It'd been so much easier if he'd raped her.
If he'd come into her bedroom late at night, if he'd snatched her off the street and forced her up against the wall, if he'd stolen and bound her, taken her against her will, it would have been easy. She could have told Alvin, told anyone. If he had hurt her, Rebecca would have had no problem hurting him back.
The problem was he hadn't...not quite. She'd...she'd liked it. She'd liked him. She loved Alvin, with all her heart and soul, but when Carver came up, his eyes so intense, his voice so low and seductive...it had made her melt. Her, Rebecca, loving wife and friend, the black girl with big curls and a sharp temper...Carver had liked her. And the way he spoke, god, the way he spoke. Quoting all manner of old literature, telling her stories, singing soft and soothing melodies...
The way he'd wrap his arms around her, pressing her against him and burying her face in her neck, the bristles of his beard scratching against her sensitive skin, his voice hot against her ear...he had ruined her. It was those days, back when Luke had first started getting antsy, back when rumors of dissent had been just that, rumors, and Carver hadn't shown his true colors, not yet. Back when he was still their ever-distant leader, the one so few truly knew yet so many trusted completely. She knew he'd lost a wife, and no one ever dared to press further, but she remembered lying on his chest in the crook of his arm, his deep voice rumbling in his chest and lulling her to sleep, and she felt so lucky, like he'd chosen her and she should be grateful.
It was back in those days her and Alvin used to fight, used to argue often, mostly with her initiating and when Alvin never wanted to rise to her bait it would infuriate her. Alvin was so kind, so gentle, and Rebecca had wanted someone...someone more. Someone she could yell at, argue with, someone who'd be so angry with her the fury would turn to lust and then all her wildest fantasies would come true. It had only been...what, a year ago now? Yet she felt so much older. Now all Rebecca wanted was someone calm, and sweet. Someone who understood her, who'd soothe her in her misery, who'd bring light into a life that felt so dark nowadays. Gee, it almost sounded like she missed Alvin. Who'da thunk?
Even in her own head, her voice was bitter. But it didn't matter now. Alvin was gone, and Carver too, so there was no point.
Back to the memories.
When it first began, it'd been so innocent. It'd been loitering around when she'd be with her friends, because back then she'd had such things. A look here, a soft murmur there. Enough to send shivers down her spine, enough to intrigue her. He'd reeled her in enough to make her bold. Late at night, she'd stop by his office with a cup of coffee and a shy smile, like a fucking secretary sucking up to the boss. And he'd smile at her. A small, controlled expression. She did that every night he stayed late, and it became such a habit, she felt guilty when she forgot. Then it got to the point where Carver would call her in to his office, for no real reason at all, just because "he'd missed her."
To this day, Rebecca wonders if any of it had been real.
Why would he have done it if it wasn't? Did she remind him of his wife? Of a first girlfriend? Did he, at one point, really care about her? Then, another thought, more dangerous than the others, occurs to her; maybe he'd never stopped caring. For a long time, she thought he'd manipulated her for the purpose of fucking her, of using her, then got possessive when she didn't want him any more. But the possibility existed that he did genuinely love her, at least how a man like him could love someone. Perhaps he'd thought being kind to her made him a kind person. Perhaps he thought having one, unbroken thing in his life that he could worship meant he was not evil.
Then that unbroken thing shattered, and well...the rest is history.
Talking to Bonnie, after they'd escaped Carver's compound for the second time, revealed Carver had gotten even worse after she and the others had escaped. That the man who'd once been controlling, cold, and occasionally questionable, went to madness. From betrayal, yes. Betrayal of his flock, of his family, and of the woman he had cared for. And he'd believed, firmly, that the child was his. After he'd taken her, wrapped her around his finger and convinced her their "love" was okay despite her marriage to Alvin, he'd shown hints of who he was.
She remembered an argument they'd had. She'd realized she was pregnant shortly after she'd attempted to cut it off with him, after she'd known him long enough to understand there was more to him, none of it good, than first met the eye. That morning, she and Alvin had announced her pregnancy, and she'd noticed Carver watching her intensely from the back. He'd come up to the front of the group, his eyes cold and a wide, false smile on his face. He congratulated them on their conception, all the while with one burning hand on her lower back and ice in his gaze. He'd summoned her to his office that night, the curtains closed and the room illuminated with a dim electric light hanging from the ceiling.
"It is my child, Rebecca, you know this. You belong to me, and so does that baby. I know I've fucked you more than your husband, and the odds of that man being the father of your baby are nigh impossible. Rebecca-"
"Don't you fucking talk to me like that, Carver. It's not your baby, if I had my choice I would never have even looked at you. You are fucking despicable. I don't give a god-damn-shit what you think, what you think you're entitled to. Alvin is my husband, and he always will-"
Then he'd moved, so fast she cried out, throwing up her hands to block her head. Then, after a moment, she opened her eyes. His hand, an inch away from her face, frozen still. And his eyes, so full of rage and murder that it made her sick with terror. A second passed like this, then his hand had retracted, and his icy gaze returned, any desire for murder hidden away inside him.
"A man should not strike the mother of his child, despite how...difficult she is being. It might hurt my baby," he said, putting emphasis on my, "and we can't have that. And you might not care what I think, but I understand now how much you apparently value the opinion of your husband." He spat out the word husband like it made him sick. The unspoken threat hung heavy in the room.
Disobey me, and I tell Alvin about our affair.
Maybe, Rebecca muses, Alvin Junior bundled in her arms, if she'd just gone ahead and told Alvin things would have been different. But "maybe" is a dangerous word, and what's done is done in any case. No, she hadn't been thinking clearly, only stood in terror for herself and her child. Most of her pregnancy had been fraught with panic and terror. Each day she stared at herself in the mirror, watching her ever-growing belly, and silently praying it was Alvin's child.
And, looking down at the brown baby nestled in the crook of her arm, perhaps it was. The thought brought a smile to Rebecca's face.
Several months later, Luke finally orchestrated their escape, and then they'd run, deep into the forest and into the cold. That, of course, she'd lived too recently that she needed to recount. No, now she just felt...so terribly weary. She still felt so sore after giving birth, merely hours ago. Her skin was warm and flushed, though her breath made white clouds in the air. Clementine lay snuggled beside her, and Kenny, snoring just feet away. The others lay scattered around the room in various resting positions. Some lay sprawled out across the floor, others in tight little balls. Clementine made herself very small when she slept.
Morning would come soon. Rebecca needed to rest. Who knew when she'd get to sleep next?
Yes, I realise this is rather run-on, with no clear beginning, middle and end. But I kind of intended it to be that way? I wanted to write a chapter about Rebecca, and the idea of her recounting her relationship with Carver meant it would feel very casual and personal, so I just...sat down and wrote it. I didn't edit it very much, and that might show, but I wanted to to just be a disjointed collection of thoughts, memories, hopes and regrets. And of course, I couldn't resist making the last sentence endlessly depressing.
Now, I don't know who all I want to write about next, so if you have a request feel free to put it in a review. Just tell me the character and the scene you'd like, and who knows? Maybe I'll write the chapter about them. I hope you enjoyed this. :)