Before His Choice (His 0.5)

Chapter One

Noah

When the needle enters my skin, I bite my lip and shut my eyes.

The pain is easier to handle if I don’t look. But man, does this tattoo sting.

“Almost done,” the elder says as he inscribes our family’s symbol onto my hand.

I count down every agonizing second in my head, hoping it will stop soon. I never knew it would be this painful, but I have no choice in the matter. This is what happens to all the patriarchs and their heirs. I’m already lucky they wait this long with men. Women have to get it done at a much younger age to signify they belong to the Family … because they’re the property of their husbands.

“Beautiful.” The last stroke makes me shiver.

The man wipes my hand with a cloth, and says, “Have a look.”

I open my eyes again and stare at the dark ink injected into my skin. Even though it doesn’t look that special to me, it means I now truly belong to the Family.

And when I look up into my father’s proud eyes, I smile.

“Finally,” he says. “Bandage him up, will you?”

“Of course,” the elder says. He reaches into his box and takes out bandages and some tape, wrapping my hand until the tattoo is completely hidden. “It’ll be red and puffy for a few days. Let it rest, and wash carefully afterward.”

I nod and get up off the chair, ready to get out of this damp hut.

“Where are you going?” Father asks.

“The forest,” I say, clutching the doorframe. “I was going to meet up with—”

“Fine,” he interjects. “Just be home in time for the ceremony.”

I nod, even though we both know it doesn’t matter because he won’t be there to check up on me. He’ll be at the ceremony along with all the other adults while us kids get to hang out together with a few of the elders who chaperone. I’m already fourteen, so I don’t need anyone to watch me. I can’t wait until I’m eighteen and allowed to participate in the ceremony. I’m already excited just thinking about it.

I run along the stones and grass and head straight for the forest. Behind it is a clearing filled with apple trees. The apples are ripe and ready to be plucked, so I immediately pick up a basket and pull some off the trees. These will be a nice gift for my mom.

Suddenly, something hard hits me in the head. “Ow!”

A giggle follows not too far ahead.

I look up at the girl whose small hands cover her mouth mischievously. “Gotcha!”

“No fair, I didn’t have time to block!” I yell back, and I grab an apple and throw it at her. Not too hard, and I obviously miss on purpose. I’m not about to throw apples at a little girl’s head … as she did mine.

“That hurt,” I say, rubbing the back of my head.

“Sorry,” she says, pouting while clutching her hands, which immediately makes me forgive her. She approaches me and grabs my arm, nudging me to lean over. When I do, she places a gentle kiss on the bump. “There.”

A blush appears on my cheeks, and I smile. “Feels better already.”

She smiles too, and says, “Missed you.”

“It wasn’t that long,” I say, winking. “But I missed you too.”

She picks up an apple and places it in my basket. “I’ve been waiting all day. Picking apples is no fun when you’re alone.”

“I know, but it had to be done,” I say.

She grabs my hand and looks at the bandage. “Does it hurt?”

I retract my hand and bite my lip. Should I tell her the truth? She’s still so young … so vulnerable.

“A little,” I say, sighing as I turn around and walk toward the well. “Nothing a little water can’t fix.”

I unwrap the bandage and stick it into the water. The sting reminds me of a burn, but this time all over the back of my hand. I hiss and hold my breath, hoping she didn’t hear that.

“It looks painful,” she says, glancing at my hand.

I stare at it for a while.

“But now you belong to the Family,” she says, smiling at me. “That must feel good.”

“I guess …” I reply as we both sit in the grass. “But I don’t know why we only do this to the patriarchs and their heirs. Why not the entire community?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know either. Maybe it’s because the patriarchs are important?”

“Maybe.” I sigh. I just wish I wasn’t. “Guess we’ll find out when we’re old enough.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” she says, grasping at the grass. “I’d much rather just play with you forever.” She throws the grass away, and the wind picks up the small plucks, letting them drift through the wind.

“There’ll be a time when we can’t play anymore … You know that, right?” I say.