The Invasion of the Tearling

“That’s good,” Lily replied tentatively.

“No, it isn’t!” he snapped. “The fucking separatists have bombed damn near every jet production facility on the East Coast over the past two years. Only two of them are still up and running; the rest are still being repaired. There’s no way for us to come up with even a fraction of the jets the Pentagon is going to ask for. Every time we build something, the Blue Horizon blows it up!”

Lily wanted to ask questions about the woman, to see if Greg had more information, but she knew better. She’d seen Greg like this several times in the past year, and they always came with injuries: two black eyes and a night in the emergency room with a broken arm. The last time had been the worst; Greg had wanted to have sex almost as soon as he came in the door, and when Lily pushed him away, he’d slapped her. While he was fucking her, he had bitten her shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Lily shook off the memory, a quick, reflexive mental movement almost akin to a shiver. Greg always said he was sorry afterward, and there was usually a present of some kind attached, earrings or a dress. There was nothing to do but forget these things … until they happened again.

“Now I’ll have to go down to Washington, stand in front of ten three-star and higher generals, and explain that what they want can’t be done.”

Lily tried for empathy, but none was forthcoming. In fact, she realized in astonishment, she almost wished Greg would hit her, as he plainly meant to at some point, and leave. She wanted to be back in the nursery. It had been nearly an hour, and the woman would be thirsty.

“What was her name?” Lily asked.

“Huh?” Greg had begun stroking the crack of her ass, something she hated. She willed herself to be still, not to brush his hand away.

“The terrorist, the woman. What was her real name? Did they find out?”

“Dorian Rice. She escaped from the Bronx Women’s Correctional a year ago! You believe that?”

Lily did.

“I have just enough time for dinner before I leave.”

Lily knew her role now: she was supposed to serve dinner, then ask if he wanted anything, if there was anything she could do for him. She sensed Greg waiting for her to ask; he knew this routine as well as she did. And yet Lily found herself unable to act.

If he decides he wants to screw, I’ll go out of my fucking mind.

Greg’s hand had stopped stroking her crack, a small favor that suddenly seemed worth whatever might happen next. Lily slipped out of his arms. “I’ll go get you some food.”

He grabbed her arm before she’d taken two steps toward the kitchen, his hand clamping hard. “What are you thinking about?”

“You.” Lily wondered if Dorian Rice would be hungry, if she could eat solid food. She should have asked the doctor.

“No, you’re not,” Greg replied, his voice petulant. “You’re thinking about something else. I don’t like it when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“I don’t like it when you go somewhere else in your head. You’re supposed to be here with me.”

You fucking candyass. Lily bit down on the words, bit down hard. Candyass … it was Maddy’s favorite insult; she’d applied it to at least half the people in Media by the time she was fourteen.

“Why don’t you say you love me? I’ve had a lousy day.”

Lily opened her mouth, even found her lips edging into an oval to shape the words.

I can’t say it.

But what if he hits you?

Well, what if he fucking well does?

That was Maddy again. She and her perennially foul mouth seemed to have taken up residence in Lily’s head. Greg’s hand had coiled in her hair, and he yanked her head backward, not hard enough to be truly painful, but enough for a warning. Lily felt a muscle pop in her neck.

“Everything I do for you, Lil … don’t you love me?”

She looked up into his eyes (brown, with just a hint of green) and gritted her teeth. It was going to be one of those nights; it had gone too far now for it not to be. But she might reduce the oncoming damage by playing her part.

At what price, Lil? Maddy asked. Lily could almost see her now, smirking, her blonde hair tied up into the Goth-girl pigtails she’d favored since she was about nine. Maddy had never met Greg; she’d disappeared two years before Lily first brought Greg home. And yet, even in the beginning, the good days, Lily had always known deep down what Maddy would have thought.

Greg tugged harder now, pulling Lily’s hair, hurting her scalp, and she opened her mouth, not knowing if she meant to say it or not. Even if Dorian couldn’t eat solid food, she would need something; maybe Lily could bring her some soup. Chicken broth; that should be safe enough. That was what invalids always ate in books. Lily should give Dorian some books, too, from her hidden stash, so that she wouldn’t be bored.

“You do love me, don’t you Lil?”

What if she can’t read?

“Lil? Say you love me.”