The sun is just begun to creep across the dinged-up wood floor of my apartment, an indication that I really need to get myself out of bed. I've languished here for an hour since Offred disappeared out my front door. Looking up at the dingy painted rafters of my home, my thoughts travel back to earlier this morning. From my place propped up in bed, I had watched her go, her hair still loose and down around her shoulders as she crept across the driveway, up the stairs, and towards the house. She had stopped just outside the backdoor and looked over her shoulder up at my window. The simple thought of how she looked at that moment sends a smile to my face an hour later. She had looked peaceful, completely calm. She never looks like that, and the fact that I had a hand in putting it there, it's the best compliment I've ever gotten and she didn't have to say a word. My eyes slide closed as I play it over again against the back of my eyelids. Between that look and the naughty replay of the night before that fight for attention, I'm hard again. I sigh. Guess I could take care of that, but then again, I'm not ready to contaminate the memory of last night with a quick hand job just yet. I am, after all, going to have to live off them for a long time to come, because it can't happen again.
Last night was dumb and reckless. She's a handmaid and I could be salvaged for what we did here in the dark of night. Offred might make it, she's fertile and if we were caught I would take the full blame and say I forced her, but it would still be a gamble. Would depend on how forgiving Aunt Lydia was feeling that day. I don't want to put her in any more danger than she's already in, no matter how incredible our time together was. Plus, I did promise myself to protect her, I can't do that if I'm dead.
I roll out of bed and head for the shower, a cold one, I think. Half an hour later, I'm dressed in my usual black uniform, brushed, shaved, and appropriately cooled down. My stomach grumbles and I swear I can smell coffee from here. I head for the door but hesitate. I don't want things to be awkward, but ditching could say more than awkward silence would. It's not like I'm known for my chitchat. So I pull on my coat and head over to the house.
When I enter the breakfast room I'm greeted with the smell of fresh bread, and the sounds of voices chattering and planning.
Rita spots me and dodges 3 other Martha to bring me a cup of coffee. It's completely full to the brim. I raise an eyebrow.
"Extra coffee rations and extra Martha's, we havin' guests?" I'm surprised by this, I always get heads up on this stuff. Must have happened fast.
"Delegates," Rita says, a tense smile on her face.
A conversation I had with Pryce a few weeks ago surfaces, "Mexico?" I ask, taking a sip of the brew. It's rich and dark and not American. I smile and take another swallow.
"The coffee was a gift," Rita says looking pleased.
"Well, Praise Be."
"When you see the list the Commander and the missus has for you, you'll understand why I brewed it strong," Rita snorts. She reaches into the pocket of her apron and pulls out a sheet of folded paper and hands it to me.
I unfold it and choke a bit on the coffee I've just swallowed. Rita snorts but spots one of the day-hire Martha's pulling out her best frying pan. "No, not that one," she yells, the woman drops the pan and Rita cures under her breath. "I'd be better off on my own," she grumbles.
I hold out the list, "Trade ya," I offer.
This brings a smile and chuckle. "If I thought you actually knew the difference between crown roast and pot roast and I wouldn't lose a hand for reading that, I'd seriously consider it," she smiles.
I finish my mug of joe and hand it back empty to her. She turns and makes her way to the kitchen. "I got muffins for breakfast, and that one," she says pointing at a pinched-faced Martha in the corner, " will make sure your suit is pressed to perfection," she says.
"Thanks, Rita," I say genuinely. She nods and dismisses me to my own jobs.
I follow her into the kitchen proper, grab one of the corn muffins from the stack on the island and head off for chore #1: clear out the coat closet.
I bite the top off the muffin and pull open the door. It's a jumble of out-of-season coats and boots and a few broken umbrellas. I finish off my breakfast, toss the broken rain gear in the trash can, and retrieve a box from the garage. I fill it with boots and pile the coats and cloaks on top. Mrs. Waterford stops by to examine the empty closet. "I'll sweep it out once I've moved these," I state, gesturing to my box. She nods.
"You can put that in the closet in the hallway on the third floor. I will go through it next week to see what can be donated," she instructs.
I grab the box and work my up the back staircase. My stomach knots at the thought that I might run into Offred. I laugh at myself. What am I 16? The hallway is empty, and I deflate a bit. Nope, I'm not 16, I'm 14. I roll my eyes for my own benefit and head back downstairs. I do wonder, despite myself, where Offred is. Her room seemed quiet and letting her take the day off doesn't sound like something Serna Joy would do. I'm sure she is being kept busy wherever she is.
I pull the list out of my back pocket again and sigh a bit. I need to light a fire under my ass if I'm going to get this all done and get a shower, so I don't smell like a gym rat, when I take off to retrieve our delegation from the airport.
The next three hours are a flurry of cleaning out fireplaces, oiling hinges, cleaning windows, running rubbish to the dump, and is wrapped up with a full wash, wax, and vacuum of the car. The day has been busy, and it's kept my mind occupied…for the most part. There have been a few times when my thoughts have wandered off to replay the feel of silky soft skin or what my fingers felt like tangled up in long blonde trusses. I'm quick to put those thoughts away, however, knowing I need to be stronger than my base urges because, though I haven't seen her yet today, I know Offred will make an appearance tonight to meet the ambassador and I don't want to appear wanting. I'm resolved to put last night in a box. I will offer her my friendship because friends are all we can be going forward.
I've just started buffing out the wax when hearing my name being called. "Guardian Blaine?" I pop out around the side of the car and find a red-headed Martha standing at the bottom of the stairs with a sandwich wrapped in a napkin. She holds it out to me. "Ms. Rita said you should eat sir," she says softly.
I throw the buffing cuff on the hood and come over to grab the food. Ham with mustard, my favorite. I shove it into my mouth and take a huge bite. I'm starving. I chew for a second and the Martha, shuffles from one foot to the other. "Is there something else?" I ask around my bite of food.
"Just, that it's two-thirty," she says meekly.
I adjust my sleeve and look down at my watch. "Damn it," I mutter. I need to have the car finished, get showered, and be heading for the airport in 45 minutes. "Okay, and thanks," I say raising the sandwich at her. She drops her head revelry, as a good Martha is trained to do. "Rita put your suit in your apartment," she adds, then turns and nearly runs for the house. She's young, and I'm just another guardian to her, I'd run too.
I finish the sandwich off in two bites and go back to the wax. I finish in record time, but I'm dripping in sweat. I put my cleaning tools in the garage and head home. I have 20 minutes to wash, dress, and put on my very best Guardian persona before heading out to pick up the Waterford's guests.
I hate days like these. It's not the work, I don't mind working with my hands and putting in sweat equity, it's the mindless mute that I'll have to turn into to become the perfect Guardian required this evening. I'm a man of few words and I'm not one for emoting, but the mindless staring at walls, that gets to me. I'm not needed for my thoughts or conversation, just to make sure no one hurts my charges. Maybe tonight will not be so bad, I try to convince myself. Since this is my post, I will be heading up the security detail and that's something.
Deputy Ambassador Catillo and her assistant Mr. Flores are easy to find amongst the sea of black, gray, and teal. In soft yellow and charcoal, they stand out like the first flower that bloom in the spring. It jarring but refreshing to remember the rest of the world is still out there living their lives like normal people who have simpler choices, like picking their own wardrobe.
The two make pleasant chit-chat with me as we drive back to the Waterfords. They stick to the weather and the success of Gilead's summer harvest. They've done their homework. They ask me nothing personal, and Mrs. Catillo carefully keeps her eyes from meeting mine for what Gilead would consider "too long".
Delivered and properly installed in the study with the Commander and his guests, I do a quick check on the hired guns, ensure all the Guardians are clear on their patrol parameters, then make myself a fixture in front of the study, listening for any chatter on my earpiece.
Martha's flutter here and there carrying plates, tumblers, wine glasses, and bottles of my best-smuggled booze from room to room. The house is abuzz with activity. Quiet activity, but movement all the same. It's a nice change actually.
The clock in the parlor chimes six when she appears from the hallway. She joins me in waiting by the door to the office. She knows her role tonight. She smells of lemon soap, the kind we all use, but it smells different on her, almost floral. I glance at her profile; her skin looks supple and delicate in the soft light of the hall. "Blessed be the fruit," I greet.
"May the lord open," she returns as she always does when presented with the stupid greeting. I don't know if it's the tone of her reply or just the fact it's coming from the woman whos been dancing around in my head all day, but I feel my resolve being to slide. I look down at her, "How's your day goin'?" I ask, and I truly mean it, I want to know. Does she regret last night, or has she been thinking about it all day as I have? She looks over at me and our eyes connect, and she bites back a smile. Any resolve I had evaporates. "You look pretty," I tell her.
She smirks. "Thanks, I wore it just for you," she says in a low, kind of sultry voice.
My resolve to be "just friends" is a laughable distant memory and has been replaced with much more enjoyable thoughts. "You shouldn't wear anything for me," I tell her in a hushed voice.
She shuffles on her feet, and I see her eyes slide my way although she has them locked on the wall in front of her. We stand there in the tension, watching Martha's going to and fro. I can't stand this; being this close and not able to at her like I want to or have a real conversation with her. I'm desperate to connect, and that's when I realize my hand is only inches from hers. It's dumb, and so high school, but I can't stop it. My hand moves toward its target and is soon rewarded with warm, smooth skin. My fingers seek hers, and when I feel hers looking for mine, my breath catches, and I hear her exhale. My eyes close of their own volition as the electricity pleasantly works its way up my arm and then down through my body. I want nothing more than to taste her mouth again.
God, I'm an idiot, aren't I? I ask the deity seriously.
The sound of the door opening pulls me back to the present and the Commander standing in there in front of me. "Nick, bring her in," he instructs. Reality is harsh, bright, and ugly. This isn't just the soft woman who somehow ignites me, she is the handmaid, the walking womb. They want to look at her and examine her. A fertile woman is something to be ogled.
I'm resigned to the hall again, left to only pray for her as she surrenders to the wolves.
I've never been so happy to see Mrs. Waterford when she comes to collect me and asks to be escorted into the office to announce hors d'oeuvres. With a knock, I'm back in the room, and it's thick with something I can't identify. As the Commanders and Guardians filter out and towards the dining room, Mrs. Catillo pauses in front of Offred looking her in the eye. "Offred, thank you for your time and thoughts," she says generously.
"You're welcome," Offred says demurely.
The Ambassador doesn't stop there, however, she continues, "Might I ask, and my apologizes if this is too personal, but you have chosen such a difficult life., are you happy?"
My eyes go to the women, though I know I should be showing off my best 1000-yard stare right now. Is she serious? To think I was impressed with her understanding of Gilead etiquette just a couple of hours ago.
The room is tense and silent as Offred pieces together her response. It can't be anything but the approved language, an agreement that her life is just peachy, but still, I hold my breath thinking of the ways this household alone has abused her in the past months.
Her voice is tight, but it's the words she has to say, "I have found happiness, yes," she lies.
The rest of the night is a whirl of activity. Dinner, drinks, Martha's fussing about the house, and finally, the cars picking up Commander and I get to load up the Mexicans and drop them at the only hotel in town.
When I return home, the house is blessedly quiet. A plate covered with a towel is on the table, a gift from Rita for sure. I slip down into the chair and sigh. I'm tired. I toss off the towel and find crown roast, some asparagus, and au gratin potatoes. It's room temperature but it's the best thing I've eaten in months. I'm mopping up the remnants of my plate with a slice of bread when Mr. Waterford calls to me from his office. I sigh and throw my bread down on the plate and push away from the table.
The office door is open, and the Commander is in one of his leather chairs with a tumbler of brandy in one hand. This batch is one of the better ones I've procured and my mouth salivates a little. "Blessed evening, sir," I say, straightening my tie.
"Blessed evening, Nick," he says sounding tired and looking troubled. Guess bringing visitors to the zoo didn't go as well as he thought it would.
"Please go collect Offred," he says, standing and going to his desk. There won't be any brandy for me tonight, I'm only here to serve as his errand boy.
I climb the three flights, and each step seems harder than the next. I don't want to send her down there. Fred seems off tonight. His pride is wounded, plus the very thought of his hands on her makes my jaw clench painfully. He takes and takes, chipping away at a soul who doesn't deserve it. At her door, I let out a long breath and rap my knuckles against it before pushing it open. She's sitting in the window closest to me. "Hey," I breathe, happy to just be able to look at her face without worrying someone will see us.
"Hey," she returns softly.
I glance down the hall, making sure we're alone. Damn it. "Uh, he wants to see you in his office," I tell her.
She stands. "Okay," she sighs, clearly resigned to the fact that she is at his beck and call. This fact, though not new, makes my stomach roil. She crosses the room and is through the threshold when something kind of primal takes over my better senses. I push her against the wall and close the small space that exists between us. I look down into her eyes, they're dark and needy. I should go, back away, let her pass, forget the stupid thought that just came over me, but it's there and demanding. I want to mark her, lay my claim to her. Leave the taste of my mouth on hers when she goes into that office.
"It only makes it worse," she pants.
I know. I think. But I can't stop. I thought I could. I thought I was strong enough to just let it be a one-night affair, but I'm drawn to you like a magnet. I have no choice.
My thumb skims over her bottom lip, then moves to her chin where it pulls her mouth open. I take in the sounds of her heavy breathing, and I can resist no longer, my mouth seeks hers. The kiss is soft, but I can taste the passion that's rising right behind it. One hand caresses her jaw and chin, and her hands are in my hair, pulling at the mess of curls there before sliding down under my coat to grip my back as our mouths and tongues find one another again and again. I cradle her face with both palms, pulling her closer. Her tongue caresses mine without reserve. I want more than this, but common sense somehow descends on us both, and she pulls away. Someone is waiting for her; someone she can't stand up. She has to go. Her feet retreat down the hall and the stairs and I'm left panting and in need of another cold shower.
I lay staring at the ceiling as the clock slips into the early hours of the next day. I want to sleep, I'm physically exhausted from the past couple of days. The last full night's sleep I got was two nights ago. Shit, a lot has a lot happened in the last 24 hours! My thoughts have been decidedly on the events of the night before of course, but something else lurks there too. I don't want to look at it or deal with it, but that moment tonight in the hallway it's begging for acknowledgment. I shove the thought away and roll over onto my side. In the dark, I can see clear out my window to Offred's, and to my surprise, I find her perched in her window. I kick back the blanket and settle onto the bench so she can see me. I raise a hand, and she does the same. For a few seconds we just stare at one another across the yard, but then she lifts her hand, her pointer finger extended, and presses it against the glass.
Breath catches in my chest when I next see her sneaking out the back door and across the yard through the chilly autumn night. I abandon my perch and pull open the door before she can even knock. She steps in and I close it pressing her against it, as my fingers work the lock.
"You shouldn't be here," I tell her, my eyes roaming over her. She's only in a light slip, so showing way more skin than any woman on the street of Gilead does. It's intoxicating.
She looks up at me through her eyelashes. "Unlock the door and I'll go," she returns, her voice husky.
My eyes fixate on her mouth. I clear my throat and lean further into her.
"Hmm-hum," she hums, her lips pulling into a smirk.
I can no longer play this game and decided I'm fine with losing. My lips capture hers and my hand on the lock finds a place at the back of her neck tangled up in her hair. The mint of her toothpaste is fresh, making my tongue tingle. "You taste good," I mummer against her mouth.
I feel her lips lift into a smile and she kisses me deeper, letting her hands slide around my waist, and find their way under my t-shirt. She pulls back after a minute to catch her breath, "I've just brushed my teeth four times, was trying to get the taste of him out of my mouth," she admits, a glimmer of pain in her eyes at the admission. I know this is her reality, but it pains and angers me in a way I didn't think it could until now. I drop my lips to hers again, placing a tender kiss on them. I want to ease her pain. If this is all this is for her, I'll gladly do it. Her head falls back against the door, and she sighs, "This is definitely helping," she purrs.
"Glad to be of service," I mumble against the skin of her neck. She chuckles low her chest and it buzzes against my mouth. It's an incredible feeling. I lavash her neck and ear with my tongue and nip her soft flesh with my teeth, carefully though, there can't be any evidence that any of this is happening. A hand slides down from her jaw to cup her breast through the thin fabric she's wearing. I'm literally itching to touch her skin, but I want to let her have this on her terms. So much of her life and her sexuality is about what men want.
It isn't a long wait for her, I've barely begun to trace her other ear with my mouth when her hands begin pulling at my clothing and she starts pushing us toward the bed. The next hours are tender, demanding, and exhilarating as we learn about each other's bodies. I relish the opportunity to learn what makes her hum and what makes her have to bite her lips to hold back shouted expletives.
Later, when we're tired, she lies curled against my chest as I let lazy fingers traverse the expanse of her back. She stifles a yawn. "I set an alarm when I got up for the bathroom a bit ago, go to sleep," I suggest.
"I don't want to, I want to do more of what we just did," she says with a yawn.
I chuckle, "The spirit is willing, but the body is weak?" I ask playfully.
She bites back another yawn, "Something like that," she returns, snuggling deeper into my side.
She's quiet for while, long enough that I think she may have fallen asleep so it surprises me when she speaks again. "I wasn't going to come back here," she confesses as her fingers make lazy patterns across my chest and stomach.
"Hmmm, what changed your mind?" I ask.
I feel her one shoulder rise in a shrug, "I guess I just like how I felt with you," she says softly.
"I convinced myself it wouldn't happen again either," I tell her.
She looks up at me from her spot resting on my shoulder. "Why did you let me in then?"
I look down into her eyes, even in the dim room, they are bright and shining. "Because I touched your hand in the hallway," I admit.
She laughs at this, "Nick, you're easy ."
I chuckle, "Most men are," I quip before getting serious, "Truthfully?" I ask.
She nods.
"I didn't want to be alone," I admit.
This seems to be an acceptable answer. She smiles and places a soft kiss on my collarbone before returning to rest her head there.
"Go to sleep," I instruct.
"Or you'll report me?" she asks, her voice already sounding drowsy.
"Neither of us can live on sex alone, we haven't slept in two days. Go to sleep." And with that, we both drop off into dreamland.
When the alarm I set trills, I wake to find Offred, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to my low bookcases, a blanket wrapped loosely around her. She is studying the items there. Records, some old national geographic, some books. I roll over onto my side and raise an eyebrow at her. "What are you doing?" I ask curiously.
She shrugs, at lets her fingers trail over the spines of the books. "Just trying to figure out who driver Nick is."
I give a signal chuckle. "And?"
"He likes military tactics books and jazz and blues," she says smiling over at me.
I lean over the bed and open the drawer on my nightstand, "This is where I keep pleasure reading, those others are Gilead issued," I say.
She scoots across the floor and looks down into the drawer at my half dozen or so books. "You going to report me for looking at these?" she teases.
I roll my eyes, "Like that's the biggest issue here," I laugh, trailing my finger along a bare shoulder. "If you see something you'd like to read, help yourself. I'm not sure how often you'll be able to indulge, but you're welcome to them. If there's anything specific you'd like, let me know. The selection is limited but I can see what I can do." I offer.
She looks at me a little shocked, then a smile pulls on her lips. "I was fine with just reading the military books if that was all that was up for offer," she teases, lifting a battered paperback of The Moon is Down by John Steinbeck. She flips it over and reads the back. She raises an eyebrow and snorts, "More war?" she asks, a little disdain in her tone.
I shrug, "It's Gilead."
She puts the book back and climbs back into bed with me, capturing my mouth in a sultry kiss. "I don't know if I'll be able to concentrate on reading, you see there's this weird guy who keeps staring at me in the library," she teases. I flip her over and begin peppering kisses on her neck. "Sounds like a creep," I mutter, lapping at her skin.
Her shoulder rises under my administration, "Kinda, but he's really hot," she says matter-of-factly. The snooze function on my alarm goes off again, and I sigh and drop down on the bed next to her. She looks over at me and peeks out the window, towards the house. It's still dark, but the sun will start its ascent very soon. "Think I have time for a shower?" she asks wistfully. Her room in the main house only has a tub, I can only imagine what a pain in the ass that is.
"As long as you don't take long, yeah."
She stands up, leaves the blanket behind, and walks toward the bathroom. She stops just short of the door and looks back at me. "Well that all depend on you doesn't it?" she asks, her eyes sparking with desire.
I require no further encouragement. In under a minute have her pinned against the shower wall.
Later that morning, once showered for a second time, shaved, and dressed, I make my way over to the main house for breakfast. Rita's sitting at the table in the breakfast room, nursing a cup of tea.
"Good morning," I greet happily, heading for the coffee pot. I can barely keep a stupid smile off my face this morning. Funny how a simple shower can really put a good spin on the start of the day, I think, flashing back to the brief but intense interlude in the shower with Offred, just a couple of hours ago.
I'm pouring my cup when a kitchen timer goes off. I know it's for bread, I can smell it. I wave at Rita to finish her tea and take the twin loves out of the oven and set them on a cooling rack.
I grab a day-old slice from the bread box on the counter, a pear, and my coffee mug, and join Rita at the table.
"Thanks," she says, rubbing her wrist.
"Carpal tunnel acting up again?" I ask knowingly.
She nods and sighs. Gilead isn't one for pain meds so she just suffers.
"I know a Martha who swears by this balm she concocts; you want me to get you some next time I see her?" I ask.
She smiles gratefully. "Yes, or the recipe would be okay too," she clarifies.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, as I slowly consume my breakfast.
Rita clears her throat and I look up. "So, ummm when you get a chance, I think there are some loose floorboards in the 3rd-floor hall, and uh…the windows and doors all need oiling. They squeak like stuck pigs," she says.
This is clearly a message. What does she know? I sure as hell can't ask her. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
She stands, takes her cup in one hand, and places the other on my forearm. "Just be careful. Those doors weigh a ton. Don't want to you to get hurt."
I look up at her astonished.
"Eat, Mr. Waterford said he wants you to pick up the Ambassador at 9 am."
And that's it. She goes back to the kitchen and starts to fill the sink to do dishes.
The rest of the day is just a day of cleanup for Rita and I. All the fine dining ware gets washed and boxed and stored. The entire first floor requires sweeping and mopping, and the parlor and dining room are given a full once-over to ensure it's all back in order. Offred has been dismissed from this labor, she needed at the Gilead Government Center to prep for a fancy dinner being held for our Southern guests.
I drop the Waterfords off and meet up with Pryce. He assigns me to perimeter duty. Once I hear Serna Joy's planned demonstration of Gilead's biggest cash crop, I trade a favor owed to me for ballroom duty. I know I can't say anything or even really look at her, but I want to be in the room when the silent horror is revealed. The children are presented, and my jaw tightens, and my teeth clench. When I joined the Sons of Jacob no one ever said anything about selling sex slaves to other countries, but there are so many things no one ever disclosed. The only good thing about tonight is that it wraps up promptly at 10 pm so we are all home by 11 pm. I have no nighttime visitors tonight. I hope she was able to collapse into bed as soon as she could and that Fred hasn't begun setting up his own after-hour activities. As much as it pains me to bring her to them, at least I can monitor the aftermath if I know about it.
The next day is a slower pace, consisting mostly of a series of trips with the Ambassador, Fred, and a couple of other commanders, culminating in a final dinner at one of the two restaurants in the area that is suitable for this level of clientele. Finally, a trip to see our guests off at the airport.
It's already well past the time the household is usually in bed when we get home. I watch Fred disappear into the house as I smoke a cigarette on my steps. Offred's lights are out. Probably asleep. I finish my smoke and go inside. I strip out my coat, shirt, and tie and sit down on the end of the bed I'm tired, exhausted actually, but it always takes me a while to wind down before getting into bed. I reach over and pull open the drawer and take out the novel Offred inspected the other morning. I go over to the bench, prop my feet up and lose myself in the pages.
When my door opens and Offred appears, I'm surprised. I thought her long asleep. I look over at her, she's clearly upset. "Hey," I say.
She doesn't respond, doesn't really look at me, just wanders in towards the bed. "Hey, what's going on?" I asked, getting a little concerned.
She begins to pace, her breath labored. "I should've said something. I should've said something. I should've told her. I should have told her what they do to us," she pants.
I shake my head a little. "You're being too hard on yourself. You were in a room full of Commanders." I point out.
"No, I should've… I said I was happy," she sobs, "I said I was happy!"
I know. "What choice did you have?" I ask pragmatically.
Tears shine on her face, and she starts moving for the door. "I can't be here. I can't be here," she announces.
She can't leave in this condition. Someone might notice and that won't be good for her. I stand up and follow her across the room. "Sit down for a second," I encourage.
She's shaking her head, "I can't. No, I can't," she cries.
I put a hand on her arm, "Talk to me. Hey," I plead, trying to lock my eyes with her, but she refuses to look at me.
She pulls away from my grasp, "Don't." she warns.
"Offred," I call, trying to get her to look at me.
"If they find us here. If they find us hear…"
"Offred," I call again.
She paces again, "If they find us together, I'm gonna get sent to the colonies. You're an Eye," she says, shoving at my chest, "You're untouchable."
I shake my head, "It's…that's not true," I tell her. The version of my death might look different than what they would do to her but I'd end up just as dead if they found out about us.
Her worry turns to anger, "Fuck you, Nick! Fuck you!"
I stand silent, I let her speak her truth. "They don't rape you, do they?" she asks, through tears and frustration. I don't attempt to remind her of what happened with Serena, I know that isn't what she means. "He doesn't come in here once a month read you a little scripture and stick his cock up your ass! I said I was happy!" she yells.
I approach her cautiously, my heart rendering again faced with her pain. At some point will there is anything left of it, I wonder. "Offred," I say gently.
"Don't call me that!" she yells.
I stop in my tracks. Fuck, you're an asshole. Of course, her name isn't Offred. I've known this woman for months and I've never asked. I'm a fucking prick.
"It's not my name!" she sobs.
I take a single step and she draws back. "Can I get you a glass of water?" I ask. A peace offering.
She nods her consent and I go to the fridge and pull it open. I fill a glass from the pitcher.
"It's June," she says quietly. "My name is June." Her forbidden name. June. I turn towards her, playing the name over and over in my head. This moment is the most intimate one we've ever shared. It's one thing for her to share her body with me, but her name, here in this place we live it's something special. They take everything from a handmaid, this is all they have left to horde for themselves. I do not underestimate what telling it to me costs her. She's just given me a gift.
I make my way across the room, taking in her tear-streaked face. I stop a few steps from her and look into her eyes. "It's nice to meet you June," I say, testing the name out. It's sweet on my tongue. I like it.
She looks down and tears flow fresh, and I reach out to cup her jaw. She allows it, kissing my palm. I pull her small frame against me and cradle her head with my free hand. She wraps her arms tightly around me and lets go.
She doesn't stay the night tonight, and there is nothing more between us than her letting me hold her while she puts herself back together so she can go out and fight again tomorrow. When she leaves, I press a kiss on her forehead, and she sighs.
"See you tomorrow," she says, stepping outside.
I nod and watch her as she descends my stairs. "Please try to get some sleep June," I call after her.
She turns back, her face bathed in moonlight. She smiles softly up at me, "Yeah, you too Nick."