Under His Rule

With a questioning look on my face, I do what she asks. We both stare at the number on the scale, and she writes it down on a notepad. She holds out a measuring tape and wraps it around my waist, jotting down those numbers too. Clearing her throat, she says, “That’ll be easy.”

“What?” I ask.

“Making clothes,” she hums.

So they make perfectly fitting clothes for the patriarchs’ wives? Wow.

“I’m fine wearing what I always wear,” I reply.

She glares at me with that same judgmental look. “No, no. You will wear the proper clothing now that you’re becoming a patriarch’s wife.”

“What’s wrong with my white dress?” I ask.

“That’s for the other people in the community,” she replies.

I make a face. “You mean for the people beneath the patriarchs.”

She eyes me down but doesn’t say another word. Go figure. Of course, she’d never admit that they have a superiority hierarchy, but they do, and she knows it.

The woman walks off and grabs a bathrobe hanging from the wall. “Put this on,” she says.

“Okay,” I mutter as I put it on. “What’s your name?”

I don’t know why I ask; I don’t know if I even want to know, but a part of me wants to humanize this whole ordeal.

She smiles at me. “My name is Agatha.”

“Hi, I’m Natalie,” I say with a hint of sarcasm. “You do know I’m a prisoner here, right?”

She just smiles and continues to clean up the place, then she opens the door, and says, “Come with me, please.”

Do they just not care? I guess not. Noah must’ve already told them about me. And I can’t forget what that teacher said about them getting fresh wombs regularly. Girls like me who can be married off to men like him.

I follow her through the hallways to a different room that has a big bed, a heavy-looking wooden wardrobe, and an old, musty chair with a green seat. I swallow. Is this going to be my new room?

“You will stay here until you’re called or someone comes to get you,” the woman explains. “Rest. You’ll need it.”

Before I can ask any more questions, she shuts the door behind her and locks it.

I turn around and immediately go to the windows, but they’re barred with metal. What a surprise. It’s as if this place was made to keep girls like me imprisoned.

Sighing, I drop down on the bed and bury my face into the pillow so I can scream. Is it even any use trying to escape? If I even manage to get out this building, a ton of guards are waiting outside, watching my every move.

Especially now … now that I’m no longer just a common girl, an initiate … but an actual wife of a patriarch.

Just the thought makes bile rise in my throat.

I close my eyes and force myself to stop thinking about it. This bed is so comfortable it reminds me of a pile of feathers that I can just plop into. It’s unlike any bed I’ve slept on in the time I’ve spent here in the community, and it almost makes me forget about all the pain. Lying on this bed makes me so tired, and there’s nothing more that I want than for this to all just disappear. If only for a moment. Just … a few … minutes. Dozing off, while my feet ache, and my heart drowns in misery … sleep is my only salvation.

It’s the first time in ages that Steve enters my dreams. It’s never a pleasant moment. It always ends in us shouting, fighting, and pushing each other away. Even in my dreams, he cheats and tells me about it afterward. Excuses, excuses … none of them mean anything when I have this life inside me growing and growing.

But the pain of leaving him pales in comparison to the pain I feel when they rip open my womb. Cut me into pieces, lay me bare. Blood spills all over, and I can’t see anything. There’s only darkness, and blood, and cries.

My cries.

Not my baby’s.

Mine.

Endless tears that drown me out until there’s nothing left but me, my scar … and nothing to hold.

No man. No love. No baby.

Nothing.

Noah

I wait in the hallway for Agatha to come down the stairs.

“She’s in bed, resting,” she says.

“Good,” I say, nodding. “Wake her for breakfast tomorrow.”

She glares at me for a moment, as though she’s almost ready to question me on my decision, but she knows my authority far surpasses hers, so she nods instead. “Yes, Patriarch.”

She bows and walks back to her own room. She and her husband Pete are the only ones allowed to live on the premises; the rest of the elders are expected to live in regular huts like everyone else. But Agatha and Pete have been caring for the patriarchs and the president for years, and I trust them with the most important tasks … including taking care of my prized wife.