Page 11 of Brood
Will’s shape is visible beneath the covers, and his dark hair and beard stand out against the white bedding. “I’m awake. You can turn on the lights.”
I reach over to the switch above my nightstand to turn on my bedside light, adjusting it to gold. Will hasn’t sat up yet, but he’s watching me from his pillow.
Unsurprisingly, I have no idea what he’s thinking.
“What time do you start work?” I ask him.
“Not until six. You can use the bathroom and get ready first.” He sounds polite, but he’s as unsmiling as he was yesterday.
He definitely hasn’t warmed up overnight.
Since he suggested it, I don’t question this reasonable plan. I stand, sucking in a small gasp at the pang of discomfort between my legs.
The aftermath of his penis stretching my vagina last night.
When I shoot a quick glance back at Will, his eyes are narrowed on my face. “You hurt?”
“No. Of course not.” Frowning, I make my way to the bathroom, struggling not to limp just slightly.
He must think I’m a complete incompetent. Or else he believes his penis to be such a powerful appendage that it renders all females forever changed in its wake.
Neither is true.
I’m fine this morning. And his penis is a penis.
Its only worthwhile use, as far as I’m concerned, is getting me pregnant.
Maybe I already am.
With that hopeful thought in mind, I rush through my morning routine, going to the bathroom and then washing up quickly before I get dressed. We’re only allowed one shower of ten minutes each day, and I save mine for after I exercise, so in the mornings I clean up with a washcloth instead.
I’m finishing the braid in my hair when I step out into the room.
Will has sat up, but he’s staring at the floor. His shoulders are slightly hunched.
“Okay, I’m done,” I say, processing a flicker of empathy. He looks burdened. Stressed. He’s probably missing Vanessa. My voice is gentler as I continue. “I’ll see you later today. I know it’s adjustment and not what either of us expected, but I’m sure we can make this work.”
He straightens. His eyes are narrowed in what looks like a glare. He doesn’t say anything.
“All right, then,” I say, irrationally hurt by the rebuff.
I finish tying off my braid as I leave, and I have to run to arrive in the kitchen exactly as the bell chimes the beginning of my five-o’clock shift.
* * *
It’s not until after eight that I get the chance to chat with Bella. We’ve finished preparing the egg wraps for breakfast, and there’s always a lull before we really get going on lunch rations.
I’m sorting through the selection of vegetables brought up earlier by the agricultural crew when Bella comes over to sit beside me. “So, how was it?”
Since I’m focusing on beans and squash, I’m momentarily confused. “What?”
“Last night. How was it?”
“Oh.” A self-conscious heat rises into my cheeks, but I don’t know why. Bella and I have always talked about everything. “It was fine.”
She arches her eyebrows.
“It was. Everything worked as it’s supposed to work.”
