13
THAIS
When Naomi pushed open the door to my room, I lingered outside, my gaze fixed on the door to the Overseer’s room directly across the hall. Shadows moved against the walls, and I heard men’s voices.
My breath caught when Atticus stepped from the room with the green-eyed soldier and he looked right at me. My gaze lowered instantly; I hoped he didn’t think I had been eavesdropping.
“Come inside,” Naomi urged, tugging gently on my elbow.
Petra danced her way toward me, swishing her hips and twirling around in her long dress. Her whole face was smiling—she was too happy too soon for my tastes, but I found her delightful, nonetheless.
“Isn’t it stunning?” Petra said about her blue dress, tugging the fabric at her hips with the tips of her fingers. “And the bath”—she threw her head back, and her long eyelashes swept her cheeks—“I don’t remember the last time I had a hot bath.” She hooked her arm around mine.
“And look—we have our own beds,” she added, sweeping a hand about the room as if she were showcasing it.
There were now two mattresses pressed against the walls, each in their own corner, and they were covered in fitted sheets. At the foot of each mattress, a small blanket was folded neatly, and on the floor beside both beds were a few books and a pencil and some paper to write on. The floor had been swept and there was a familiar scent in the air: Is that air freshener? I could hardly believe such a thing.
“We’re here to make your stay as comfortable as possible,” Naomi said. She swept her hair away from her shoulders and went toward my cot, bent over and took a book from the small stack, smoothing her hand over the tattered paperback cover. “I hope you like fiction,” she said as I stepped up. “But if not, I can certainly bring something more suited to your tastes, if you’d like.”
Books were a blessing and an escape in a world that no longer had television or video games or Disneyland or water parks or family trips to the Grand Canyon. Fiction. Non-fiction. Cookbooks. The Dictionary. I didn’t care.
I shook my head. “No, I’ll read anything,” I said, taking the book from Naomi’s hand. The Count of Monte Cristo was written in simple white letters across the top; a handsome young man with tousled dark hair and bushy dark eyebrows and bushy sideburns looked back at me. It was a different cover from the one I’d read at home three times already, but would certainly read again. What else could I possibly to do to pass the time while imprisoned in this room? It was to be my own version of Château d'If, minus the rats and the filthy stone walls and the crazy old man who wasn’t so crazy, after all, living on the other side of the wall. No, the man on the other side of my wall was young and cruel, and dare I think it, handsome. But unlike in The Count of Monte Cristo, that man—Atticus—was not going to help set me free.
“You can have mine,” Petra said, taking up the five books next to her cot and setting them beside me. “I never was a big reader—puts me to sleep too fast.”
I was grateful for the extra books.
Naomi pointed at my feet. “Stay off them as much as you can, and keep the socks on,” she reminded me. “If you need to use the restroom at any time just tell the guard at your door and he’ll send for one of us. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, will either be brought to you here in your room, or you’ll be escorted to another room to eat with the rest of us—it’ll depend on what the Overseer says.” She placed both hands on my shoulders. “Just be cooperative at all times, and don’t give anyone any trouble and you’ll have as much freedom as anyone else in this city.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Moments later, the door locked behind Naomi. I sighed and sat down on my cot. I appreciated Naomi’s kindness, and wanted to trust her, but the fact remained that I was still a prisoner no matter how kind the other women were. And worse than anything, my sister was forced into a brothel—that was the same thing as rape. Did Naomi ever inquire about Sosie when I brought her up? Did Naomi, as kind as she seemed to be, offer to look into Sosie’s wellbeing? Did Naomi, a woman who clearly had a way with words, and knew how to make a frightened young woman more comfortable in her forced surroundings, ever once show concern for a blind girl in a brothel, or for her concerned sister whose back she washed and whose feet she tended? No. And I would never overlook it, or forgive it, or accept it, or trust Naomi or any other person in this city. But I would pretend to. And I would bide my time until I figured out a way to make my move to escape this place.
I only hoped I could get to Sosie before someone hurt her. Or before she hurt herself.
~~~
The night fell under a blanket of suffocating heat, leaving my prison feeling more like an oven as I tried to sleep sprawled out against my cot. The days were getting hotter, and it felt even more-so being stuck inside a room with only one window to allow a breeze in. I had taken off my long dress and replaced it with a nightgown. It hung from my shoulders by tiny straps, and dropped to the middle of my thighs; I felt naked because it was so thin. But it helped with the heat that slowly baked me, and I found myself not caring much if I was exposed in the darkness. It was only Petra in the room with me, and she cared even less that the parts of her that made her womanly were on display—she flaunted it.
“I’ve been hoping for a place like this,” Petra said from her cot. She was lying on her back, looking up at the tall ceiling, her legs splayed. “It could be much worse. We could’ve been abducted by crazy people and carted off to only God knows where.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in God.”
Petra shrugged her shoulders against the mattress. “I don’t.” She raised her back and sat upright. “Think about it,” she said. “How many places like this do you think are left? We have everything we need here: food, shelter, protection, even luxuries like shaving cream and beautiful clothes and the freedom to walk around the streets.”
I shook my head. “This isn’t freedom,” I said, and then stood up and walked to the window, my arms crossed over my chest, and I looked down at the quiet city below. “We aren’t down there walking the streets with everybody else—we’re up here, stuck in this room with a soldier guarding the door. I think our definitions of freedom are a bit different.”
“But the freedom will be given to us,” Petra insisted. “As long as we show them we’re not a threat, or that we won’t try to run away, and that we can be productive members of their way of life, we’ll have our freedom.”
With my back to Petra, and my eyes still on the city under a shroud of night, I said, “Freedom is the right to choose where you want to live and what you want to do with your life and your body. I for one don’t want to be here, nor do I want to be made someone’s wife. That’s not freedom—that’s slavery.” I glanced back at her.
Petra gave up and laid back down against her cot, legs splayed as usual. “Well, I like it here,” she said. “It sure as hell beats pissing behind a tree, or not knowing if you’re going to eat for another week. I’m going to do whatever I have to, even if it means I’m destined to marry a polygamist—who cares? Women have been pretending with men forever; I can do it a few nights a week while this guy makes his rounds if it means I get to stay here.”
Leaning forward, I let the windowsill hold up my weight, propping my arms against it, my hands dangling over the edge. A warm breeze blew through my hair. I wondered which of the many buildings Sosie could be in.
After a long time, after the voices in the streets dwindled as the night wore on, and after Petra had fallen asleep with her legs spread-eagle on her cot, I grabbed a book from the sloppy stack next to my bed without looking at the title and took it with me to the window. I read for hours, sitting underneath the windowsill with my back pressed against the wall, having only the light of the moon to allow me to see the words on the pages. And I read until my eyelids felt like one-pound weights on my face, and I fell fast asleep on my cot, also with my legs spread-eagle, because it was much cooler that way and Petra had the right idea.
Three more days passed, three more days of hot baths and three square meals and more time with Naomi who continued to tend to my feet. Three more days of not knowing where Sosie was and no one willing to tell me; not Naomi or the other wives of Rafe who took turns escorting me places, and not the soldiers who guarded the room by day when the Overseer was somewhere else; and certainly not the green-eyed soldier who guarded the room like clockwork every night while the Overseer slept. Nothing much had changed. But one thing had changed, and I was immensely uncomfortable with it. Petra and the green-eyed soldier interacted with one another secretly. I would hear them whispering at the door late in the night when they thought I was asleep.
My eyes opened a crack as I listened and watched from the shadow cast over my corner of the room. Petra was knelt against the door with her face pressed to the opening. She would giggle and sometimes laugh out loud, only to cover it up with the palm of her hand and say: “That’s disgusting; don’t say things like that to me!” but it was not a demand.
I never let Petra know about the things I’d overheard. And Petra never spoke of it.
The Overseer was a rare sight in the days that followed, and also the one person in the city I wanted to talk to so I could ask about my sister. So it was all very frustrating. Sometimes he would come to the eighth floor and I could hear him talking to the guard on duty outside the door, but it was always a brief encounter. And sometimes the Overseer would look in on me and Petra himself, but he never spoke to us, and he would disappear as quickly as he had come.
I read three books in five days, including The Count of Monte Cristo for the fourth time in my life—I loved that book.
On the sixth night, the summer heat had relented and gave way to a brief rain, which only added to the humidity. But I was getting used to the heat, and it became easier for me to fall asleep.
But something soundless woke me from a deep sleep on this night, which was strange —Why would that wake me but not the rain that moved through, or the echo of horses’ hooves on the sidewalk beneath my window? It had been the door to our room opening soundlessly that woke me. No sound, only intuition.
I was afraid to move, even held my breath for a long time, worried that the rising and falling of my shoulder as I lay on my side facing the wall might give me away. The rustling of Petra’s knit blanket moving against her bed was faint; the sound of breath getting heavier, followed by little whimpers and panting noises that made me uneasy. But it was the sound of someone spitting—I was certain that’s what it was—that left me bewildered. And then Petra let out a noise as if she’d just stumped her toe. Is he hurting Petra? If so, what can I do to stop it?
“Fucking be still,” the green-eyed soldier whispered.
My eyes grew wide. A slapping noise ensued, and the sound of Petra’s whimpers intensified. But she never cried out, and she never said “no”, or “get off of me”, or “please don’t”, and for that I remained facing the wall on the other side of the room, barely breathing, not moving a single muscle in my body.
The slapping sound got louder and I could swear that the floor was shaking my cot beneath me. And Petra’s cries became more unrestrained with every thrust to her backside, eventually to the point of threatening to wake the Overseer in the room across the hall. But instead of quieting down, Petra and the green-eyed soldier went on and on with shameless abandon, slaves to lust who, in the heat of the moment, did not care about consequences.
Petra’s moans of pain were reduced to moans of pleasure, and her sobbing voice sounded muffled as though a hand was in her mouth.
The green-eyed soldier grunted, and pushed a moan up from his lungs, and the rapid slapping sound became much slower and more concentrated, and Petra’s cries subsided, replaced by heavy, spent breathing.
Seconds later, the light from the candles in the hallway blinked on and off as the door to the room opened and closed again without making a sound.
I lay in the darkness, my bones locked stiffly—desperately I wanted to move. Will it seem unnatural if I pretend to shuffle in my sleep? Finally, I couldn’t hold the position any longer and I let out my breath, felt my muscles soften. But I continued to face the wall; after what I’d just heard, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to look Petra in the face again.
I heard Petra’s voice:
“I know you’re awake.”
Her footsteps padded against the tile as she moved across the dark room. My cot shifted beneath me as she laid down, the front of her body pressed to my back. I shook, but I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t afraid of Petra, and didn’t think I had any reason to be, but I shook, nonetheless.
A tingling sensation traveled down the back of my neck when her fingers brushed through my hair. I swallowed hard and stiffened again.
“He hurt me, Thais,” she whispered near my ear; the heat of her breath warmed the side of my cheek; she continued to run her fingers through my hair.
I tensed; I was getting mixed messages, strangely mixed feelings from Petra, and I was too afraid to say the wrong thing. I just wanted her to go back to her own cot.
“If he had been a little smaller,” Petra said, still combing through my hair as if she were petting a cat, “it might not’ve hurt so bad—but I can’t say I didn’t like it. Only done it back there a few times.” Her hand stopped moving in my hair, and the heat from her breath spread closer to my lips. “When was the last time you were with a man, Thais?”
The discomfort I felt was unbearable. I didn’t like how Petra touched me, or how close she was pressing her pelvic bone against my bottom; I didn’t like the things she was saying or how she said them.
“It was…”—I struggled with the lie—“…it’s been a long time.”
Petra’s soft fingers grazed my neck as she moved the hair away.
“Look,” she whispered, “I know you’re afraid of the men here; I know you’ll probably never want any of them for comfort or pleasure, but I consider you my friend, and I’m willing to help you any way I can—you know that, right?”
I wasn’t sure I liked what she was getting at—I wasn’t sure if I even understood it.
Petra’s hand slid down my body, over my hip and underneath my gown to find the warmth between my legs. I couldn’t move, I was panicked and confused; sweat that had nothing to do with the summer heat beaded in my hairline.
“All you ever have to do is ask, Thais, and I’ll touch you and, well, I’ll help you feel better,” she said as her fingers inched closer. “Because I’m your friend and we owe it to each other to make sure we’re happy and comfortable. We should look out for each other.”
I shook my head, reached down and took hold of Petra’s hand, pushing it away.
“N-No,” I said. “I-I’ll be okay on my own—please just let me go back to sleep.”
I tried to move away, but then the air was cut off from my lungs as Petra’s hand clamped violently around my throat. I choked and gasped for air, my mouth wide open as if I could suck the air from the room back into my starved lungs. Both of my hands came up, clawing at Petra’s wrist, trying desperately to pry her vise-grip-like fingers from my throat. Petra’s eyes were feral and ferocious as she glared down into my face. Her teeth were pressed together and bared, her lips curled, snarling. I hadn’t even noticed how or when Petra climbed on top of me, her legs straddling my waist, holding me down; and I hadn’t noticed how long the tip of the pencil beside my cot had been pressed against my jugular by Petra’s other hand. I dared not move.
We are all animals, and animals are by nature, killers.
“If you ever say a fucking word to anyone,” Petra spit the words through her tightly locked teeth, “I’ll fucking kill you.”
My eyes opened and closed from exhaustion; the room faded in and out through a blurry haze. I felt my face changing colors—red and purple and probably even blue—and my head felt like a balloon filled with cement.
I’m going to die…
Petra let go at the last second and slowly stood.
I coughed in a violent fit; tears burned my eyes and nostrils. My fingers probed my throat where Petra’s hawk-like claw had been. And before I could pull myself together enough to form a coherent thought, Petra had already walked away and went back to her own bed.
Shaken by my brush with death, I could only lay there and stare at the wall, unable to close my eyes. Quietly I sobbed. We have to get out of here, Sosie. We have to get out of here…
Six days. It had been only six days and Petra wasn’t the same kind girl with motherly instincts she was when I’d met her. She’d already lost herself. She’d already forgotten who she was and the things she stood for and believed in, to become someone else, someone dark and hateful and dangerous. All in the name of survival.
I was alone, truly alone now, with no one I could cling to for the smallest ounce of comfort. I was locked in a cage with a wild animal that had turned on me once; I knew the next time might be when Petra would kill me.
The seventh day passed without incident, and then the eighth and the ninth and nothing had changed. Petra and I never spoke to one another again.