Naomi seemed surprised by my answer, and then she added to it: “And because in times of crisis and turmoil, humans inherently find comfort in other humans. And because sex is and always has been a universal commandment of survival.”
“Maybe so,” I said, “but I don’t want to be anyone’s wife. I don’t want to bear anyone’s children. I don’t want to be forced to do anything I don’t want to do—I just want to find my sister and leave.”
“Where would you go?”
“Back into the forest. We survived all this time on our own and without the help of any soldiers or cities or hot baths. So, as much as I appreciate your kindness, I have to disagree with you and every other person who has told me that I’m better off here.”
Naomi said nothing in response, but her eyes remained kind, and her gentle hands remained careful.
After the dirt and blood had been cleaned away, and my hair had been washed, and the water in the tub had cooled, Naomi helped shave my legs. I had only ever shaved my legs a few times in my life, and each time was before The Fall when I was a young girl. I had been experimenting and wanted to be like my mother and sister. But after The Fever swept through, and society fell, things like leg-shaving and makeup-wearing and hair-styling were replaced by more important things, like alive-staying.
My face flushed beet-red and my legs snapped closed tightly around Naomi’s hand when I felt it moving to touch my pubic hairs.
Naomi moved her hand away, and smiled softly to show she meant no harm. “If you’re to be Rafe’s wife,” she explained, “that hair will have to go—I won’t hurt you.”
I shook my head with protest.
Naomi held out the razor then. “You can do it yourself if you want.”
“No,” I said, refusing to take it. “I don’t want to do it at all. I—.” I wanted to say that I’d never shaved in that place before, but I stopped myself. “I uh, well, we don’t even know if Rafe will want me. I quite like my hair the way it is and would rather not shave it unless I have to.” I could only hope.
“Trust me when I say that Rafe will want you, my dear.” Naomi set the razor aside, respecting my wishes. “But there will be time for that later.”
With Naomi’s assistance, I stood from the water. Already I was feeling better; my muscles had hungrily soaked up the heat from the bath. Wrapping a towel around my shoulders, Naomi helped me out of the tub and dried me off. Afterwards, she tended to all of my wounds with a little jar of some stout-smelling green liquid that burned my nose.
She gave me panties, and a soft dress to wear, cut low in the back, and so long it touched the floor when I walked.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, it’s very pretty.” I smoothed the delicate ivory fabric between my fingertips.
Lastly, Naomi helped my feet into a pair of thin white socks, cut so low I thought they might slide right off.
“You need to keep your feet clean,” Naomi said as she adjusted the second sock around my foot.
After the bath, she took me to another room on the eighth floor where I was fed, and without a doubt, I ate like I’d been starving to death. Three hard-boiled eggs. Two pieces of bread covered in blackberry jam. A large helping of mashed potatoes with pieces of the skin mixed inside, sprinkled with garlic salt and parsley flakes. And a chicken breast the size of my whole fist. I scarfed the food down and didn’t care who was staring at me.
I thought of Sosie, if she was being treated with the same kindness, and in my heart, I knew that she probably was not.
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 Chateau 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.”