Page 59 of Brood
“You okay?” he mumbles as I clumsily arrange myself on my right side—the only sleeping position that’s remotely comfortable for any length of time.
“Yeah. Just peeing. Again.”
Although I try to keep the deep frustration from my tone, he must hear it anyway. He scoots close to me, fitting his front against my back so he can spoon me. He strokes the curve of my belly for a minute and then keeps his hand resting there.
“Must be asleep,” he murmurs after a minute.
“Yeah. No kicking for a couple of hours.”
He nuzzles my hair. He’s fully awake now. I can sense it even though his body is completely still.
“Sorry I woke you up.” I glance over my shoulder at him.
“I don’t care.”
“But you have to work.”
I haven’t worked at all in more than two months. While I believe I’m capable, they won’t let me. For five weeks now, they haven’t let me exercise or go eat in the dining room. They bring my meals here and expect me to lie around doing absolutely nothing.
I hate it.
Never in my life has it felt like the walls of the Refuge are closing in around me the way it’s felt for the last month.
“It won’t be much longer,” he says in that same gruff but oddly soothing voice.
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “But then they’ll take Bun away from us.” I cover his hand on my belly with one of mine.
We’ve been calling the baby Bun for months now after Will told me a pre-War joke about having a bun in the oven. Dr. Cameron knows whether Bun is a boy or a girl, but he won’t tell us.
It’s not our concern, he explained. Our only responsibility is to conceive, bring to term, and breastfeed until the baby is ready for solid food.
“They won’t take Bun right away. You’ll have to nurse for a long time.”
“I know. But they won’t let us keep Bun with us.”
I’ve always known this is our reality. The way things work best. They way they have to be. And it hasn’t been until these past months when it’s occurred to me to want it otherwise.
I don’t know this baby yet, but Bun is mine. Ours. No one else’s.
“We’ll figure it out. Maybe I can get them to give a little.”
“We have to be careful. They can’t know we disagree with the rules here, or we’ll both be in trouble.” I grab for his forearm and hug it to my chest. “You’ll be in danger.”
If I’m able to give birth to a healthy baby, my own life and health will never be in danger. Will might be useful to the Refuge for his technical knowledge and leadership abilities, but he’s still disposable. If he becomes more trouble than use to Brody’s group, they won’t hesitate to get rid of him.
Then I’ll get trapped with someone terrible.
The very idea nauseates me, but even that’s not as strong as the devastated panic that overwhelms me at the thought of losing Will.
Ever since he confessed the truth to me, it’s been like this. We’re together in a real way—close to each other—but only in our quarters. To the rest of the world, we’re appropriately detached. The good, dutiful rule followers we’ve always been.
“Promise me you won’t take any risks,” I continue when Will doesn’t respond. “Promise me, Will.”
He nuzzles my hair. The crook of my neck. “I promise. I won’t.”
I blow out a long breath. Intentionally relax my body so random muscles don’t cramp up. “Thank you.”
I’m still hugging his forearm, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He snuggles me closer to him. “We’re going to be all right. I’m going to take care of us.” He pauses. “All three of us.”
