Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
It was more than the men on the gangplank. The decks were full. Cheering abounded.
She heard her name shouted in homecoming. As if she belonged. As if she’d been missed.
“Hush now.” Taking her chin, the captain turned her head so she might meet his eyes. So she would see his intention, his smirk… his victory. “You don’t have a choice, remember?”
She didn’t have a choice... so it was okay if she allowed a tiny pang of relief to bang against her heart.
That so long as she fought the ropes binding her wrists and ankles—so long as Aaron carried her over the threshold—boarding the ship might be okay.
Met with cheers, with triumphant waves, one would think the captain was bringing home his bride. Not some vagrant in a crusty dress that reeked of body odor and sickness. Cradled to his chest, marching them straight up that red carpet as if returning victorious from war, he brought home a woman they all knew.
One he wasn’t going to share. To a crew and the Level 15 ladies that cheered anyway.
Dictators didn’t ask if they could have what they wanted; they took it. And the regime didn’t question.
Not when they were fed. Not when they had tickets to earn and ladies to entertain them.
Not when they could buy a cycle and potentially father a child.
Was it really so different than how it had been before society fell apart?
Powerful men’s wives had been chosen from a myriad of pretty contestants backstage at the Miss America pageant. Now they were plucked from rancid lakes, trotted about in naughty catholic schoolgirl outfits, and made to stand still as men dumped their uneaten food on their heads. So really, pretty much the exact same thing.
The captain had put a ring on her finger once his men had tied her up, slipping it on after she’d quickly grown tired from struggling and ultimately lost.
And as her hands were bound before her, she could see the setting sun glinting off the gold.
It couldn’t have been Joan’s; it was too plain. Joan would have owned a monstrous diamond.
Plain suited Eugenia; the fucking band even fit, mashed between her fluttering fingers. As if he’d planned it all, the more she struggled, the more she felt it.
Aaron had called her his wife.
Solid muscle, holding her close, he whispered his vows on the muddy banks of the Mississippi. Gagged, she could do nothing but glare as he promised to keep her forever.
To chase her down if she ever got it in her head again that she belonged anywhere other than at his side.
To love her.
To see her fed and their children cared for.
Eugenia gave no promises in return. That wasn’t how his world worked.
She could have promised to cut his heart out, and he would have still smiled, still kissed her forehead, still planted her on the waiting dinghy.
Because she didn’t have a choice.
She didn’t have a choice in the following examination once she’d been returned to the ship. She didn’t have a choice when he cut off her dress, when he scrubbed her in a bath of cool water, or the clean sheets he laid her upon when she was too tired to fight back.
A man Eugenia recognized as a frequent of Table #2—the one who traded three beers for a win at chess—poked and prodded while Aaron held her still.
He even introduced himself. Dr. Herbert, who had sat at her table every single time he made it upstairs.
Three days of fever, the captain manning the bucket while she purged whatever she’d poisoned herself with while scrounging through the wood. Holding back her hair, telling her over and over that she was beautiful and strong. That she would get better. That everything would be okay.
Bedrest was followed by careful walks around the deck. Constant attention. Private dinners with candlelight. Quiet moments for her to settle in.
An utter lack of arguments. There was very little talking at all.
Eugenia didn’t know what to say. For once, the captain didn’t push.
No sex took place on his massive bed, only soft caresses in the dark. Sleep-tangled bodies and lazy mornings.
Her period came, Eugenia ignoring the cramps to face her captor and announce, “I win!”
He didn’t mind the mess, pulling her to his chest to stroke her hair. “You do, honey.”
The blood was right there. Right there on the sheet. And then it hit her, and the words sounded sad. “There’s no baby.”
“We can try again.” Arms tightened, a firm body holding her still. “Don’t cry.”
But she did. She fell to pieces, and she didn’t know why.
***
Nelson’s Textbook of Pediatrics, Volume II was in her hands. Aaron was rubbing her feet. A dark, lazy night on the couch, Eugenia reading by candlelight.
With a thumb digging into her arch, an automatic bow to her spine, she fought the temptation to close her eyes and give over.