The past couple of weeks have flown by, which is a first in Gilead history for me. The job is not easier, I don't like the Waterford's any more than before, the streets aren't kinder, but nearly every night I'm granted a visit from June, she a balm on the pains we get from just function here.
I don't want to say it's become a routine, that would imply I have control over the situation, and I don't impose my want upon her. This affair is in her hands, but I have to admit, every time I look out my window and find her looking back, waiting for my signal that it's all clear, I feel relief that she's granted me another night with her. And it's not just the sex, I mean, the sex is fantastic, the best I've ever had, but it's not just that. It's being tangled up in bedsheets with her and hearing my name on her lips. It's being there for her after she had to go to his office, holding her when all she can do is cry at the injustice. It's her pressed into my side as she sleeps. It's her talking about her before life, about her friends, her job, the kind of music she loved, and her favorite Chinese restaurant. She even tells me about her husband and the daughter she lost in Gilead. I ask about Hannah, her daughter, wanting to hear more about another person out in the world who is part of June, but never inquire more about Luke and she doesn't offer much up. I do feel guilty; when I'm alone and think of her. I am, after all, sleeping with this man's wife, but I can't seem to conjure up the feeling when she shows up on my doorstep in the dark. She chooses to be here, so I let her in.
Tonight, when she left the house, she came bearing gifts. We've just finished our first round, and she's up gabbing the plate she brought with her over to the bed. She settles next to me and pulls the gingham towel off with a flourish. She stacked cold ham, cheese, several slices of bread, an apple, and a small jar of mustard on the plate. I raise an eyebrow.
"What, you never have anything but water and crappy beer I can't even drink, she says grabbing a slice of bread and some ham and cheese.
I chuckle, "Noted," I acquiesce. "I'll stop by Loaves and Fishes for some tuna for you," I tease.
She laughs while she spreads a bit of mustard on her sandwich. "Watching you choke that down was the highlight of my week you know," she admits.
"Yes, I know. You smirked at me the whole time," I return, assembling my own sandwich.
She sighs and leads back against the headboard and takes another bite. I join her, taking a chuck out of my own creation. "Mmmm," I mumble around the food in my mouth.
"See?" she says. "Snacks."
"Ham and mustard is my favorite kind of sandwich," I tell her.
She perks up at this. "Wow, a factoid. And to think I was just being to believe that you were just a pretty face with a great cock," she teases.
I nearly spit my sandwich out, and look over at her, my eyes wide and a huge smile.
She tosses the last bit of her sandwich into her mouth and crosses her arms smugly. "What? You've heard me say cock before," she dismisses with the bat of her eyelashes.
I laugh, "It's not that, it's just...I feel so objectified," I tease.
She looks me up and down for a second and takes my sandwich out of my hand. She put it on the plate and quickly sets it on the nightstand before moving to straddle my lap. "What? You have an issue with that?" she asks, her hands sliding up my chest.
My hands find her waist and work their way up her back. "No, not at all, just want to be sure it's enough to keep you coming back," I admit.
Her mouth falls to my neck and works its way up to my ear, "Oh, yes, I can assure you, it's more than enough," she coos.
My eyes slide closed, and I sit up, flipping her onto her back so that I'm hovering above her. I claim her mouth, letting my tongue trace her bottom lip as my hand finds her breast. My fingers minister to its needs as my mouth bites and nibble its way down to the other. She wiggles impatiently under my attention at her neck, and I have to remind myself I'm not the only one who might see her naked so I can't leave any marks. I move on, down past her breastbone to the slight swell of her breast. I give it my full attention.
"Nick," she pants. I look up at her, kissing her softly between her breasts. "I need you to show me that asset I find so alluring …and like fucking now," she demands. Never wanting to disappoint, I give the lady what she wants.
She's asleep when I wake from my post-coital nap. I grab my watch and check the time. Almost 5, shit. I'll need to wake her soon. I snag my long-forgotten sandwich from the plate and take a bite. The bread is dried out, and the mustard is gloppy, but I still eat it. While I chew, I take the time to look at her, really look at her. I see her all the time, but it's only when I catch her like this that I get to study her. She looks peaceful in sleep, young. The worry lines that often form between her eyebrows when she's out in the world are completely gone. Lashes lay delicately on her cheeks, and long loose curls fanned out over the pillow, she's beautiful.
Finishing up my snack, I ease out of bed, grab an old pair of sweatpants off the floor, and head for the bathroom. Relieved, I stand washing my hands when I spot in the mirror June's red dress hanging on a hook behind me. I turn around and study the garment, tucked next to one of my black shirts, and can't help to wish for another life. One where I maybe work at a garage and she's writing a book. One where the clothes hanging here aren't our uniforms but are just clothes. Maybe her favorite sweater and something I had worn to dinner the night before. I sigh. It's a dream, a nice one, but a dream all the same.
I step out of the bathroom and look at her, her arms over her head. One of her feet hangs off the bed. This isn't enough, but it's what we have, so I try to remember to be grateful. I walk over to the end of the bed and reach down to run a finger along the bottom of her foot. It's bumpy under my fingertip and I look down. The arch of her foot is crisscrossed with scars. I'm shocked. I've not yet paid any attention to this part of her anatomy, but now I'm not sure how I missed this. I crouch down to get a closer look.
"What are you doing," a sleepy voice asks.
I cup her foot in my hand and run a thumb over the raised area. "What are these from?" I ask, looking up at her.
She sits up abruptly, pulling her foot away. "It's nothing," she says, getting up and beginning to search for her underwear.
I pick up her bra and hold it out to her. "June?"
She snags it and turns away from me to start dressing. This isn't normal, she's not shy in front of me.
I stand up and move to stand behind her. I grasp a shoulder and gently turn her to face me. With a finger, I lift her face to mine. Her eyes are tear-stained. "What is it?" I ask gently.
She sniffs and shakes her head. "It's stupid to be upset about," she dismisses.
I shrug, "Clearly it's not. What happened?" I implore.
She seems to consider the answer for a second, "Aunt Lydia," she states flatly.
Of course, it was that cunt. She's just as likely to take out an eye as she is to scream at a wife for the mistreatment of a handmaid. She a fucking psycho. "She did this to you because…."
June tilts her head and I can see she's a little worried to tell me, so I rub her arm in encouragement.
"I thought as an Eye you'd know,"'' she beings. I shake my head. "That's not how it works. I'm not given more info than needed to do my job. Handmaids are a non-starter. I'm just to watch them, but they tell me nothing unless there is something to be worried about with one. Like with Ofglen, I was given the warning to watch her for subversion, but that was it."
She seems to take the answer at face value, which is good because its' the truth. "I tried to escape, back when I was back in the Red Center. Moira and I tied up an Aunt, took her clothes, and attempted to get out of town. I got caught, and that was the last time I saw Moira. She managed to get on the train."
My mouth falls open. "So, they beat your feet?" I ask, disgusted with the idea.
She nods. "With rebar fixed into a handle."
"Oh my…jeez June," I mutter, rubbing a hand up and down her arm.
She smiles weakly. "I'm lucky I didn't end up disabled," she says, moving again to get dressed.
What kind of place is this that getting beat with rebar is an easy punishment? Fuckin' Gilead!
"Can you get me my dress, it's in the bathroom?" she asks as she pulls on her tank top.
I shake loose the anger that's griping me and go and get her dress. I can focus on the hate once she's gone, while she's here, I want to focus on her. I hold out the gown, "Here," I offer.
She takes it and slips it over her head. "You know, some days I just miss other colors. Like yellow. I'd love to wear yellow today," she mutters, pulling on her socks now.
I gaze at her, imagining her in the color. Not a lot of people could wear yellow, but I think she could.
Boots on her feet, she is standing in front of me now, hands on my bare chest. "Anything interesting happening for you today?" she asks.
I shake my head. "Not really. Commander is going to Lawrence's again and I'll probably work on winterizing the car," I tell her. "You?"
She snorts, "Oh yeah, so many big plans. I think Rita and I might grab a quick lunch, then head over to the multiplex for that new alien movie. Looks a little gory, but I'll see anything with Brad Pitt in it," she snorts.
I chuckle and wrap her in my arms. I place a kiss on her temple. "Just don't go getting any ideas, I hear he's an economan in California now, so…"
She pulls back but stays in my arms squinting up at me. "Really?" she asks.
This causes me to really laugh. "No, I have no idea. Eye, not psychic," I declare.
She pinches my ass in retaliation, and I laugh again. She joins me with a chuckle of her own. I wrap her up against me once more and we both look out the window. The sun is cresting, it's time for her to go. I lean down and kiss her softly. "Be safe today, okay?" I beg.
She shrugs. "You know I'll try," she returns. "Same with you, stay safe. Keep my prized possession in good working order," she says cupping me through my pant.
I roll my eyes and kiss her once more, with just a little more passion. "Now, get out. Go before Rita is up," I tell her, shoving her towards the door.
With one last hug, she lets go and disappears into her day.
The drive out to the Lawrence house is quiet, and Fred is absorbed in a newspaper. It's cold out today, last night was our first hard frost of the season. I remember loving this time of year as a kid. The anticipation of snow and pond hockey and the upcoming holidays. My brother and I loved hockey as kids. We were too poor to pay in a league but my mom always found us used skates so we could play on the pond at the park. My mom was like that, always trying to find ways to make us happy. At Christmas, there was always a tree, even if it was one we cut down in the dark of night from the local forest reserve. She made sure she had enough food stamps for making cookies and there was always at least one gift under the tree for us on Christmas morning. These memories are simultaneously my favorite and most hated. I love remembering my mother, alive and happy, so full of life, but then it inevitably reminds me of how horrible and drawn out her death was. Add to it all of the simple childhood joys that Gilead erased and it's easier to not think about it.
At the counter in the Lawrence's kitchen, I sip on a full cup of premium coffee, enjoying the complex flavors. I guess being the architect of Gilead's economy comes with its perks. The one-eyed Martha, Cora, isn't a pleasant woman. She hates the intrusion of guests in the house and isn't worried about showing it, at least to me and the other household staff, which considering the Lawrences are childless, is huge. A second Martha, meek and nearly invisible, a driver and a handmaid, or I'm told, I've never seen her.
Cora stomps into the kitchen a tray in hand. "Looks like I'm making a big lunch now," she grumbles, setting the tray down with a bang. She goes over to the back stairs that are in the kitchen and yells up, "Hey, Ofjoseph, get your lazy ass down here!"
Cora goes to the fridge and yanks it open, staring in. A few seconds later the handmaid arrives. She's a redhead with green eyes. Her face is covered in freckles and is only a whisp of a girl. "I'm not lazy," she grumbles at Cora. "You know I keep Mrs. Lawrence company when people come to the house!"
Oh, a spitfire. This makes me smile. I know a handmaid like that, I think.
Cora spins around. "Yeah, you can shove your excuses. I need to make lunch and I don't have any chicken for the soup," she growls.
"Well, if you had sent me with the token, I would have gotten it, but you forgot," Ofjoseph says with air quotes on "forgot"
I have to bite back the smile that wants to crawl onto my face. While I'm happy this isn't how things are with Rita, June, and I, I'm really enjoying this floor show.
Cora slams the fridge door. "Go and get some," she spits, pulling the ticket from her apron.
The handmaid snorts, "Ofron isn't coming until 1 pm. You know this, we go shopping at the same time every damn day!" she tosses back.
Cora looks like she's about to explode when I interject. "I'm free right now, I can drive you to All Flesh," I suggest.
Cora and Ofjoseph both look at me like I've sprouted a second head. I hold my hands up in defense. "Look, it sounds like you're in a bind here, I'm a driver and I'd also kinda like some soup," I offer.
Cora softens a tad. "Thank you," she mutters, then turns back to the handmaid. "Go get your fuckin' cloak, the man doesn't have all day," she says in exasperation.
Ofjoseph gives her a death glare but turns to fetch her outwear.
Cora says nothing more, just turns to a basket of root vegetables, and grabs some carrots. Ofjoseph and I leave the house with should of chop, chop, chop on the cutting board.
The ride to All Flesh is quiet, the handmaid keeps her eyes out the window as we travel a couple of miles to the store. Once there, I escort her in to pick up the chicken and apparently celery, that she has coupons for. I rarely come in here, handmaids and Martha's do the shopping in Gilead. As I stand here observing Ofjoseph as she picks out a head of celery, I remember June's complaints about my lack of anything to eat. I reach into my back pocket for my wallet and look inside for the food tokens I have stashed inside on the off chance I would need them. They are generic, but as a man, they allow me to get whatever I want.
"Ofjoseph, do they have crackers and cheese here?" I ask. The handmaid looks a bit taken aback, but she leads me over to a small aisle of staples.
Here there are boxed, canned, and jarred foods. Like the produce section, it's small, as All Flesh is really just for meat purchases, but they carry a few items that might be needed for convenience. I grab a few cans of fruit, a box of crackers, and Ofjoseph shows me where to get the cheese. In the dairy area, I also find a small smoked sausage, so I grab it as well.
We make quick work of checking out and are back in the car in no time.
"You don't have a wife?" Ofjoesph asks from the back seat, it's the first thing she voluntarily said to me since I offered her the ride.
I hold up my left hand, "Nope." I return.
"Your Martha terrible?" she asks, clearly perplexed by my shopping.
I chuckle, "No, Rita's amazing, just sometimes I don't feel like putting on pants to get a snack," I lie.
At this, her eyebrows lift in surprise. I bite my tongue. I've become more open since spending time with June, and have crossed a line of polite conversation with my pants remark. "Oh, um, sorry about that," I offer, looking back at her in the mirror.
She shakes her head and smiles. "It's fine. I just haven't heard anyone have a normal conversation in so long is kind of shocked me," she admits.
I nod, "Yeah, the rules are pretty strict, especially for handmaids." I agree.
We sit in silence for a minute at a stoplight.
"No wife, and you can't date in Gilead…must be lonely," the woman says, her voice low.
My eyes widen.
"There's a park up here on the left, it's empty all the time, if…if you were feeling lonely that is," the handmaid says, trying to sound seductive.
I pull on my mask and look at her evenly in the mirror. She doesn't shy away. She's ballsy.
I pull the car over on an abandoned stretch of road and put it in park. I undo my seatbelt and she moves to do the same. I hold out a hand. "No. Stay where you are," I tell her. She looks confused, then worried.
I lick my lips and try to look non-threatening. "That was stupid," I tell her, keeping my voice free of any hint of outrage. "I could report you for that, you'd be on the wall by sunset."
She looks down, a tear traces down her face and I feel bad.
"What the hell even made you consider making that offer?" I ask.
She sniffs, running her hand under her nose. "This is my third posting, and well I don't think I'll be getting pregnant," she tells me.
"So you ask a random driver?" I ask.
She shrugs. "I need to get knocked up or it's to colonies for me," she says. "You seemed nice, you don't have a wife, you're cute…I figured I'd try. Either way, I'm going to end up dead," she cries.
I reach into the pocket of my coat and hander a handkerchief.
What do I tell this girl that won't get me likewise killed? "Look, don't worry about the colonies," I start.
She looks up, dabbing her eye.
"You had a kid before all this?" I ask, pointing out the window at the gray landscape of deep fall.
She nods. "Yes, two girls," she says, fresh tears springing to her eyes.
I consider that for a second. "No way they are going to put a proven womb out to pasture like that. Especially if you had two kids already," I tell her. I want to tell her that the whole colonies thing is a line of bullshit, it's meant to keep the handmaids under their thumbs. Truth is, after three households they move them to a new district to try again. This whole handmaid thing is all about fear. Those who "escape the colonies and are moved" are told they are being given a second chance, and not to tell the other girls or they will change their minds. It's all fear conditioning.
Ofjoseph sniffs and looks me in the eyes, a tiny bit of hope in them. "You think?"
I shrug, "I'm just a driver, but what I know about Gilead is they don't like waste. You just got to keep your chin up," I suggest. "And don't ever offer yourself up to a man who isn't your commander unless you are 100% certain it's safe." I think of June and the risk she took with me, and it makes my hands clench. "I could've been an Eye for all you know!" I warn.
The small woman sinks back into the seat, her eyes drying. "You gonna turn me in?" she asks.
"No!" I exclaim. "Why would I take the time to warn you if I was?"
She sighs in relief. "Thank you," she finally says.
I give her a nod and turn back to the wheel. "Thank me by staying alive," I state.
That is the last thing we say to one another. That afternoon, when Fred and I head out, she stands at her bedroom window, looking down at us. When Fred is distracted, she lifts and hand and mouths the words thank you, and disappears.
The last part of my day is spent changing over the tires on the car to snow tires and swapping out the carpet floor mats for rubber ones. Tomorrow I'll be dropping it off for winter undercoating, but I want this out of the way.
With the last tire in place, I put away the jack and head into the house for dinner. I find June setting the table when I come in. She offers me a covert smile as I head over to wash my hands. The room smells of rosemary and meat and my stomach grumbles. "You know what's for dinner?" I ask, drying my hands.
June comes over and stands next to the sink in the pretense of washing her hands as well. "Meatloaf," she tells me.
"Awesome!" I exclaim. We haven't had it in a long time. I like meatloaf fine, but the breakfast scramble Rita makes with the leftovers is to die for. "Make sure you come to breakfast tomorrow," I inform her, 'You don't want to miss the masterpiece she makes with the leftovers."
June smiles slyly up at me. "I never miss breakfast. I'm always so famished in the morning for some reason," she winks.
God, she's beautiful when she's flirting with me.
The sound of feet in the hall, and we both take a step back from each other. Rita comes in with a smile. "Good evening," she chirps.
I eye her suspiciously. "What have you done? Did you slip something into the gravy?" ask lifting the lid and investigating the pot with faux concern.
Rita huffs and shoves a loaf of bread and a knife in my hands. "Table," she demands.
I acquiesce to her request and head to be breakfast room, where we usually eat when we are all together. I set the loaf down on a cutting board already on the table and start cutting slabs when the ladies enter with plates filled with meatloaf, green beans, and a small baked potato.
We all sit and say a quick grace before digging in.
"Wow Rita, this is amazing," Junes says, pointing her fork at her meat. "I've never much-liked meatloaf."
Rita cocks an eyebrow and looks smug. "You've clearly never had mine."
"Nick says you are a wizard with the leftovers too," June says around her food.
"He did, did he?" Rita smiles and fans herself.
I level my eyes at her. "Don't start acting all humble now, cats out of the bag," I tease.
We all chuckle.
"There are spiced poached peaches for dessert," Rita half sings.
I sit back and take the Martha in. "Seriously, who did you hurt to be in this good of a mood?" I taunt.
She rolls her eyes but scoots a bit toward the table. "Mrs. Waterford is leaving for her mother's in the morning, and won't be home until the next day," she beams.
"I didn't know about that. I guess I'm not driving her," I state, stabbing a green bean with my fork as a feeling of dread drops over me.
Rita wiggles in her seat. She's happy. A whole night without Serena breathing down her neck, it's a real Godsend for her. I on the other hand know what this generally means, Jezebels. I look at June out of the corner of my eye, she seems unfazed. Should I tell her? Warn her? It could turn into nothing. Fred might have learned from his past mistakes with the old handmaid.
"She's riding out with another wife, there's some kind of dinner happening for her mother's friends or something," Rita says, not noticing my darkened eyes.
June does though, I feel her gaze on me. I look over at her and try to brush the concern off. It's one night and the Commander hasn't had me set anything up, we are likely in the clear. No need to worry her.
After dinner, I help clear the table, before heading down to the Commander's office. I would sleep easier if I were confirming I don't have a trip to Jezebel's to arrange. I knock on the door and push it open but find it dark. He isn't here, nor has he been here. I check out the parlor and dining room and find them both just as empty. I glance up the stairs and sigh, he must be in his room already. Damn.
I go back into the kitchen, to only find June at the sink, drying the last of the dishes.
"You comin' over?" I ask quietly, trying to sound nonchalant, but it's a front. Even the idea of her possibly stopping by is getting me excited.
She looks out the corner of her eyes and smiles. "Maybe," she says coyly.
I settle next to her, leaning against the counter. "I went shopping today," I offer.
Her eye brightens, and she smirks. "You have more than beer? Wow, you really know how to treat a lady," she says very softly. This whole conversation is treason.
"I'm capable of taking a hint," I return.
She sighs and turns to put the stack of dishes she's dried in the cabinet. Closing the door, she turns around and looks at me over. "You're not going to tell me what you bought are you?"
I shrug and head for the door, "Nope," I tease.
She laughs but gives me a nod. She'll be there.
An hour later she's padding through my door and heads straight for the fridge. She pulls it open and peers in. "Cheese, nice. Oh, smoked meat. And where the hell did you get these, she says holding up one of the two chocolate chip cookies Cora sent home with me.
"The Lawrence's a loaded," I tell her. "Their Martha sent them home with me," I tell her.
She turns around, a hand on her hip. "A Martha sending baked goods home with a single man…not suspicious at all," she jests.
I shake my head, "Yeah, Cora's not like that," I dismiss.
June crosses the room to sit next to me on the bench seat. "I wouldn't be so sure," she says, running a hand up my leg. "Any woman would be thrilled to catch your eye."
I laugh out loud at this.
Her face scrunches up, "What?"
"Cora only has one eye," I chuckle.
June's mouth drops open and she tries to look disgusted with me, but she's barely holding it together.
"She's the meanest Martha I think I've ever met," I laugh. "She all about barking orders and hating people. I'm not sure she registers I'm a dude!"
June looks unconvinced. "I sure she knows you're a man," she counters.
I shake my head, "I think you have to meet her to understand. Trust me, the cookies were a thank you because I took her brazen handmaid to All Flesh so lunch could be saved," I tell her.
June sits back, leaning against the wall. "Oh, that is where the groceries came from," she says, connecting the dots. "I wonder if I know her?" she wonders aloud.
"She said this was her third posting, probably a class above yours."
June's forehead crinkles and she squints at me. "Getting chatty with the handmaid?" she asks.
Is that jealousy?
"No… well not exactly. I mean we talked, but it wasn't…" I trail off.
Her arms cross over her chest and she levels her eyes at me. "Please, continue. I look forward to your complete sentences."
I think that is jealousy. Hum.
I consider her for a second. "She offered to make a lonely man less lonely on the way back to the house," I confess.
June's eyebrows shoot up. "I was teasing! What the hell, Nick!" she scoffs, shoving my leg away from her.
I raise my hand up, "I declined! Of course, I declined," I state taking her hands in mine. She still looks warily at me. "if it makes it any better, she wasn't coming on to me because of my impossible good looks. She was just trying to get pregnant."
"Pregnant by a driver…sounds familiar," June sighs.
"She's in her third house and she's afraid."
There is understanding on June's face. "The colonies," she mutters.
"Yeah, exactly. I tried to tell her without telling her that the colonies thing is just a farce. Made sure she knew the danger she was putting herself in by making the proposition to a stranger. Hopefully, I got through to her."
June stands and starts to pace.
"What?" I ask, standing to follow her.
"They aren't sending us to colonies after three failed families?" she asks, clearly surprised.
I shake my head. "No. They are shipping the girls off across the country, tell them they are getting a second chance," I tell her plainly. "It would be a waste to trade proven fertility for questionable sperm. I know the edict says only women are infertile, but the leaders aren't that stupid. They know most of us are shooting blanks," I confess.
She takes a sharp breath through her nose and lets it out slowly. "So, if I don't get pregnant in the next year, then I'm headed for what…California?" she asks.
The very thought makes me anxious. "I don't know. I don't have the specifics," I tell her honestly.
She collapses on the end of the bed, her head in her hands. She begins to shake. At first, I think she's crying then I hear the trill of laughter, humorless laughter.
I sit down next to her and put a hand on her back. She shakes her head and looks up at me. "The options are so bright and cheery. They get to rape me and keep taking my kids, just all over the country instead of just the East Coast. Just so fucking great!"
I take what she's said in for a minute. There is nothing good to say here, nothing that makes any of this any fucking better. I drop my forehead to hers and breathe her in. "I'm sorry," is all I can think to say.
She closes the gap between us, pressing her lips to mine. The kiss is sad, full of pain that there is no escape from. I kiss her back, letting my thumb lower her mouth to mine. I want to make her promises. I want to give her freedom, I want to give her hope, but there just isn't anything I can do to make this better. So, I give her myself. I lower her to bed and kiss her deeply. "As long as I can, I'll try to keep you safe," I promise between kisses. She accepts my offer, but I know she won't hold it against me if I fail because my chances of success are infinitely small.
Tonight is different. It's not without passion or desire, but there is something else there between us. This feels like making love, not just sex. A fact that doesn't elude me, even if I try to ignore it. To admit any feelings of any kind is a recipe for disaster. This thing between us doesn't have a happy ending, I know that, but I also know something has been sneaking up on me for months and now it's here and at some point, I'm going to have to face it.
When I wake the next morning, I find June standing, blanket wrapped around her, looking at something on my nightstand. When I call out to her, I hear the clang of metal, my dog tags. She saunters over to the bed, and I pull her down to join me. I wrap her in my arms and just enjoy looking down at her face. So much of our time outside this room is pretending the other doesn't exist, this is the only time I have to really look at her. I kiss her neck and run a hand along her arm, caressing her face. I want to remember her like this when the day gets long, and I feel beaten down. She pushes me back against the mattress, it's time for her to go. She sits next to me for a moment, and I grasp her arm, wanting so badly to pull her down and keep her here with me. But she stands her arm on mine, mine on hers. She pulls away, until only our fingertips are connected, and then she's gone, over to the window seat where she's left her clothes.
I prop myself up to watch her as she prepares for the day. Another day of battle in the world. As I watch her pulling on her clothes my thoughts travel back in time, to when I first started on the path that's led me here. I don't think I'll ever forget that room the in the Worthy Path Career Counseling Center. Center, is not a good description of it. It was a storefront in a shabby shopping strip. The room with its flickering fluorescent lights, cheesy inspirational posters, and uncomfortable chairs. If you breathed deep enough you could smell the mildew and stale coffee. It was there in my cheap shirt and cheaper tie that I had met the man who I'd come to know as Commander Pryce. I went there to find a job, and jobs I found, but the needs of my dysfunctional family kept screwing them up. My dad, with his chronic pain from years in the steelyard, required multiple appointments a week, then there was Joshua always needing to be bailed out or picked up from some hole-in-the-wall bar. I was alone, fighting to keep three people alive. The jobs I did take and managed to keep for a month or so, barely kept the lights on; thank goodness my dad had the sense to pay off the house with the insurance money after my mom died or we would have been on the streets.
Then that day came, the day Pryce said there were no more jobs to give me. There was a fight followed by the moment I met the real Pryce out in the parking lot. I remember that moment so clearly, it's like it happened yesterday. It only took him one cup of coffee to hook me. Promises of a better future. "Come to a meeting," he said. That I didn't care about agendas, but he also said the one thing that did care about: "Who knows, maybe there's a job in it for you."
I let out a breath, and glance over at the dog tags June had been looking at. They are pointless now, I'm not a soldier anymore. I've kept them with me all this time as a token, a talisman of sorts. My first day on the front was when I realized I had made the wrong decision. Free coffee hadn't been worth it, and neither had the job, though it did keep us all fed and more comfortable than we had been in a long time. When you don't have anything and then have something, it is easy to make excuses. But that day, gun in hand, looking across the block at a coffee shop where armed civilians were hiding from us…from me, I knew that it was all load of shit. Since when did making the world better mean killing some kids who worked in mailrooms or at fast food restaurants who just didn't agree with the changes being imposed upon them? When did disagreeing equal execution?
I nearly died that day, in the fighting. Part of the wall collapsed on me, and the only thing that kept a piece of metal from piercing my heart was my dog tags. They saved me. I remember sitting on my cot that night, those tags in my hands, and thinking there had to be more, something else, a reason I was alive. It's been years and I've kept them with me, trying to figure out why I spared. As I look across the room at June, I feel like I know what that purpose might be. Maybe I'm alive to keep her alive. I don't know how I'll do it, but I have this feeling deep inside me that just tells me that it's got to be done, and I've been chosen to do it.
Getting up, I grab the dog tags and go to where June is sitting, putting on her stockings and boots. "I want you to have these," I tell her holding the chain out to her.
She looks up at me, a questioning looks in her eyes. "Those are yours," she dismisses, pulling the zip up on her boot.
I reach down and take her hand, and place them in her palm. "They saved me once," I tell her.
She looks down at the metal and runs her thumb over it.
"They don't have my name or anything, just a number that was decommissioned years ago. They shouldn't lead back to me if someone finds them."
She clasps her hand around the offering and smiles up at me. We have nothing of our own in this place, so she understands the gesture. "Okay," she agrees. She pops the ball out of the closure, loops the chain around her ankle several times then closes it. She carefully pulls on her socking over it, making sure the metal tags lay flat against her skin, before pulling on her boot.
She stands and loops her arms loosely around my shoulders. "Stay safe today," she says. It's a phrase we've been sharing for while now when we separate. I nod. "You too."
We kiss and she heads out, back to the main house. I sit for a long time on the bench by the window. She's long ago disappeared into the house, but I can't seem to pull myself away. I lay my head back against the wall and take a deep breath. The room smells like her. Like lemon soap, but not just lemon soap, I'm convinced that when applied to her skin it changes into something new, something heady. It's intoxicating.
I sigh and sit up. Enough mooning over a girl, I've got shit to do. I get up, get dressed, and go to the house. Rita is standing at the stove, humming to herself and the room smells amazing. I walk over and look over her shoulder.
"You're in my personal space Blaine," she admonishes playfully.
I step back and grab a mug and fill it with my allotted coffee. "You are magic, you know that right?" I question, taking in an appreciative sniff.
She looks back at me with a raised brow.
"What?" I ask, sipping my coffee.
She shakes her head. "Nothing. Just nice to see you smile " she returns.
I scoff, "I smile," I argue.
"No, you don't," she snorts.
"You're making my favorite breakfast," I argue.
She goes to the fridge for the eggs and stops to look up at me. "Sure, it's the breakfast," she teases with a wink.
I don't get to reply because the Commander enters the kitchen.
"Blessed Day Commander," Rita says, pouring him a cup of coffee.
He takes it and nods. "Yes, Blessed Morning," he returns.
"Breakfast should be ready in about five minutes sir," she says cracking eggs into the pan on top of the meat, pepper, and potato mixture she's already been working on.
"Yes, smells great!" he says, heading out of the room. He's just about out when he stops and looks back at me. "Nick, I have a package that needs to be picked up at the tailor's, can you do that after breakfast?" he asks.
It's funny that he even asks, it's not like I can decline. "Of course, sir," I agree.
He nods and disappears down the hall.
I hear feet on the stairs and my lips want to lift into a smile, but noting Rita's comments this morning, I push it down and take a drink out of my cup instead.
June bounces in and breathes in deeply in appreciation. She goes to the cabinet and grabs plates, and cups, and puts them on the counter.
"Table please," she says to me, shooing me with her hand.
I look at her and scoff. "Must I remind you of my man card?" I tease.
She rolls her eyes and goes to the drawer with the cutlery. "Yes, I'm sure it's very shiny, don't forget the glasses," she says.
Rita chorales. "Well, aren't we all extra chipper this morning?"
June looks confused but goes to the table with the flatware.
I glare a bit at Rita, but she just smiles. "Set the table," she says squeezing my arm.
She disappears with Commander's plate, and when she returns, June has doled out heaping portions onto each of our plates. Outside the windows, the first snow of the season has begun to fall. It won't stick, but it's pretty all the same. The breakfast room feels cozy, with the fire in the fireplace and a great meal.
"You know, this kind of feels like Christmas breakfast," June says, sighing. "I know there is no more Christmas and I'm at least a month early, but still."
Rita hums in agreement. "You're right, there is a holiday feel in the air," she agrees, looking from me to June, but saying nothing else. She defiantly knows something or thinks she does.
We all tuck into our meal, easy banter flowing between us. All too soon the reality of our day sets in. We all have things to do. Once I've helped move the dishes into the kitchen, I bid the ladies a good day and head off on my errand.
The tailor is busy when I arrive, but when the man behind the counter spots me he disappears into the back room and comes back out with a large brown box. He hands it to me with a smile. "Tell the Commander that it's the finest I could find on short notice."
I nod and take the box out to the car. I put it in the back and stare at it for a second. I have no idea what it is, and the box is sealed so no way for me to look. What I do know is that the tailor gets black market items, mostly things like make-up and lingerie. The wives might like all look the same on the outside, but most of them are sporting high-end lingerie underneath.
The box is too big for panties and bras.
I take the box into the house and directly to the Commander's office. The door is open and Fred spots me in the hall.
"Ah, my order," he says, gesturing for me to put the box down on the table by the bookcase.
I want to ask about it, but it's not my business, so I turn to leave.
"Nick one more thing," Fred says before I can leave. I turn and look at him. "Close the door."
Damn it. I do it and turn back to him. "Yes sir, what can I do for you?" I ask.
"I've made some arrangements a Jezabel's tonight. We leave at nine," he tells me.
"That short notice sir, are you sure it's wise?" I ask. I generally set these nights up, checking the client list to make sure the wrong people aren't there when he is. He's going off-script. That's never good. Fuck.
"I've checked the list, Nick, it's fine." He says dismissively.
"Yes sir, of course. Nine o'clock."
With a wave of his hand, he's done with me. I leave the office and go to the kitchen. It's quiet. My eyes slide closed. There is still a chance this is just one of his usual visits, but I'm having a hard time convincing myself.
I let out a long breath, suddenly feeling tired. If we're going to Jezabel's then there are things I need to get done before then. The black market doesn't feed itself.
Despite my growing dread, I manage to procure the items needed to make a trade and sent a runner to Jezebels to let them know I'm coming and ready for a swap.
At 9:00 pm the Commander finds me in the kitchen, a teal cloak and a small stack of travel documents in hand. My fists clench under the table. I knew it. I prayed against it but….son of bitch Fred, you are a fucking idiot, my mind screams. "We'll be right down." He states and parades out of the room.
I look down at the documents he's handed me. One is a travel permit for June, but her name on the pass is Serna Joy Waterford. My fingers dig into my eye sockets until they sting, and vomit threatens the back of my throat. When I hear the feet on the stairs, I stand and take my place in the breakfast room,
Waterford enters, arrogant as hell, followed by June dressed in a mini dress. All sparkles and loose curls. She stops just short of me, her eyes locked on mine. Fear and panic clear. I'm sorry June. She comes to me, pausing only briefly to look into my eye, before turning around for me to put the cloak on her shoulder.
"Mrs. Waterford went to visit her mother; she won't be back until tomorrow." Fred touts, putting his own coat on.
I place the cloak on June's bare shoulders and let my hands run down the length of her arms. I'm here June, I want to say, but I have to step away as Waterford turns to look at her.
"Where are we going?" she asks in a voice that isn't hers. This must be who she is when she has to be with him.
Fred saunters up to her, well within her personal space. Too close. "You don't want me to spoil the surprise, do you?" With a hand on her shoulder, he walks her out the door.
I have to fight the urge to punch in his stupid fucking face.
The drive across town is torment. I can't keep my eyes off her in the mirror. Commander Waterford is blathering on about all the changes he's helped plan and execute. Most of it's bullshit. He touches her, takes her hand, and holds it as if it belongs to him. My teeth grind.
She soothes his ego, "It's amazing," she says, but he looks at me, pleading for understanding.
"Coming to a checkpoint, sir." I manage to get out sounding relatively normal.
"Pull up your hood, Mrs. Waterford," Fred says seductively.
June looks alarmed.
"It's okay, you're with me," he says, so full of himself I think he might actually explode. Man, that would make my life.
We pass without incident. I'd love to see him caught, but that would just be bad for June.
June is silent in the back, fussing with her hood. "You're very quiet. Aren't you enjoying yourself?" he asks. He's either completely ignorant of her discomfort or he's getting off on it. Knowing him as I do, I would put money on the second option. Fucker.
"It's just ..it's so beautiful at night. I don't usually get to see it like this," she says.
"Ah but tonight you aren't you," Fred soothes creepily.
She manages to keep her face neutral, looking pleased, but I can see the panic in her eyes.
We're closer by the second. "Sir, we're almost to the river," I announce.
"I'm going to have to ask you to get down," Fred says.
June looks truly concerned now. He ignores it. "Past the gateway, not even wives are allowed. Women aren't allowed," he explains.
He's right, it's only Martha's and women forced into prostitution past the river.
She settles down her head in his lap. I bite the inside of my cheek and taste blood. We pass the checkpoint quickly and she sits up.
"There now, was that scary?" he asks like he's talking to a child. "But a little exciting too, am I right? There is so much more excitement to come," he says, his voice low.
"I can't wait," she says, breathy from nerves.
We lock eyes for a second in the mirror, but she soon goes back to looking out the window.
I've seen and heard too much since I've been sitting in this driver's seat. I was even present when they concocted the whole handmaid idea. I think that was the first time I met Waterford actually. I don't remember the details, but I do remember Waterford asking me what I thought about it. I told him, what? I said, "Better not to form attachments."
He asked, "Better for whom?"
"Everybody," was my answer. I believe it then too. Not the handmaid shit, I've always thought it sick and twisted, but the attachments' part, that I've lived. I've spent years keeping people at arm's length. It's what is safest here. That was until the Red Van pulled up almost 6 months ago.
We arrive shortly after, and I'm letting the out of the car, and he's guiding her towards the back entrance of the whorehouse.
He tells her she's contraband and leads her like a lamb to her slaughter into the elevator. We get off in the kitchen and he takes off her cloak and hands it to me. She looks around, worry playing more clearly on her face than in the car. I meet her eyes for a second, and I feel like a piece of shit. I drove her here. I'm in part, culpable.
"I almost forgot," Fred coos, pulling a pair of earrings from his pocket. He holds them up to her like she's his own personal doll. I guess she kind of is, as sick as that is. "There, doesn't she look beautiful?" he asks me.
No, she looks petrified. "Yes, sir," I agree, looking down at the floor.
He leads her off down the hall, and I'm dismissed. I flee the scene. I find a broom closet. I pull the chain and step in. I stash the cloak and just stand there staring at the wall. I can't really breathe. And then I vomit, right into the slop sink. Hands bracing my weight, I lean over, letting my nausea subside. I run the tap to clear the sink and stick my head under the faucet for some water to rinse my mouth with. I stand here enraged and worried and sick to my stomach over what is about to happen to June. My breath catches in my chest.
There's a soft tap on the door before it cracks open. Beth sticks her head in. "Hey there," she greets.
I affix my Gilead face and turn around. "Hi," I return.
"You okay?" she asks, an eyebrow cocked.
I chuckle, blowing the laugh out through my nose, and push past her into the hallway. "Yeah, fine. Just been a week is all," I sigh.
She nods and purses her lips and follows me down the hall toward the kitchen. "Been a beast here too, must be a full moon," she says.
I drop down onto a stool and run my hands over my face.
"I was surprised to see your Commander's name on the list tonight," she mentions, pouring me a tall glass of her special blueberry lemonade over some ice.
"Yep, just decided this morning. The missus is out of town."
"When the parents are away the children will play," she says resting her elbows on the counter.
My eyes slide closed thinking of the "play" Waterford is after tonight.
"See he brought a guest," she states.
I grab the drink she poured and take a long drink.
"Who's the blonde?"
I set the glass down and shake my head. "The handmaid, who else?"
"Seriously? What the hell is wrong with him!" she says, exasperated.
"He's a fucking narcissistic pervert," I growl.
"Careful, listening ears," she warns, nodding towards the walk-in.
I take another long drink of the lemonade and empty the glass. "You got anything stronger?" I ask.
Her eyebrows quirk up. "Nick Blaine wants alcohol…like to drink not just a trade?" she asks, surprised.
She has the right to be surprised. I don't drink much and never when I'm on duty. I watched my brother and my dad struggle with the stuff, and I don't want to do that to myself. If I'm gonna die it won't be from a rotting liver. But I need a stiff drink tonight.
"Problem?" I ask.
She pushes away from the counter, "No, not at all. Just surprised," she says walking over to a cabinet in the corner and taking down a bottle of brandy and a glass. She sets them down in front of me.
I pour a couple of fingers' worth into the glass and toss it back. It burns and is bitter. "Ah," I cough.
"Sorry, all we have back here is the stuff I cook with. Didn't think you'd be likely to break into your trade stash," she apologizes.
I shake my head, "No, this is fine," I cough, pouring another round. A hand covers it before I can pick up the glass.
"Seriously?" she asks, clearly concerned.
I pick her hand off the top of the glass and toss it back. "Let me go out and get the stuff for trade," I say, ignoring the question.
The night is cold, but the shots I've taken warm me from the inside out. I gather the duffle bag, toss it over my shoulder, and go back inside. Beth is waiting for me at the table, the box of trade.
I go over to the box and start going through the offering. "There's brandy, scotch, vodka…"
"Good stuff too. Courtesy of our Russian visitors," she explains.
"You got hair dye," I say, a bit surprised.
"Their wives like their illegal chemicals," she shrugs. "Speaking of…"
I reach into my bag and pull out my trade. "It's all here. Oxy, Percocet, speed…pregnancy tests. What's the ketamine for?" I ask.
"Some of the guests have Sleeping Beauty fantasies," she says matter-of-factly. "But the girls use them too. They'll spike the guy's drinks and go through their phone after they pass out."
This place is fucked up. "They Eyes thank you for your service." I must not keep my disgust off my face because she asks, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I dismiss, then reach into my bag for the gift I've brought her. Wrapped in a towel is a large bunch of fresh basil.
She opens it and takes a long sniff of the stuff, her eyes rolling back happily. "Ah, thank you."
I like bringing her things. I couldn't do these trades without her, and she is one of the few people in Gilead I actually like. "Yeah, it's from the mistress guard. It's fresh."
"Stick around, I'll make you that pesto that got me a James Beard nomination," she says in a sing-song kind of way.
I couldn't eat now if I tried. "Another time," I suggest.
"Okay," she shrugs, taking another look at her gift, before closing the space between us. She slides her hand down from my belt to my crouch and cups me with a light squeeze. Sex isn't on my mind, "Not tonight," I say gently. Sex is just casual with us, but no one likes to be rejected so I do it kindly.
She's unfazed, "Oh, okay," she agrees, stepping back.
I turn and take my box of booze and hair dye and head for the exit to put it in the car.
"Pleasure doing business with you," she calls at my receding back.
Snuggly tucking the goods into the back of the car, I go back inside to wait. I shake out a cigarette and light it, letting the nicotine calm my nerves. I let out a long breath and look at the swinging door that leads out to the main room. I should just stay here, maybe change my mind about the pesto, but I can't. I push the door open and stand between the two, looking around to see if I can spot the Commander or June. My eyes catch her first, the wide expanse of her bare back glowing under the subdued lighting. I take another drag off my cigarette and watch as they call the elevator.
It started like this before, back with the first handmaid. He pushed and took until she had nothing else to give. In my head, I can still hear Rita's screams, and I can still see her lifeless body hanging from the light. I still feel the weight of her as I cut her down and foolishly looked for a pulse. I still bare the weight of the guilt of her death.
Suddenly, it's not the first girl in my waking nightmare, it's June. Her face is purple. Rita's streams are for her. It's her nonexistent pulse I'm searching for. It's her with Fred's hands all over her, claiming her as he owns her. It's her having to endure his body evading hers, him taking something she doesn't want to give.
I take another long drag and go back to the kitchen, kicking the door as I go. I disappear down the hall, finding a small alcove filled with chairs. I perch on one and let my chin fall to my chest. The cigarette is gone, I consider a second, but my stomach roils at the thought. Chain smoking is my pressure relief valve, but not even that seems like enough at the moment. I just want to go, I need to see with my two eyes that June's in one piece, at least physically.
The next hour is horrible. I pace, I do end up smoking despite the persistent taste of vomit in the back of my throat, and I pray, even though at this point it feels futile. Finally, I get the message that they're coming down. I retrieve the cloak and wait in the hall for the pair. I feel only the tiniest bit of relief when I finally see her. I help her into the cloak and we all head outside.
Fred looks like a cat who'd got the mouse. He has that air of someone who's just fucked. I want to punch him.
"Don't worry. We'll get you home before you turn into a pumpkin," he tells her as he climbs into the car.
June's eyes catch mine; they look so sad and worried. Pain stabs in my chest. I did nothing to stop this.
The drive home is quiet, having gotten what he was after, Fred relaxes into the back seat to enjoy the ride. June alternates between looking out the window to looking at me in the mirror. When we're home, Fred sweeps June into the house, after all, she'll need to wash, and he'll need to hide the evidence of his misdeeds before Serna returns in a few short hours.
I go home, but I don't sleep. So many thoughts tumble through my head. After several hours of sitting and staring at the wall, I give up and go over to the house. I put a kettle on the stove and stand over the sink, looking out the window while I wait. When I hear feet behind me, I freeze, but then I hear Rita's soft voice greeting me, "It's very early Guardian Blaine."
I turn around to look at her, she's already dressed for the day. I look at my watch and see it's already five.
"Long night?" she asks.
The kettle comes to a boil, and I pull it off the burner. "You want a cup?" I ask, holding the kettle up to her in way of explanation.
She nods.
I take down a second mug and drop a tea bag in it before filling both with hot water. I gingerly hand her, hers. For a long time, we stand in silence sipping our hot beverage. Rita breaks the silence. "He took her last night, didn't he?" she asks, her voice immeasurably sad.
A long, shaky breath leaves me, "Yeah."
"She, okay?"
I shrug, "In one piece, at least physically," I state.
I suddenly feel overwhelmed. I've been fighting it all night, but I can't anymore. My fist connects with the counter with a thud. "I can't…" I grind out.
Rita approaches cautiously. "She's stronger that the first," she soothes.
I look at her, desperate. "It'll….I'll…if she…I can't" I ramble, making no sense to myself and I'm sure not to Rita.
She squeezes one of my arms. "You won't have to, she'll make it. We can help her," she promises.
I want to believe her, but promises are hard to keep here.
A small tinny alarm goes off on Rita's wrist. She groans. "I got to go; I have to make breakfast for the McKinneys," she says.
"Another sick Martha?" I ask, this is the third in as many weeks.
She frowns, "She was, she ended up passing. A new woman is starting later this morning, but in the meantime, Kelsey from the George's and I are pitching in. I'll make breakfast and have the driver bring it by," she tells me, grabbing her cloak from the hook.
"You want me to drive you?" I ask, "It's cold out."
"No, it's only a few blocks, thanks though," she returns.
"Go in Grace," I tell her.
With a wave, she's gone.
The room is silent now, the only sound is my breathing. I think about what Rita said, "we can help her". I don't know how to do that from where I stand right now. I'm so close to it all, to her, there is no way I can be objective. The very thought of Fred touching her makes my teeth grind and my hands clench. I want her to be safe, but how can I do that if I'm just in a blind jealous rage? What I've had with June these past weeks is nothing like my arrangement with Beth. I am not able to put how it feels with her in a box and just pull it out when it's convenient. That makes me dangerous to her. I can't allow it anymore. If I want her to live, I need to back away. I hate this idea. And she's going to hate me too.
I straighten up, feeling a bit tiny bit of relief from having come up with some sort of plan. Now I just hope I have the balls to follow through.
I spend the morning, trying for focusing on my list of chores. It's a monolithic task, but at least it gives my idle hands something to do, but as the hours pass anticipation about the coming confrontation with June, turns to worry.
The sun is just rising when I hear the car in the driveway. Mrs. Waterford has returned. I make my way into the hallway and stand at attention.
Fred meets Serna at the door. They exchange pleasantries about her trip, and he has the audacity to say he was lonely while she was gone. I'm sent to fetch her luggage from the hired car.
I collect the hat box and bags and come in through the breakfast room. June is at the counter having her breakfast. My heart starts hammering in my chest. She smiles at me, showing me she is happy to see me. I'm not ready for this. I keep walking, no greeting…nothing. I'm an asshole. When I come back through the kitchen, I'm like a train on a track, not stopping for slowing.
"She home?" June asks.
"Yep," I mutter.
"Nick?" she calls, clearly aware of my avoidance.
I stop but don't turn back to look at her.
"See you later?" she whispers.
The very thought of seeing her in private makes my head swim, but I have to stick to the plan, I need to protect her…even if it's from me.
I don't respond, but I turn so I can see her from my peripheral. She looks confused. "Nick?" She says softly.
This is it, "We can't do this anymore." I tell her, and finally, have the nerve to actually look at her. That's a mistake, her face is drawn and disappointed.
I turn to leave, but she pulls me to a stop with my name. "Nick!" she whispers loudly. I should keep moving, but I can't deny her.
"You know I had to go with him last night, right? You know I didn't have a choice. I don't have any choices."
God, she thinks this about her being with Fred. I nod my understanding. June, it's not that, not in the way you mean. I'm not mad at you. No, you're perfect. I hate HIM. And I hate how I feel when I think about what he's doing to you. I hate that wanting to be with you could kill you.
"Why?" She asks, her eyes getting glassy.
Why? Why because…because I'm worried I'm putting you in danger and this isn't safe.
"You gonna talk to me?" she asks. "Talk to me," she pleads, standing up. My silence is hurting her, I can see it in her face, hear it in her voice. My heart squeezes painfully. "Talk…Talk to me, Nick!"
I'm a coward, I say nothing. I keep my feelings close to my chest. I can't reveal them, I won't.
"I don't know anything about you, you know. Nick, you won't tell me anything. So, I don't know anything, I don't know who you are."
But still, you manage to have a piece of me….
"Jesus, Nick. Fuck is this it?" she asks, becoming angry through gathering tears. "Is this it? Is this enough for you, this bullshit life? Is this what you want? You want to polish his car and once in while just try to get a Handmaid pregnant? Is that enough for you?"
No, it's not. "We're being stupid," I say, pushing forward. I soften my approach, "You know we're being stupid," I try to reason.
She sobs softly.
"It's too dangerous."
Her eyes glisten, "No it isn't."
"You could end up on the wall," and I can't live with that.
"But at least…at least someone will remember me. In this place…at least someone will care when I'm gone." A tear escapes and rolls down her cheek.
That's it though, you can't go. I won't allow it.
"That's something!" she sobs. "That is something."
She turns to leave, and I feel like my heart is being pulled from my chest. Why can't I let her go? I follow her. "Wait, wait, wait, wait. Hey, hey," I beg, pulling her to stop.
"What?" she cries.
I give up, "My name is Nick Blaine. I'm from Michigan," I tell her. An olive branch. I know it's lame, not enough, but I hold it out anyway.
But she's not having it. She's angry at me for hurting her. "Well, under is his eye, Guardian Blaine," she spits, then storms from the room.
I stand alone in the kitchen, looking at the spot she occupied. What the hell have I just done?