“Simple solution, Robin, we can line them up and I can fuck them all the way down the line. Just bend them over. It’ll be better than one of Jackal’s orgies.”
Robin stares at me, undeterred. I’ve always admired that about her. Nothing shocks her.
I hear a couple of the staff arguing in the hall about who will bathe me. Two or three of them have a habit of getting handsy. Essie wins and comes in the room, quickly undressing me and getting to work with the warm water and soap. Her hand wanders lower and lower even though I assure her I can find my way around washing my own dick.
She finally gets the nerve to cup my balls when the door flings open and Gwen appears like a bat out of hell.
“Essie!” she yells, stalking toward us. “I’m pretty sure Mr. Donahue is capable of taking care of that. You can stick to general bathing…shampooing his hair perhaps.”
I put my hands behind my head and watch both of their eyes travel down my body. The flush in Gwen’s cheeks grows darker, and fuck, if I don’t enjoy making her squirm.
“Why don’t you take over?” I ask, and she blinks rapidly.
“I’ll take it from here, Essie,” she says, shooing her out with her hand.
When she comes to me, she lifts the washcloth and hands it to me. “I’ll do your hair, but you’ll have to do the rest.”
“I thought we’d gotten past these formalities,” I tease her.
“You’re too weak to be dealing with that.” She points to my dick and I look down. Well, shit. I think this might be the first time in at least a decade that I’ve gotten hard without the appropriate drugs in my system.
“Essie was on a mission.” I shrug, not wanting her to know that she’s the one who seems to turn me on without even trying.
A pained look crosses her face and I immediately regret saying it.
“Lean back,” she says curtly.
She comes behind me and I tilt my head back, but she still catches me by surprise when she dumps several cups of warm water over my head. Water drips onto my shoulders and into my eyes, but I don’t complain—I deserved it. I like this flurry of emotion she brings with her every time she enters a room. She lathers shampoo into my hair and I enjoy the feeling of her hands massaging my scalp. She takes her time and when she rinses it out, I catch her eye and smile. She doesn’t smile back, her bottom lip between her teeth while she focuses on getting all the suds out. When she’s satisfied, she leans back and I grab her hand.
“Thank you,” I murmur. And under my breath, I add, “It wasn’t Essie…”
Her small intake of breath lets me know she heard me. Her eyes warm and she smiles.
Late one afternoon Gwen marches into the room, stopping in the doorway when she sees the two nurses standing around my bed. Her eyes narrow.
“Shouldn’t you two be working?” Her voice is terse. She holds a stack of papers to her chest, lips pulled into a tight line. I watch in amusement as they look at her over their shoulders then exchange a glance, rolling their eyes.
“Our jobs, Gwen,” one of them says. “We’re checking on our patient.”
The dark-haired one smiles at me reassuringly and I smile back. Gwen bristles in the doorway.
“Folsom doesn’t mind us being here, do you, Folsom?” the girl asks.
I’ve seen Gwen’s fury. I wouldn’t mess with her if I were them.
“You two get out.” Gwen walks toward us and I have to work hard to keep my face still. They seem flustered by her tone. I think I am too. I watch as they head for the door, shooting Gwen a nasty look.
As soon as they’re gone, I bite the inside of my cheek and watch her.
“They shouldn’t be in here…exciting you.”
“Exciting,” I repeat. “I assure you I’m completely flaccid right now, both in pants and mind.”
She makes a sound of pure exasperation and I grin.
“You’re very possessive,” I note. “We have sex one time and you’re chasing every female in a mile-wide radius away.”
She looks so annoyed that I’ve said this, I laugh.
“I—I’m concerned about your health.”
“Of course,” I tease.
“I have to go.” She storms out without another word and I close my eyes satisfied.
This is the way it should be. Men allowed to hunt.
The proximity to Laticus affects me in both a negative and positive way. The Society does not forbid us from meeting our children, though it is highly discouraged. They believe it removes our focus, personalizes what we’re doing in an unhealthy way. Five sons and he is my oldest. I knew this day would come, when the work of the End Men would start paying off and my offspring would be handed over to a society of piranhas.
Jackal left two days after he arrived, being summoned back to the Green Region by the Society. But before he left, he contacted the boy’s mother to let her know he was safe. He gripped my hand before he left and very seriously said, “If you need me, I’ll come back. Fuck the Society.”
I believed him.
Gwen is the face I look forward to seeing. She comes in multiple times to check on me, sweeping through the door and bringing with her the scent of outside and citrus.
“What shall we read today?” she asks, waving some kind of medical journal, a worn novel with a bare-chested man on the cover, and a copy of Moby Dick.
I point to the man with better abs than mine and frown. “Who is he?”
“Ride Me Harder it is,” she says and I swear she nearly skips as she sets the other books down.
I scowl harder when she starts to read and the guy in the book is demanding that the woman get on her knees while he fucks her from behind.
“You said you were a virgin when we had sex,” I interrupt.
“I was!” She holds her place in the book and looks at me.
“Not if you’ve read this trash,” I tell her, indignant.
She rolls her eyes and keeps reading, a little bead of sweat appearing over her lip when the heroine is having multiple orgasms.
I’m frustrated when she leaves, and the feeling is foreign to me. It must be the long dry spell…who knew I could ever miss sex? Or it could be Gwen. Maybe this is what it’s like to want a woman.
The next time she comes she shows me a picture of Laticus on her Silverbook. I see my brother straight away in his face and the way he holds his shoulders. Laticus is just two years younger than my brother was when he died. I stare at the photo, washed in emotion, not wanting to speak for fear of my voice cracking. Gwen removes the photo from her screen and stares at me hard.
“I’m sorry, I never thought about how hard it must be for you to see him. Someone you’ve never been allowed to know.” She swallows hard. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “You learn to get used to it. All of it. It becomes a lifestyle. Most of the younger guys have never known anything different: family and the idea of marriage…”
Gwen looks bothered by my words. More and more in the last few weeks, I’ve learned to read her facial expressions, which in turn has caused me to pay more attention to her face. Her upper lip is an arched bow, fuller than her lower lip; when she doesn’t know what to say, her lips say it without words. They are too sensual to go unnoticed. She is not typically beautiful like the women in the Regions who alter their faces and bodies toward perfection. Her face is untouched, odd in its striking beauty.
“I don’t see how that’s fair,” she says finally. “I…I know that we need you desperately. But when what is right for the whole world becomes wrong for an individual, what is to be done?”
We sit quietly for a long time after that, our eyes the only thing communicating, finding each other every few minutes. There is intimacy in quiet, in being with another person and not needing to say anything. Gwen and I learn this together as the days go on and she comes to sit with me for a while each day. On most days, she has news of Laticus—he is healthy, and smart, and charming, and everyone in dome five is tak
en with him. On others, she brings me something sweet from the cafeteria or a book from her collection, and she is melancholy. I don’t ask her what’s wrong; I don’t believe I’ve earned that right. On those days all there is to do is watch each other from across the room, asking questions in our mind. On one of her quieter days, she suddenly stands up and walks quickly over to where I’m lying on my bed. She lowers her face very suddenly to mine and I think she’s going to kiss me, but instead, her head veers left and I feel her lips graze my ears as she speaks.
“I’m pregnant,” she says quietly. Her face lingers next to mine and I can feel her heat. I have the urge to turn my head a degree so our faces will touch.
There is no joy in her voice.
“That’s what you wanted,” I say. I could use the same words of comfort for every woman across the Regions. She straightens up and stares down at me as if she’s contemplating if she wants to say more.
“When did you find out?”
“Just yesterday. I’d forgotten…things have been so busy I hadn’t even been thinking about a pregnancy until they called me in for my test.”
I nod, knowing she has more to say.
“The baby is a boy.” Her eyes fill with tears and she turns her head away so I can’t see.
“He…will be celebrated by everyone in the Red Region and every Region,” I add. But there is a catch in my voice—we both hear it. I grab her wrist and pull her down on the bed so she’s sitting facing me.
“He will be taken from me,” she hisses, “—like Laticus was taken from his mother.”
It’s true. It is what having a boy means. But most do not consider that, they only think of the prestige that comes with giving birth to a male child. The heartache and realization would come many years later.
“He’s not even in your arms yet and you’re already thinking about that?” I try to distract her, but she shakes her head.
“We don’t belong to each other anymore. Be careful what you wish for.”
“Who told you that?”
“Jackal. He said it to me before he left that first day. I hadn’t known what he meant. But now I do.”
“He shouldn’t have said that.” I pivot her chin upward so she’s looking me in the eyes. Her eyes are wet, like they’ve been licked by an awful sadness, and I feel an inexplicable need to be this woman’s comfort. It’s not something I’ve felt before.
“You asked for a son, and I gave you a son,” I say firmly. “Don’t be an ungrateful brat.”
She laughs, but she also starts to cry, and on impulse my hands wrap around the back of her head, tangling in her hair, and I pull her mouth toward mine.
Her eyes open wide when I kiss her. I grab onto that top lip I’ve been eyeing for weeks and suck on it gently. And then her lips part and we kiss softly until I slide my tongue into her mouth, at which point Gwen wraps her arms around my neck and pulls herself as close to me as she can. I touch her through her clothes, my hands groping and tugging, fingers trailing across the small patches of exposed olive skin. I rest my thumb in the dip at the base of her neck, and then slide my hands into her hair and down her neck. Her breath hitches when my hand slides into her shirt and I cup a full breast. There is lace between my hand and her skin. I yank it down, hearing a rip before her skin is warm against my palm. I break free of her mouth and lean my head back as I hold her in my hand, kneading.
“Take them out,” I say.
Her eyes are glassy, but they never leave mine as she unbuttons her shirt, exposing the ripped black lace bra. I can see her pink nipple through the unripped side and I place a thumb over it, rubbing circles, while I bend my head and suck her free nipple. Gwen moans and laces her fingers in my hair. I switch to the other side, trying to figure out how to pull her pants down while she’s still sitting, when suddenly she pulls away from me.
“Your heart rate,” she says, out of breath. “They’re going to come rushing in here in a minute.” She backs away from the bed, quickly buttoning her shirt.
I prop my hands behind my head and watch her, amused. Her hair looks wild, like it was caught in the wind and whipped around for ten minutes. Just as she predicted, the door bursts open two minutes later, and the doctor and two nurses charge through the doors. Gwen busies herself with my water jug, looking up in surprise when the room is suddenly full.
Doctor Hunley looks from me to Gwen, her eyes lingering on Gwen’s hair for longer than what is comfortable.
“Mr. Donahue,” she chides. “You’ve been instructed to relax. We need that heart of yours beating nice and steady, no strenuous activity.”
“As you can see, Doctor, there is nothing strenuous about lying in a bed.” I smirk at her and she looks flustered.
“I see many things,” she says slowly. “Gwen, if I can have a minute with you outside…”
I watch Gwen follow her wide-eyed, while the nurses fuss around the machines. When the door opens again, Doctor Hunley is alone.
After she dismisses the nurses, she takes the seat Gwen was sitting in earlier.
“I’ve been putting off coming to talk to you all morning.” She smiles sadly. “The President has ordered that we discharge you.”
“That’s good. Great. I feel ready,” I say. The thought of getting out of here is making me sit up straighter in bed. I look around for my boots.
“But the truth is you’re not ready, Folsom. At least not to go back to work.”
We both fall silent.
“It’s not your fault,” I say finally. “I know what’s expected of me. I wasn’t thinking I was getting extended leave,” I joke.
She ignores my attempt to make light of the situation. “I did everything in my power to convince them otherwise. In the end they took a vote…”
“A vote?” I say in surprise. “Was anyone on my side?”
Doctor Hunley nods. “Twenty to eighty.” She tucks her lips in like the numbers embarrass her. Numbers that could inevitably be the cause of my death, but I don’t think about that. I’m not afraid of death, I’m afraid to keep living this life.
“All right,” I say encouragingly. “What’s next? When do I get to leave?”
“We’re discharging you tomorrow. They want you to get back to work the day after. No more blue pills,” she says.
“Is that from you or them?” I ask.
“Me.”
I sigh, leaning my head back against the pillows and closing my eyes. It reminds me of just a few minutes ago when I had Gwen’s tit in my hands.
“I strongly suggested that you stick to one, and only one, appointment a day.”
“And…?”
“And they agreed to that…for now.”
I nod, grateful for her effort on the matter.
“Small victories, eh?” She pats me on the leg before she stands up.
She’s at the door when I call her name.
“Did you tell Gwen?” I ask. “Just now when you had her outside…?”
“Yes.” She looks like she wants to say more, but then she quickly leaves.
FOURTEEN
GWEN
I grab a printout to look busy while I pace outside Folsom’s room waiting for Doctor Hunley. Her words had been direct, but her eyes were kind in the delivery: He’s leaving tomorrow, Gwen, and as much as I don’t feel good about discharging him yet, it appears to be precisely the right time for you.
Those words play over and over in my head with each step. I look around at the team assembled in dome six and want to shake them. He’s not ready, I want to scream at all of them.
When Doctor Hunley steps out, I’m ready to pounce. “Can I have ten minutes?”
She tucks a file under her arm and nods. “Let’s go to my office.”
We walk through the long corridor to dome three and stop at the office at the end. She unlocks the door, holding her arm out to allow me in first.
“Have a seat,” she says. She points at the plush white chair across from her desk, which is tidy, but her bookshelves a
re not. The middle shelf sags under the weight of all the books shoved in haphazardly. She sits down and slips off her shoes, sighing when she stretches out her toes.
I can’t be still, so I don’t sit.
“He’s not ready.” I cut to the point.
Her gaze is razor sharp on me then. “I agree.”
“I know the Society is breathing down your neck and even most of the team in dome six, but you’re his primary doctor; can’t you prolong his time here any longer?”
Her eyes are pained. “I have given them all of his data and spoken about my concerns until I am blue in the face. He’s been here this long because of me. Trust me, I’ve tried every reasoning and they cannot be reasoned with—especially now with the news of your Y pregnancy.”
“He can’t go on those pills again. His heart isn’t up to it.” I lean my hands on her desk. “He’ll die.” My face crumples and I back into the chair, covering my face.
She comes around the desk and hands me tissues, leaving her hand on my back.
I take the tissues gratefully and wipe my face.
“He’s agreed to not take the pills,” she says. “And his schedule is greatly reduced.” She walks back to her desk and looks out her window. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way he watches you…I can’t in good conscience say that he’s ready to be released, but I know the longer he’s here, the worse it will be for you to let him go.”
The tears keep streaming down my face and I angrily swipe them away. “He wants no part of this life. Did you know that? He feels like a slave, and seeing him in here, nearly dying, and knowing they only care about him getting back out there and meeting his quota…it’s wrong. Our work is to preserve life, not extinguish it…”
She blinks rapidly and looks away. Finally, she moves toward me and takes my hand. “You love him?”
“I don’t know. I think so.” I exhale, the relief of admitting it almost making up for the pain of feeling it.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, but she says it in a way that makes me feel like a silly girl. I’m sorry you’re falling in love with the only man you’ve ever met.
“I’ll do what I can to help him—but my hands are tied.”
Folsom (The End of Men Book 1) Page 8
