AN: Here we go, another chapter.
I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Andrea curled herself into a tight ball in the dry shower with a towel and the bottle of wine she'd opened and taken from the kitchen as soon as they'd locked her in the house to wait for the man to get there. The man who had chosen her out of a line up like he might've been picking fruit. The bathroom door had a lock on it. A quick sweep of the house had left her unable to find any other lock, so the bathroom was her temporary safe haven.
What was she supposed to do when he got there? She was locked in the somewhat mansion of this new community and she was supposed to be "freshening up" and waiting on him. She didn't even remember his name. And what was she supposed to do when he came? Lie down and accept whatever he wanted to do to her? Accept that, because he'd picked her out as the "one" who most suited his tastes, she was now responsible for producing children for him?
The thought of it made her sick—but she hadn't figure out, yet, exactly how she was going to get out of it.
If she killed him, they'd kill her. Plain and simple. She knew that nobody here—nobody in charge—had any great affection for her. They never had. Not since they'd dragged her, bleeding, across the ground like the animal they told her she was.
And now, like an animal, she was just supposed to accept that some man had decided he would mount her and let her gestate his young.
They accepted, out there, that it could happen. It was the law of the wild.
But in here? They were supposed to be proving they weren't animals—yet Andrea couldn't help but feel she was being forced into the position of being one.
She wasn't going to accept it.
But still her pulse picked up when she heard the sound of someone else in the house. Her heart thundered in her chest. He'd have to get through a locked bathroom door before he could even think of touching her. She had sized him up. She could overpower him before he could overpower her. But still her body responded with fear at the very possibility of it all.
She heard him calling her by name. She couldn't even remember his name, but he knew hers. She stayed quiet and tucked in the corner of the shower while he continued to look, but she knew that he'd eventually find her. The house was much larger than the other ones within the community, but it wasn't that big.
And, eventually, he was knocking at the bathroom door.
"Andrea?" He called. It sounded so familiar. It sounded like he knew her when he'd probably only gotten her name from the officer that locked her in here—the officer who'd had to ask her for her name because she was accustomed to only giving her tag number. Apparently this man didn't want to call her by her tag number now that he'd picked her out to gestate his offspring—though Andrea thought it would be fitting if he did. He tapped at the door. "Uh—Andrea? Are you in there?" He tried the knob. Andrea watched it, but it wasn't moving. "You have to come out of there," he insisted.
Andrea finally got out of the shower and walked to stand in front of the door. She didn't open it, though. She took a drink from the bottle of wine. It tasted more like syrup than she recalled wine having tasted in the past.
"You'll have to break down the door if you want me out of here," Andrea said.
"I'd rather not do that," the voice came from outside. "It's really—a waste of a door. If you won't come out, I'll just get Mr. Reynolds to take the door down."
Andrea stood there. She wasn't sure how to respond. The conversation was a bit too rational for the way that her body felt—entirely keyed up—and the man outside didn't sound like he was threatening her at all.
"Whatever you think you're going to do to me," Andrea called back at him. "I won't allow it."
Silence for a beat or two.
"I assure you," the man responded. "I'm not planning to do anything to you. But you have to come out of the bathroom."
"Why do you want me out so bad?" Andrea barked back, her heart was beating slower now. She was calming, whether she really meant to or not.
"You're in my bathroom," the man said, his voice never having changed from the simple and straightforward tone that he'd used in the beginning. "Your bathroom is downstairs."
"My bathroom?" Andrea responded.
"I had Mrs. Reynolds design it for you. Towels, soaps—she said that you would like it," the man responded. "If you don't like it, I could arrange for things that you like. But—this is not your bathroom. This is my bathroom and it's designed just the way that I like it. I could arrange, if you're fond of it, to have your bathroom decorated like it—if you like."
Andrea swallowed and touched the doorknob. He wasn't trying it any longer. He wasn't knocking. Now that he'd established her location, he simply seemed to be standing outside of the door. He was just going to wait her out until she abandoned his bathroom. She turned the lock and opened the door a crack. She peeked out and he was just standing there. He offered her a somewhat awkward smile and then gave her a very odd wave that was mostly comprised of him wiggling his fingers.
"Oh good," he said, evident relief in his voice. "You're coming out now. I could've called Mr. Reynolds, but everyone is terribly busy tonight and I didn't really want to bother him."
Andrea opened the door a little more and saw that he didn't move at all from his position. She leaned her face against the doorframe.
"What do you want from me?" She asked.
He looked at her, visibly swallowed, and stammered out some sounds before arriving at actual words.
"I want you to come out of the bathroom," he said, finally.
Andrea opened the door the rest of the way and he looked relieved. It seemed, for a moment at least, that his genuine interest was simply in getting her out of the bathroom.
"You picked me out," Andrea said. "Why?"
He stammered and searched for words. He picked out the ones he liked best.
"I like you?" He responded.
"Is that a question or an answer?" Andrea asked.
"Yes," he said. "I mean—it's an answer. If it's the right one, I'm not sure."
"Why. Did. You. Pick. Me?" Andrea asked, stressing out each of the words.
"I like you?" He responded again. He shook his head and sighed. "Listen, I don't know what you want me to say. But I can see you're very angry right now. And that's—that's not good. If you'd like? Tomorrow? I can tell them that I've changed my mind. You can—go back into the pool. They'll match you with someone else."
"And they'll match you with someone else?" Andrea asked.
He laughed quietly.
"Undoubtedly," he said. "Wave Thirty Three is a controlled population expansion project with focus on careful selection of teachable and inheritable citizen attributes. I've been working with the government since the first wave and I was chosen to join the population of Wave Thirty Three for my assistance to the project, but also in the hopes that I might..."
He stopped. His expression changed. Andrea wasn't sure if it was because he feared he'd said too much or he simply didn't know how to continue. He kept swallowing and she almost wondered if she should abandon the bathroom to him simply because he might vomit soon.
"That I might...that we would..." He stopped entirely. He froze. Andrea waited because she was sure that he wasn't done, but she halfway feared that he'd never finish. He looked around and then back at her. "That my children would inherit certain qualities that they might hope to preserve in the case of my eventual demise."
Andrea furrowed her brow at him. Even with the admission of it, she didn't feel as angry as she had before. She didn't feel threatened at all. She was beginning to doubt that her friend—whatever his name might be—had never even been as close to a woman as he was right now.
"So you did intend to force me to have sex with you," Andrea said.
His eyes went wide and he started to shake his head.
"No...no...no...force was never...I never intended to...I..." he stammered.
"You were just going to wait for me to offer?" Andrea asked. "We just—share the same room and sleep in the same bed and eventually I'll get bored and offer to—incubate your impressive government-coveted genes?"
His mouth fell open slightly. He shook his head.
"You—uh—your bedroom is downstairs," he said. "With your bathroom. I had Mrs. Reynolds—but if you don't like it..."
She'd broken him, she was sure. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"You had Mrs. Reynolds design me a bathroom and a bedroom," Andrea offered. He nodded. "And that was supposed to get me in your bed?"
He shook his head again.
"Your bedroom is downstairs," he repeated. "It has a bed in it. A nice one. They assure me that it's very comfortable. My room—you see. You can't go in my room. It's not for you. It's my room and this is my bathroom and..."
"And you were just going to come to my room and service me?" Andrea asked.
He froze again.
"I was assured that we could work the details out together," the man said. "The whole—process—doesn't have to take place immediately. I've requested a meal to be brought to the house and tonight I thought that you might be—tired. I thought we could share the meal and then you could retire to your bedroom. I've got some work that I need to do and—I could arrange for some entertainment if you'd like."
Andrea sucked in a breath.
"You don't want to have sex with me, do you?" Andrea asked.
"Eventually—I think that..." He said, but again he fell short of finishing.
Andrea acknowledged his hesitation with a nod of her head.
"Are they making you do this too?" Andrea asked.
He glanced around and Andrea felt her stomach do an odd flip inside of her. His eyes searched around him like he was looking for something and she worried that he might be looking, instead, for someone. He smiled at her and let out a breath loudly.
"I very much look forward to the growth of our relationship," the man said. "Now—if you would come out of the bathroom? I require access to the facilities and I would like to wash my hands. Downstairs you'll find—everything you need. They'll bring our meal directly."
Andrea started to move, tricking him into believing that she was coming out, and he turned his body sideways to work his way into the bathroom as though he could squeeze by her and through the door without touching her. She grabbed him, at the last minute, and dragged him into the bathroom with her. It required so little effort on her part that she never even had to give up the grip she had on the neck of her wine bottle. She pushed him against the wall and ignored the fact that he looked absolutely terrified of her.
Of course, he was a non-wild—a very timid non-wild—and he was trapped in very close quarters with a wild. And not just any wild—a Late Capture.
Andrea leaned close to him so that he could hear her without her having to raise her voice above a breathy whisper.
"What is your name?" She asked. "I'm not going to hurt you—not if you don't make me."
He hesitated and she repeated her question.
"Milton," he said. "Milton Mamet."
Andrea sucked in a breath.
"Are we being watched right now, Milton Mamet?" Andrea asked, her voice low.
Milton swallowed loudly enough that she heard it.
"Not to my knowledge," he responded.
Andrea let go of him.
"Do you have intentions to hurt me?" She asked.
He stared at her. Then he laughed nervously, the first sign of any emotion other than some kind of slight panic, and shook his head.
"I hardly think that's possible or likely," he commented. Andrea accepted his assessment of their situation. He didn't move and she kept him backed against the wall. So, fairly enough, he turned the challenge around on her. "Do you intend to hurt me? Andrea?" He asked.
Andrea realized that, at that moment, she felt very differently than she had when she'd huddled in the corner of the shower out of fear. She shook her head at him.
"I hope not," she said. "Milton," she added. She saw his shoulders sag. She backed off of him and he let out a breath.
"Then we have something in common," Milton said.
Andrea hummed.
"And I guess that'll have to hold us over while we figure out the rest," Andrea said. "Enjoy your bathroom."
She left him there and started toward the stairs to go downstairs and find what she presumed were her "quarters" for the time being.
She hoped that Michonne ended up somewhere safe, and she hoped to know more about her companion soon, but she was starting to think that she was in the best position of them all to find out more about the new community that they called home.
