Under His Rule (His 1)

He grins as I walk toward him. “You’ve learned to adapt. I like that.”

I stand in front of him, but for some reason I find it hard to look into his eyes. Maybe it’s the fact that he watched me get fucked.

His hand reaches for my face, and he gently nudges it from side to side.

“He doesn’t hurt you, does he?” he asks. “Noah.”

“What?” My eyes widen, but I still won’t look at him. “No.”

But that’s a lie. Noah was the one who put me in that suffering hut after all. And somehow, the thought of that place, brings tears to my eyes.

Patrick cocks his head and with just a thumb he brushes away the tear rolling down my cheek. “Lying won’t do you any good in this house. But you already know that … Since you belong to Noah,” he muses, and he tips up my chin with a finger, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “You know how he is.”

“He’s … my …. husband,” I say, but I almost choke on the words.

“Exactly. And husbands should treat their wives well. They should be looked after, cared for, and loved. As God told us to,” Patrick says. “Have you read our rules?”

I shake my head. “The elder wives didn’t allow us to read anything when I still lived in the hut. And there are only four fiction books in my room here in the temple.”

“Ah, right … I forgot. They don’t like to give the women too much to do,” he muses, turning around. “C’mon. Let me show you something.”

He beckons me to follow him into a room with two giant doors on the first floor. When he opens the door, my jaw drops. Behind it are bookcases from the floor to the ceiling all around, filled with books from top to bottom.

“Wow …”

“I know, right?” he says. “Most of them are books filled with scriptures, rules, and doctrine, but there are a few bookcases dedicated to fiction.” He points to one in the back. “There.”

I walk in and let my eyes gorge on the beauty that’s so fragile and scarce in a place like this. My eyes immediately home in on a copy of The Beauty and The Beast sitting on the shelves. I grab it with glee, touching the hard cover with every finger I can just as a reminder that I’m still alive and that this place exists in the same world as my own reality.

“You can keep it if you like.”

I jolt up and down from the sudden voice whispering in my ear.

Patrick’s right behind me, and when I glance over my shoulder, he’s smiling at me so gently it makes me clutch the book even closer to my chest.

“Thanks,” I say.

“No need to thank me. Besides, it’s not as if these frumpy old men read actual literature.”

I giggle and cover my mouth to prevent more from spilling out. It’s a sin to ridicule the patriarchs, let alone laugh out loud at them.

I immediately look around to see if any cameras are watching us, but I can’t find any.

“There are no cameras in here. The library is all about privacy. Amazing, right?” Patrick says. “You can laugh. I won’t tattle,” he adds. “What’s life without a little fun, right?”

I sigh and gaze at the shelf filled with the same books I cherished back at home. “You seem to be the only man here who thinks that.”

“Nah … They just pretend they’re stuck-up. Makes them feel better.”

“Why?” I ask, spinning on my heels. “Why are they like this?”

“To remain consistent and keep the value of the patriarchs alive.” Patrick glances at the window in the back. “The people in this community need someone to lead them. Without authority, there’s only chaos.”

“Did they choose this? Did they all choose you to lead them?” I ask.

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes. “This community, the Family, is much older than you or I. It spans several decades, and it has several lineages of power.”

My brows furrow. “Like a family tree?”

He nods and walks toward a painting hanging from the wall. “This here is my great-great-grandma. Married to one of the most powerful presidents this community has ever known.” He points at the framed document next to it. “And this here is the patriarchal line. See? This is me, and this is Noah.” He points at both their names, but my eyes can’t help but travel up the lines. The man above Noah, named Edward, is a patriarch, who is married to a woman named Catheryn apparently, but I haven’t seen any women yet.

“Where are all the wives?” I ask.

“Here,” Patrick says, pointing at the president’s wife … Marsha. Their line seems to have ended, or rather … burned. Because the name underneath those two has been made illegible due to a burn, probably from a cigarette. Strange …