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11

Jolie

“This is too heavy.”

Lauren grumbled from beside me as we carried heavy baskets of folded clean clothes to the men’s section of the shelter. Some of the other girls had spent all day yesterday scrubbing the clothing before leaving them to dry for Lauren and me to deal with today.

I wasn’t sure what I did yesterday. It was the strangest thing. I kept trying to remember what I did, but all I could remember was breakfast and then… blank.

This happened sometimes, though. My father said it was normal for women. Our brains weren’t big enough to retain every single memory, or something like that.

I returned my attention to Lauren. She was right. The baskets were heavy. I’d barely noticed the weight until she mentioned it, however. We’d passed Mason in the hall a moment ago, and at the mere sight of him, my head had turned dizzy and warm. I could’ve sworn a small scar on the back of my leg began to tingle and burn at the same time.

It was a scar he made with the cane a couple of weeks ago; a thin pink stripe across my pale skin which would probably fade in a few months. I’d managed to sneak into a room with a mirror to look at it the other day. I loved seeing it on me, and I didn’t want it to disappear. It reminded me of how Mason made me feel that night in the Penance room.

I didn’t know what to think of it yet. Good or bad, sinful or righteous… I was not sure. All I knew for sure was what happened. When he caned me, I felt something strange. Something different. Usually when the other men whipped me, I would end up experiencing an intense feeling of release. I’d feel lighter, purer, deeply satisfied with the knowledge that sin was leaving my body. But when Mason beat me, the feeling was something else entirely.

It was a warm tingling which started in my most private, forbidden areas. Soon it built to a heavy pressure inside me, one which left me breathless and soaked in sweat. It wasn’t because I was being beaten. It was because I was being beaten by him.

It all felt very similar to the illicit feelings I had when I touched myself to thoughts of Mason and that sinful book I had hidden in my pillowcase… except it couldn’t be illicit. It was an effect of Mason punishing me, which I deserved.

So it had to be good. That had only just occurred to me.

Did that mean God brought us together? Was he sending me signs that we belonged with each other as husband and wife?

It seemed right to think of it that way. After all, Mason kept showing up in my life, time and time again. It had to be some sort of sign.

I wanted to go to him and ask him if he really meant what he said before he beat me that evening—all those things about us knowing each other forever despite being apart so long—but I wasn’t allowed to spend time with him. He was still relatively new here, and my father didn’t like women speaking to the men all that often, even if they’d been here since the creation of New Eden.

Still, I had so many questions for Mason. Not just about us. How did he survive out there? Where was he when the Reckoning happened? What did he know about the Wastelands that our other men didn’t?

My mind circled back to the part where it thought of Mason and me as an ‘us’, and I let out a soft giggle.

Lauren turned to me. “What’s so funny?” she asked, brows knitted.

I didn’t need to look in a mirror to know my face was already scarlet. “I… I was just thinking about something that happened yesterday. Someone dropped something and it made a funny sound.”

“Oh, right,” she replied. Then she shook her head slowly. “It’s strange. I actually don’t remember yesterday at all.”

I felt bad for lying, because I could sympathize with the odd lack of memories from certain days. I wished I made some other excuse for laughing, but it was too late now.

We worked in silence for the next few hours, returning articles of clothing to their respective owner’s rooms. I was never supposed to feel envy, but when I saw the men’s suites, it made a twinge of pure resentment shoot through me.

They had so much. Enormous rooms. Beautiful furniture. Luxurious swathes of fabric. Marble-tiled bathrooms. Electrical devices and lighting.

How could our God be so unfair? Why would he give such wonderful gifts to the men while punishing women so much? I knew from His Word that we were responsible for all the sin in the world, but surely everything we endured was enough to earn us a light in our bedrooms rather than a candle. Or something to ease the load of our work for even a couple of hours a day.

With a sigh, I shook my head and tried to clear the negative thoughts from my mind. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. What on earth happened to me trying to be good?

“We should go to the church on our way back to our section,” Lauren said, snapping me out of my reverie.

“Why? Would you like to pray?” I asked. It probably wasn’t a bad idea. I should pray too, given my objectionable thoughts of envy.

“No. We need to check the schedule. Faith Formation is in a couple of days, remember?”

“Oh, yes.”

Faith Formation was a bi-weekly event for the young people of New Eden. Children sometimes had a hard time sitting through hours of prayer and sermons in the church, so during these evening events, we would all gather in a large common room and stage short plays for them. Not only did this engage and amuse the children, it also taught them valuable lessons based on His Word.

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