Dropping onto my tiny bed, I grabbed my mother's necklace. The twine cord was completely useless, so while my mind spun, I untied the knot and inspected the pendant. It was made of one of the yellow metals - gold, brass, or something similar. The thing was flat on one side, and the loop for the string was large. Wait, it looked more like a ring than a pendant. Curious, I pushed it onto my pinky finger, surprised to find it actually fit.
Gently twisting it back and forth, my eyes roamed my room, lingering on the pair of empty beds where my friends normally sat. This was the closest thing I had to home, even if it wasn't much, and I wasn't ready to leave it. I also didn't get that choice.
But what if I dared to make another? What if I could truly be brave? Not just in the infirmary, but here, in my own life. What if there might actually be a way to take my control back? Could I do it?
Then again, was my other choice any better? Dead was dead, but dying on my own terms held at least a glimmer of hope.
TenAyla
It didn't take long for Callah to return to our room. She'd seen me run out of the dining hall, she'd said, so she'd eaten as fast as she politely could. I loved her for it, knowing this was the only support she could give.
"Peter Morgan," I said, explaining my rushed departure.
Her shoulders slumped as my words sank in. "So the Elders chose for you?"
All I could do was nod, yet my mind was still on that one hint of hope. I didn't want to say anything, though. The idea was too insane. It would be proof of the Devil in my mind. If anyone heard me, I'd be immediately hauled off to spend the rest of my days in quarantine like my mother had.
And yet, this was Callah. For ten years, we'd shared our secrets. For a decade, we'd whispered about things we knew better than to discuss. She and Meri had even encouraged me to keep going to the library, hanging on the stories I'd brought back from that forbidden place.
"Callah?" I tried, but my words failed me before any more could come out.
She lifted her pale green eyes to meet mine. "I heard Peter Morgan's last wives were never allowed out of their rooms. He always acts like such a kind man, but I heard Ms. Lawton talking about how he'd punished Mrs. Worthington."
"When did he do that?" I gasped.
"During my last flowering," she mumbled, clearly embarrassed, "I was in the laundry, washing my cloths. Ms. Lawton was talking to Mrs. Worthington. They said he'd been angry because Mrs. Worthington hadn't been able to save his last wife. She was a poor healer and he'd punished her. It sounded like Ms. Lawton was treating Mrs. Worthington's wounds, but I couldn't see them to be sure."
I just grunted. "It's a shame I couldn't be a widow like Ms. Lawton."
"You'd have to marry first," Callah countered. "And would spending the rest of your days in the girls' hall really be any better?"
"Yes!" I snapped, stopping myself before I could take my fear out on her. "Yes, Callah. I think raising children would be a lot better than what Meri's going through right now."
"I think they like to hurt us," Callah breathed.
That made my eyes jump up. "Who?"
"Men."
All I could do was murmur in agreement, because she had a point. I'd seen husbands laugh as they slapped their wives to the floor in the dining hall. I'd heard men bragging about the bruises they'd left. It was as if our pain was their entertainment - and sex was no better.
All girls knew consummation would be painful. Our duty was to suffer through it to accept our husband's seed. In class, it had been explained how the hymen would tear, our bodies would be bruised, and our muscles strained. That was our punishment for Eve's decision.
But for men, the act was pleasurable. They sought it out. Some men would even try to breed with unattended girls, which was why we weren't allowed far from our rooms without a companion. It was why my father had been upset to hear I'd walked across the compound on my own.
I simply didn't know what difference it made. If a man decided to force himself on me, I could report it and demand marriage to him so I could save my reputation. How was that any different from marriage, except the consummation came first?
Because my husband would force himself on me too. If I said I didn't want to have a child, he'd simply beat me until I changed my mind. If I tried to resist, he had the right to hold me down and plant his seed in my body anyway. No matter what, I would be tortured. Eventually, I'd become pregnant. When that happened, the best I could do was pray the baby turned in time and was small enough to emerge without destroying my body in the process.
And all of this made me think I might be safer on my own. Oh, I knew the surface was a dangerous place. I was well aware the heathens and wild men would be no better. The difference was the surface was a much bigger place. Without anyone to demand my presence, maybe I could hide?
Reaching over, I found the aged drawing my mother had made. Slowly, I unfolded the brittle paper. There, scrawled across the page as if she'd been in a hurry, was the utopia Tiesha had imagined for us. Large trees obscured all but a few tops of buildings. A winding path made its way into a gap in the wall, which must've been some kind of entrance.
This, she'd told me, was the real entrance to Heaven. It was where we'd be safe.
I chuckled at the thought, and then thrust the paper out towards Callah. "Keep this?"
Her hand reacted, grasping the edge, but confusion controlled her face. "Your mother's drawing?"
"She said it was the real Heaven," I explained. "Since marriage is Hell, and I know my husband would never let me see it, then you should keep it until your birthday."
"Ayla..."
But a twisted idea was taking root in my mind. I simply couldn't shake it, and with the clock ticking, I had to make my decision. I also really needed help, and since the Righteous had stolen Meri away, Callah was the only friend I had left.
"Callah?" I asked. "If I say something, do you think you can pretend you never heard it?"
Her eyes narrowed. "What are you thinking, Ayla?"
"What if I was banished?"
Her breath rushed out. "You'd die!"
"I'm going to anyway," I reminded her. "Do you really think I'll survive Peter Morgan for long?"
"Longer than you would with Reynold Saunders," she replied, doing her best to smile at the weak joke.
Granted, it was also true. "True, but Peter will kill me just as dead."
