hers, anger flaring. “It’s none of your business.”
“You don’t have to lie, Mrs. Sinclair. We’ve received numerous reports of the abuse that takes place in marriages within the Brotherhood.”
“Abuse?” I stutter. “That’s preposterous.”
“So you’ve never endured any physiological, sexual, or physical abuse at the hands of your husband or another man?” She sounds like she already doesn’t believe me, and I haven’t even answered yet.
“I—” I swallow roughly, some less pleasant memories making their way to the forefront of my mind. “I’m not answering that.”
“Very well.” More scribbling. “Your bloodwork came back relatively normal—”
I cut her off. “You drew my blood? When?”
“When you were unconscious,” she responds calmly. “As I was saying, your bloodwork came back normal, though your iron is low and your cortisol levels are elevated.”
“Are you suggesting being kidnapped is making me stressed? Gee, who would’ve thought,” I deadpan, but she ignores me.
“Would you say you receive proper nutrition?”
“I don’t particularly care for red meat…” I trail off, remembering the countless times I’ve forced myself to finish the lamb or beef that Gabriel insisted I eat, only to throw it all up later.
“That’s okay. Poultry and fish also contain iron, as well as many vegetables and beans.”
I nod, though I’m not listening all that closely as she continues to discuss the importance of a proper diet.
“Do you exercise?” she asks.
“I take walks around our property sometimes.” Those short strolls have been my saving grace, especially when Gabriel’s gone on business trips. “The house can get lonely.”
“Walking is great.” She smiles at me. “Any strength training?”
I shake my head no. “Only men are permitted to lift weights.”
V purses her lips like she’s keeping herself from saying what she really wants to say before she snaps her notebook closed and looks up at me. “I think I have everything I need from you. You’re free to go.”
I look around. “Free to go where?”
She shrugs. “Anywhere you please. You can explore the camp or walk the shoreline, get to know the island.”
“Okay,” I say, though my feet stay firmly planted.
Another pitying smile. “Come on, let’s find you something to wear that fits a little better.”