“Why not you?”
He gives me a look, one of those ones he gives me when I am saying something silly, but there is more to it. There is a sadness as well. His expression, usually so carefully managed, gives a hint of a pain I do not understand.
“Why are you and Elias allowed to be with me, when no other men are? Aren’t they worried you’ll take me too?”
“That can’t happen.”
“Why not?”
“That function was taken from us when we were chosen to serve in this capacity.”
I stare at him. “You mean you can’t...”
“We were captured in battle. We were spared death, but there is an implant that prevents us from...”
I can see it is hard and humiliating and awful for him to tell me this. I don’t need him to say all the words. I can join the dots. He is a strong, handsome man. He must have been an incredible fighter. This fate was chosen because it would destroy him. He would have all the beautiful women, but never be with any of them.
“That sick fucking parking warden,” I whisper under my breath.
“It is done,” he says. “There is no use in mourning it. Now we need to get you ready.” He raises his voice. “Elias! Where is that dress?”
Elias comes in, a slight frown on his face. “Easy, I was getting rid of those shards. They’re damn sharp.”
“She needs to be at the appearance soon.”
“Keep your hair on,” Elias mutters. “The dress is in the closet.”
They begin to prepare me, bickering slightly over this detail or that. I am silent, trying to stir my courage.
I was raised to believe only I have the right to determine who has my body, but that is an outdated concept. Post-Event women are not liberated like those of the past. They are not free to choose their partners. The world is too dark and too dangerous for that.
The dress they put me in is a red silk sheath. It looks beautiful, wrapped around me in such a glorious way. Elias works on my hair, teasing it into golden perfection while Mattias paints my nails with a color to match the dress.
When I finally look into a mirror, I hardly recognize myself. I am... a woman. I mean, I have always been a woman, but now I look like the ones in the faded pages from the pre-Event magazines. The dress drapes my body, falls across my curves. Makes me look luscious and sumptuous.
“Tip your head up,” Elias says gently.
I do as I am told and he applies red color to my lips with a steady hand. His touch is kind and I find myself wanting to turn my head toward it. The truth is, I have been starved for touch. I have been bereft of male attention, and some of it feels so good. Even what the sheriff did to me felt good. But how can I trust the pleasure in this world, when it is so inextricably linked to captivity?
“You look beautiful,” he says, his eyes lit with pleasure. “They’d hardly know you were wild, would they?”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll show them,” Mattias smirks.
I give him a dark look. They’re going to see how wild I am very soon.
“Let’s go, Trissa.”
“I need a moment to collect myself.”
They look at one another doubtfully.
“Please, just one moment. I need to breathe. Can you give me a second to myself?”
I expect Mattias to point out that I am breathing now, but to my surprise, he nods. Both he and Elias withdraw. I crouch down next to the bed and do something my father once taught me how to do a very long time ago.
I have been vulnerable. I will not be anymore.
* * *