Page 54 of Brood
He smooths my messy hair back from my face with the damp cloth. “No, you’re not.”
He’s not wrong, so I don’t bother arguing.
* * *
Pregnant women in the Refuge are treated like royalty, so my work shifts have been cut in half since my pregnancy was confirmed.
I work only two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon, and even that feels like too much a lot of the time.
Today, I don’t go to the kitchen until seven thirty, and I can still barely make it two hours. It feels like I’m going to fall over. Bella fusses, insisting I sit down as I work and sneaking me a small bag of crystalized ginger she made for me.
There is nausea medication that might help, but I’m not allowed to take any sort of medicine while I’m pregnant. Dr. Cameron explained that any of it might potentially harm the baby. He wouldn’t want me to even chew on the ginger, but Bella says it was the only thing that saved her during her one pregnancy.
If no one else knows, they’ll have no objections.
I was hoping to start working longer shifts soon, but at nine thirty, I’m forced to admit defeat. My stomach is churning again, and I can barely stand. I trudge my way back to our quarters.
I’m throwing up again twenty minutes later when I realize Will has returned for some reason. He’s gone back to exercising and showering midmorning like he did originally—since there are no more extra sex sessions in the afternoons—but he never shows up for his shower until after ten.
He’s here now, though. Just in time to hear me vomiting.
My hair is better contained in a braid this time, so he doesn’t have to hold it back. When I’m done, he flushes the toilet for me and leans over to help me to my feet.
I collapse on the cold floor, too exhausted and devastated to even cry.
“Come on, love,” he murmurs thickly. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
“I…can’t.”
He’s strong enough to pick me up if he wanted, but if I don’t cooperate, it’s awkward and difficult. He hesitates for a moment. Then goes to wet another washcloth and sinks to the floor beside me.
He pulls me over so my head is in his lap and starts wiping my face again.
I sniff. Shiver. Try to summon the energy to get up so I’m not sprawled out like this on him, but there’s nothing inside me that’s strong enough to do it.
The truth is that his hands and his body feel better—safer—than anything has in months.
“I wish you would trust me again,” he says softly, that gravel in his voice that proves he’s feeling something.
I whimper. Try to tighten myself into a ball, but he won’t let me. He strokes down my neck with the washcloth.
“I keep thinking about that day,” he says. “I think…I don’t know. They must have done it on purpose.”
I jerk. “What? Who? Done what?”
“I can’t stop rehashing that terrible day in my mind. Over and over again. And I can’t help but… They must have. They did it on purpose.”
“Did what?”
“If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone. Not Danny. Not Bella. No one.”
“Okay. I promise.” My stomach is still roiling, but I’m too distracted to be conscious of it. I reach up to grip the soft fabric of his shirt.
“Brody sequestered the council meeting that morning. For no reason at all.”
I know what it means to have a meeting sequestered. No one is allowed to enter or leave until it’s over. Guards get posted at the doors to make sure of it.
“The meeting was sequestered, and then it ran hours longer than it should have. There was nothing covered that required that kind of time or security. But it stopped me from getting to the appointment.”
