by Shelly Crane
"Yeah, probably," he admitted softly. "But it won't matter, Amy." He slumped all the way to the floor on his butt and leaned his head against the cabinets across from her. "The community is very thorough and hidden. Everyone in town, even the law enforcement, is involved with this. There…isn't an out for you."
"So, even if I had ran…"
"We would have caught you…and it would have been bad for you."
"What made you this way?" she growled as much as she could through her tears. "What made you so heartless and callous?"
"I wasn't made this way. I was…" he shook his head, "forced to be this way. I wasn't lying before." He steeled himself, his chin raising and his jaw hardening. "I don't want you here. I had to take you as my wife because that's what we're expected to do in the community. But I don't want some woman I have to look out for, and make sure you don't step over the line where someone can see and …discipline. They want me - my father wants me - to hit you. To teach you that I'm your master and you'll do what I bid without question or concern for anything but getting it done."
He shook his head hard and continued, "I don’t want that. I don't want to be that, but it's all I know and all I've had drilled into me, sometimes drilled literally into me." He touched his stomach absentmindedly. "They don't let people leave here, Amy. Not even me and I was born here. I've only ever been outside these town walls a few times in my entire life. They think…" He scrubbed his hands through his hair and sighed. "They think women are here for one reason: to be at a man's feet wondering what he wants her to do next. They take all that stuff in the Bible seriously about a woman obeying a man. They focus on all the parts they want to believe and tune everything else out. Look," he said a little harder, "you're here, that can't be changed. There's no sense in pining for a life that you no longer have. The sooner you get over it, the better you'll feel and the more we can try to just be…normal."
"You expect me to be your wife?" she asked in all seriousness. "Have kids, the whole bit?"
"One day," he said, his voice breaking, "we'll be expected to have kids."
She didn't know what to say to that. She'd known that answer was coming, but it still stung down into her bones. She could tell he was struggling with everything, as if he was truly being forced as he had said, but she could also tell he had every intention of following through with his plan. She would be his wife, in every way one day, and would be forced to accept this as her new life.
She started to say something, her brain hadn't even worked out what yet, but there was a knock on the door.
Mean Roger was back. Or scared Roger, Amy realized. Was he more scared for her or himself?
"He's here," he said loudly and banged his fist on the floor before scrambling up. "Get up. Get up, Amy!" He pulled her to her feet and looked her over. "Remember what I said. You've got to cook something. Do you hear me? No moping around while they're here."
She stood until he ran out to answer the door on her useless legs. What had they done for her so far? They hadn't fought back, they hadn't protected her and most of all, they hadn't run.
She was disappointed in herself.
She heard a noise and turned to see a very unhappy woman. She was not one of the timid and scared girls from the warehouse. This woman was older and had been here for much longer. Her ornery arms were crossed over her chest and she had hair escaping the tight bun at the back of her head. She glared at Amy, as if she were the enemy and not in the same class with her.
Amy, already emotional and exhausted, turned her back on her to brace herself on the counter to think. She needed to get herself together. She had to cook, she knew that, so she opened the pantry and tried to ignore the heated glare of the strange woman behind her.
Chapter 5
The bland pasta she made wasn't exactly going to be a hit, she knew, but it was her lack of caring that got in the way. Even though Roger was being…weird and almost caring, that didn't mean she wanted to please him.
She just wanted to survive and be left alone.
The woman started to set the table for them. Amy hadn't even thought to do that. It was then that the sounds of her new life permeated her mind. The men were in the other room, laughing and talking about mundane things such as work and the weather.
The weather, Amy scoffed.
Before she even knew what she was doing she had slammed the dish of pasta on the table and stood there glaring at the wall. She was kidnapped, didn't even have her own underwear anymore, and they were talking about the freaking weather?
"Well," the other man laughed from his comfortable perch on the couch, "I guess dinner is served."
Amy hadn't expected that reaction. He wasn’t angry, he was amused. She realized it was Roger's job to be angry. She wasn't that other man's problem, now was she? She glanced at Roger and saw that he was angry, but also trying to convey some message with his gaze. His eyes burned into hers, pleading for her cooperation. She looked away. This small rebellion could be her only defiance.
The men sat and the other woman sat after them. Amy saw the woman had not only set the table, but made lemonade as well. There were four glasses of it iced on the table neatly in front of their plates. So thorough, that woman, Amy sneered to herself.
She sat and sighed inside herself. There was no grace or waiting or anything else. The men dug in. "Is there some bread in the oven or something?" the man asked.
She shook her head 'no' without looking up at anyone. The man chuckled. "Wow, Rog. You've got yourself a little handful, don't ya? A pretty little handful."
"I guess so," Roger said slowly. "We're still figuring things out, aren't we, Amy?" he said harder.
She nodded again without looking at them.
"Figuring things out," the man mused. "I remember those days." He looked at his wife almost lovingly and winked at her. She stared blandly at him and began eating again. His chuckle was beginning to grate on Amy's sanity. It seemed to echo through her mind even after he stopped. "It gets so much easier once they break. It's almost like a…flipped switch. You just have to get them to that point."
"Mmhhmm," Roger mumbled around his bite of food.
"Your father's hard on you, I know. He's probably the hardest man in the community, but he just wants what's best for you." Roger scoffed, causing the man to smile. "I know, but you're not a father yet. You don't know what it's like to worry about your children. You and all the others will carry this community once we're gone. Don't you see? We not only have you to worry about, but also our legacy. Can you imagine what our lives would be like if the community fell apart?"
Amy had had enough. Her fork went flying across the table, knocking over the salt.
Every other fork stopped moving and they waited. Amy waited for something to happen, but it didn't. She just sat and they all stared at her…No. They were staring at Roger. It was Roger's jaw moving back and forth and his fist clenched on the table that made her realize…they were waiting on him to discipline her. She regretted letting her temper get the best of her now. She understood what he'd been saying before.
He'd have to do something to do her for this or the man in front of her would report Roger to his father and then who knew what would happen. It all washed over her like a flood gate. It was as if her brain was just now waking up and processing what he'd said. She really regretted throwing that fork.
He scooted his chair back slowly and laid his napkin carefully over his plate. He took her by the arm and lifted her from it to guide her down the hall. She could feel herself shake, her mouth open in a silent plea to him to give her one more chance to be the good girl he wanted.
He pushed her into the bedroom and followed her, slamming the door behind him. She jumped and looked at him. He seemed wild in a way she hadn't seen before. He gripped her arms gently and pressed her back to the door. He moved into her space and nuzzled his nose against her cheek. She stilled in confusion.
"Amy," he sighed her name and whispered the rest. "Why? Why? Are you tryi
ng to see if I'll actually hit you or not?
She shook her head. "No. I'm sorry. He was just talking about-"
He banged his fist on the door behind her head, making her squeak. "I know what he was talking about." He moved forward once more and pressed his lips to her ear. "Scream, Amy."
She shook her head harder, not understanding. He sighed again and started to unbuckle his belt. She felt her mouth drop open and she begged. "No, please."
He kept his eyes on hers. "Louder. Scream."
"Stop!" she said loudly, but not loudly enough. "What do you want from me?"
"To obey me!" he yelled into her face and slid his belt from the loops. He lifted it above his head and she ducked down to the floor begging him ardently.
"Stop! Stop! Don't!" she heard herself yell. He beat on the door a couple more times with his fist and then the belt landed across the wall. Again. Again. Again. She flinched with each crack of the leather. She looked up at him with the fear pouring out of her.
He was breathing hard, but not from exertion. He stared down at her and then offered her his hand. She took it, but only because she felt she had to and she was so confused she couldn't think otherwise.
He took her to the bed and sat her gently on it. He squatted in front of her and took her face in his rough hands. He wiped her tears away and pressed his forehead to hers. "For the love of God, Amy, don't come out until I tell you to."
She sighed and sagged with relief. He was…tricking them? Trying to make them think he'd beat her. Oh, God, she thought and prayed. Why would he do that?
He lifted and hesitated for just a second before laying his lips to her forehead in a barely-there kiss. Then he left, the belt dragging the floor in his fingertips.
She lay back on the bed and pulled her knees up to her chest. She heard the voices out in the house for a while afterwards, but she just stayed and stared at the wall. She barely blinked. Her eyes hurt from not closing them for so long, but she needed to keep them open. She needed to make absolute certain that this was real.
About an hour or so later she heard the door open. She didn't look that way for fear of what was coming, but it was Roger. He knelt right next to her head that was lying on the edge of the bed and laid his head next to hers, but not too close. He seemed exhausted in more ways than one, the rings under his eyes dark and telling. He hadn't been sleeping, she'd known that.
"I'm sorry," was all his anguished voice said before closing his eyes.
She didn't reply.
She knew he wasn't comfortable, half on the bed half on the floor like that, but she wasn't about to invite him in the bed with her. Not that she was in it. She hadn't slept in the bed under his covers since she'd gotten there. Always rebelliously on top.
She knew he was sorry, it was written all over his worn face. But did that make up for it? Did that make everything that had happened all right? She didn't think so, but she did feel sorry for him. She hated to see people struggle and this man…this monster was struggling with himself.
Most of all, she hated that she was feeling anything for him. The monster was making it very hard to hate him.
~ ~ ~
The morning light streamed in and lit her gorgeous face. Roger stared at her from his point where his head was beside hers…kind of. He was afraid she was going to throw a fit when he came in last night and knelt down, but he just had to be with her in any way that he could. He'd thought fast last night, but if Amy didn't at least start trying to make an effort, he wouldn't be able to protect them forever. They'd place her with someone else if he wasn't deemed fit to be her husband. And the man they would place her with would gladly be the man that they wanted him to be for the chance to get a wife. Roger closed his eyes at that, but opened them up again quickly. This was the only time he had to look at his wife, in the mornings when she slept so peacefully. At night while she tried to fall asleep, she was restless and anguished, but in the morning…it was as if she was waking up and expecting this all to be a bad dream. Until her eyes opened she was a peaceful little oval faced girl whose world was normal and brightly lit. When her eyes opened, she realized the hell she was in. He hated that he was the cause of such change in her. If he could find a way for her to be happy somehow…he'd risk just about anything, but it was impossible.
He was a monster and she was just the princess locked in his tower.
~ ~ ~
Amy stretched and leaned, but stopped quickly when she remembered that she'd let the monster sleep next to her. Well, not really, but kind of. She didn't want to run into him with her arm, but when she opened her eyes, she was alone and grateful for it. She needed to take a step back and rethink things. It was obvious to her that Roger was trying, for reasons not clear, to keep her safe to some extent. She needed to put forth some of her own effort if she wanted to stay alive. Smothering herself in the pillow and never waking up just wasn't an option anymore. It was the strangest thing.
It felt like Amy had been asleep for days and was finally awake.
She lifted from the bed and inched her way to the door. She smelled coffee and…bacon? She made her way down the hall through the dining and living room to the kitchen door. He was dressed for the day in jeans and his work shirt once more. He was sipping his coffee and staring out the window in a way that told her he was long gone somewhere.
She decided today she would be bold. "Hi," she said and he jolted so hard, he spilled his coffee all over the counter. "Oh, I'm sorry."
She jerked the hand towel from the oven handle and ran to clean it up. He held his arms wide sporting a big spill on his shirt, too. "It's all right," he said and laughed a little. "I can't believe I did that."
"You were pretty gone," she mused and finished the job. She turned to him and saw the spot on his shirt. She wasn't touching that spot, uhuh. She turned away and went to get some coffee. He pulled his shirt off on the way out the door and returned quickly with a new one already on.
She sipped her black coffee and couldn’t help but grimace. He laughed, the smile sitting on his face. "There isn't exactly any chick food here is there?"
She glanced over at the three slices of bacon on the counter on a plate and back to him. No, there was definitely not chick food here. He seemed to understand her glance and nodded. "Store, today. We'll get you some clothes, some of the food you like, shampoo, whatever."
"You can do that?" she asked softly.
"You're my wife," he said wryly. "It's my job to clothe you, right?"
"In a chauvinist world, I guess that would be true," she answered back and sipped more coffee. His eyes laughed at her over the hand he had placed over his mouth. He was in a much better mood today. She wondered why?
"Regardless, I think it's time I got you some clothes."
She nodded, looking down at his sweats she was still wearing. Yes, new clothes, like now.
She showered once more and put on more of his sweats, charcoal this time. They went into the office and he showed her how to answer the phones and take orders. She wrote whatever the person said they wanted along with their name and number on an order form. It was pretty simple, but the thing she hated was being stuck to his side literally all day. She wasn't allowed to be left in the office, dirty as it was, so she had to sit in the shop with him once again as he worked.
It was hot, so Amy wasn't surprised when he took his shirt off again, but it still made her uncomfortable. After a repeat of the same work day they went home, or so she thought. She'd forgotten about the shopping trip he promised. It was her first trip into a public place and she tried not to stare, but it was awfully hard. The women were nothing but shells of their former selves in this place; zombies, numb, lifeless. So this was what Amy had to look forward to.
And she had almost forgotten that with Roger's happy attitude this morning and his protective spirit. But that didn't mean her life would be any different that these women. She felt the little spurt of light that had begun to grow within herself die out into nothing.
&
nbsp; She followed him around the store as he picked up some things he needed. Then he began to ask her questions about shampoo and soap. She just said the first thing that came to her mind to get him to stop asking her questions. "Strawberry."
"You like strawberry shampoo?" he asked and she nodded. He picked her out some and put it in the cart. The clothing department was massive…for men. There was a ton of work clothes and jeans for the men, but the woman's section was bleak and small. Even the store had no inclination to offer the woman more than they thought they deserved. He asked her size and picked out one of everything that fit her. They were all things she would never have worn in her own life, but this wasn't her life anymore, now was it…
Chapter 6
The ride home was slow, believe it or not. There was a tractor in the road making a short ride a long one. A tractor. Amy sighed and pressed her head to the window. Roger glanced over at her and seemed for the first time to see that she was once again sullen. "Hey," he said, his voice smooth and deep. "What's wrong?"
"Everything," she sighed.
He sighed, too. "Amy…I thought we were making some progress."
"Are you letting me go?" she asked with her face still pressed to the cold glass.
He paused so long she wondered if he was actually contemplating it. "I can't."
"Then we're not making progress."
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, Amy could hear the leather twisting under his fingers, and his smooth face was once again lined with concern and anger.
Once the truck stopped at his house, she was out and making her way inside. It was pretty chilly at night there and the first thing he did after bringing everything inside was start a fire in the fireplace.
