Page 1 of Resistant

Prologue

Brynn

The silence here is deafening; its soul-sucking emptiness leaves me depleted. Every slight sound, a sigh, the rustle of clothing, the tap of a shoelace as it bounces on the floor echoes, like the crescendo in a symphony of desperation.

The New Reform doesn’t allow detainees to touch or speak to one another. There are no casual pats on the shoulder, no friendly high fives, and no affection or intimacy.

The women here live in a constant state of frenetic stillness, and I am one of them. There isn’t a word that adequately describes what I see clearly on the other’s faces. I see their pain. I see their anger. I see their anguish. We have lost our freedoms, our voices, and our humanity. Many are here just because they were brave enough to speak out against the New Reform, or they worked for the Resistance. I’m not supposed to be here at all, but the camp is still better than the alternative I was offered.

I’ve been at the concentration camp for more than two years. Each monotonous day bleeds together from one to the next.

I escaped one cacophony of horrors outside the camp, only to find a new and improved version here inside. For now, I’m stuck here with no means of escape.

I swore to myself that I would leave the trade game behind me for good; a vile year of having men enter my bedroom night after night just so I could feed my family.

But last night, I was stripped naked, blindfolded, and forced into a long underground bunker by one of the guards. And I was terrified I’d be forced into some version of the trade game again.

I sat there, trembling like a cornered rabbit, telling myself to get a grip on my shit. Then, he entered the room, and I heard the metal door clang shut. I smelled soap and the sharp mint of toothpaste. His touch was gentle. He held me like he was afraid I would crumble apart without his arms. His skin was damp, and I could feel the hard muscle underneath. He pressed his chest against mine, and my heart thudded wildly in my chest. A small groan escaped his lips and I found myself sighing in contentment. It’s been more than two years since I’ve been touched by another human, and he felt like a god.

For the first time in years, I felt safe. And if I’m honest a little turned on. God help me, I liked it, a lot.

Sunlight, Passion & Giggles

Brynn

Three years earlier

A breath tickles my ear and I hear a familiar masculine chuckle as I watch my boys playing catch. I can sense his presence over my left shoulder. The comforting smell of earthy male and spice floats over to me and is replaced by the salty swamp on the breeze. My husband, Wyatt, gives a little tug on my ponytail. I sway toward him and the ice cubes in my glass tinkle together.

The late afternoon sunshine is tinting the landscape a hard yellow as it sinks into the horizon. Woods surround the back of the property. On quiet afternoons I can hear the fish jump, their splashes echo like a percussion melody in the swamp. It’s our little slice of heaven on earth.

I’m distracted from my moment of peace by my youngest son David. He dives for the ball and slides across the grass face first, leaving green skid marks on his chin, elbows, and shirt. He’s laughing to hold back tears, but I can see the pain on his face. He looks at me and his little chin wavers. Even from this distance, I can see the big tear drops forming and threatening to fall over his cheeks.

My heart trips in my chest, and I want to go to him and kiss it better. But he’s not my baby anymore, he would resist my mothering. He’s seven going on fifteen. Regardless, he’s old enough to have learned that Mama will hug him, but the pain will remain.

David has my wavy dark hair and his father’s whiskey eyes. He’s sensitive like me but has his father’s ‘I’m in charge’ attitude. He’s too thin because he goes and goes until finally in the evenings, he crashes hard. He exhausts us.

I watch as Nathan swings David upright, holding on to an arm and a leg.

“You okay David?”, he asks.

“Nathan, you did that a’purpose!” accusing his older brother of throwing the football so David would dive for it.

Nathan leans over and brushes the grass off his little brother and pushes his ball cap down over his eyes.

“Don’t be a baby. It’s football. C’mon, let’s try again.” He pats David on the back and flashes a grin.

“It was an awesome dive, David,” he calls as he turns away.

Wyatt’s trademark smirk erupts on Nathan’s face, and I feel a pang in my heart at seeing a kernel of the man he will be. He covers his smile with his hand, trying not to burst out laughing.

Nathan looks like a fourteen-year-old version of my father; tall, with dark blonde hair that I imagine will be brown before long. We both have the same witchy emerald eyes passed down from my grandmother. He’s got a square jaw and dark lashes a girl would kill for. He’s quiet, thoughtful, and more reserved than anyone else in the family.

Right now, he knows if his little brother feels put out, the game will end. I can’t blame him for placating David. It’s a beautiful afternoon. The weather is cool, but warm enough for shorts, and the bugs are blissfully hiding.

Wyatt fusses with the grill, it’s his turn to cook and I know I’ll be making payment later. It’s a standard game we play with each other. His gaze finds mine and he raises his eyebrows at me. His expression speaks to me, and my heartbeat escalates as his naughty intentions become clear.

I get a glimpse of his wrist tattoo which starts at his thumb and curls under his wrist. It’s a list of dates, curving around his wrist and up his forearm. Wyatt is not an outwardly demonstrative man, and his tattoo is an artistic representation of his devotion to his family. He wears the dates proudly, our wedding date, birth dates of our children, and the death of his mother. He’s added to the curved line over the years, clean crisp numbering with dots in between the dates.

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