Life First: (Dystopian series, book 1) Page 11

  “Political savvy. The tide is definitely turning against your father over this, and Slate was afraid that if you somehow managed to hurt yourself in here, the tide would swing the other way. That your dad would spin it as people letting his pregnant daughter get hurt, and he’d appear more sympathetic. So, right now, Slate’s willing to give in on a guard, but he definitely wants you convicted and sent long-term.”

  I breathe out, praying some of the tension and stress I’m feeling will sail right out of me with that breath. No such luck, though. This is horrible news.

  “Kelsey,” Luke says. “We should probably cut the chatter for a bit. I want to get settled in, give the appearance of doing a good job. I’ll be here overnight. We can talk more at lights out, OK?”

  This is disappointing. Luke is here, just a few feet away, and we can’t speak or touch or even look at each other. “Just one thing before we go silent?”

  “Sure,” he says, tension in his voice.

  “Are you happy — about the baby?”

  “Immensely.” I don’t even need to see him. I can hear the thrill in his voice.

  Chapter 19: Yes

  Like the previous night, the lights go out at 10 p.m. Instead of feeling fear and anxiety, I feel pure bliss. Luke is here with me, and we can now talk freely.

  I sit up on my block. “Luke?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Come here,” I say, reaching my hands out, grasping at the air around me in hopes that he’ll walk right into my eager arms.

  “OK, but it’s dark. I can’t turn on my light, or they’ll see in the security room.”

  I hear his shoes clacking on the rubber floor, then I feel a hand on the shoulder of my outstretched arm. A joyful tremor passes through me at the familiar touch. It’s been fewer than two days, yet it seems like a lifetime. I reach my own hand up and take his in mine. His is strong, sturdy — and hairy on top. It’s also cool to the touch, probably because the room’s a little chilly. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I breathe out.

  “Me too,” he responds, giving my hand a squeeze.

  I scoot over on the block, making room for him. “Sit with me.”

  His fingers go rigid within mine. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “The guard in the security room can turn on the lights. Thanks to my Dad, I’ve taken care of the sound, pretty much. A closet near the monitoring room holds the circuitry that links the audio from each cell into the central hub. I manually pulled the circuits for this cell. If he hits the button, he won’t be able to hear us. He won’t leave his post to check it out without announcing it over the radio. So we’ll know if he leaves to check the sound closet.

  “But, he will be able to see us, Kelse. My father thought killing the light switch would be too suspect. Guards rarely want to listen, but they do like to watch. So, I probably shouldn’t have even come this close. It’s just, sometimes you thwart my better judgment.”

  I squeeze his hand tighter, not ready to let go. It feels warmer now, after just a few seconds of me holding it. Luke slides his hand out of my grip, and I can hear him step away. Then, a slight swishing followed by a thud. He has gone further away, but not back to the doorway.

  “Where are you?”

  “On the floor, next to your bed. Lie down, with your head nearest the door. You’ll be closer to me that way.”

  I do as he says, making sure I don’t fall, as the bed block is fairly narrow, only wider than a person by a few inches on each side.

  “So, how are you feeling?”

  “Truthfully?” I ask, but don’t wait for a response. “A little nauseated.”

  “Already?”

  “Apparently so.” I chuckle. “I’ve been feeling this way the past week, but I thought it was stress related. Now, I’m thinking not.”

  He drums his fingers on the rubber, but as it is pitch black. I can’t tell if it is the floor or the wall, or the base of my block he’s chosen to tap on. “You’ve felt this way for a week and didn’t say anything to me?”

  “It wasn’t anything that bad. It wasn’t worth worrying you with.”

  He exhales a long breath that sounds like a swoosh. I wish I could see his face. That way I would have a sense of what his long breath and silence mean. I wonder if he is brooding over me not mentioning the nausea. I wish I could light a candle, or there were a sliver of moonlight or hallway light able to peek through, so I could have even a silhouette to see.

  I could wait for Luke to say something more, but I’ve waited so long to talk to him, I want to hear him speak. About something. Something good. Happily, I ask. “So, who told you? About the baby, I mean.”

  “Your dad.”

  I can’t imagine that going well. “Was he mad about it?”

  “About me knocking up his daughter?” he chuckles. “If he was, he didn’t show it. In fact, he seemed pretty happy about it.”

  “I am too,” I say a little too loudly. I am giddy and it shows, even in the darkness. “I can’t believe it. I was so surprised when the doctor told me. I can’t even imagine the shock you felt. I bet you about passed out.”

  I wait for his chuckle, his, “me too,” his confirmation that he was as surprised by the news as I was. Instead, all I hear is his steady breathing. In and out, in and out. But no words. Slowly, the obvious sinks in: he had more of an inkling than I did that I could be pregnant.

  He speaks softly: “Remember the night after I proposed, the night we made up?”

  It would be hard to forget that night. After I put off his marriage proposal, he left, fairly upset with me. He went silent: no calls, no texts, no nothing, and I began to think I’d made a huge mistake. But, he came over the next night, and we talked. He seemed at peace with waiting until things were settled. And then he made love to me, the kind of lovemaking that seems to last an eternity and leaves you breathless for more, but too tired to continue. I smile at the memory and start to nod in response to Luke’s question, then I realize he won’t see me. “I remember,” I say.

  He breathes in again, deeper this time. “Well, when I was taking the condom off, it was broken. I wasn’t sure if I did it taking it off, or if it happened earlier. You were already stressed out about being marked, so I didn’t say anything.”

  My breath catches in my throat, and my body tightens with shock. He’s known it was possible. He’s known it and decided not to share it with me because he thought it would stress me out. “Why,” I ask, cocking my head to try to see him better in this awful darkness, though it is futile. I shake my head. “Why did you think I would be more stressed?”

  “Kelsey, after you wouldn’t agree to marry me, I wasn’t sure what to think. I thought for sure you were going to say ‘Of course I’ll marry you,’ and I was wrong. Devastatingly wrong. If you’d asked me before I proposed how you would have felt about being pregnant, I would have said you’d be surprised, and ultimately happy. After I proposed, I realized I didn’t understand you as well as I thought. I just didn’t know what you’d think. So, I didn’t say anything. I convinced myself I didn’t need to say anything. I mean, even if the condom had broken early-on, it wasn’t likely you were pregnant. Even if you were, I figured you’d find out in Peoria, and then you could make whatever decision you wanted about it. The laws would let you do whatever you wanted to there.”

  I can’t help but gasp. He thinks I’d get rid of our baby. A wave of nausea hits me. I turn back to the wall, finally glad for the darkness. I can’t face this Luke who thinks for a moment that I would do that.

  Not saying yes was a mistake, such a huge mistake. I let him down on that one question and after that he doubted everything else about me. To doubt that I would want our child. I feel so awful, I start to cry — low, soft sobs, hoping he won’t notice. In the absence of seeing, there is nothing to do in this room but listen to the noises.

  “Kelsey, are you crying?”

  I can’t respond. I don’t want him to feel bad that I am crying, but answering in the negative isn’t an opti
on either because I am, in fact, crying and can’t stop. A moment or two goes by and then I hear the shuffling of fabric and gentle thud of his shoes. Luke is standing over me, as I lie curled up on my cold, sterile block. “Scoot over,” he says.

  Through sobs, I manage, “What if they turn on the lights?”

  He sighs. “Then, they’ll think I’m molesting an inmate. It’s not the first time it’s happened.” It takes a minute, but I gain some composure — or at least shirk off the blubbering mess I’ve become — and do what I’m told: sit up and scoot over. Luke sits and wraps an arm around me.

  “I wouldn’t have done anything in Peoria that I wouldn’t have done here,” I say softly, though with conviction. I’m still fighting off the urge to cry, so I’m not sure how it sounds to Luke. I wipe my wet face with my hands, and try to see his face as I talk to him, but it’s still too dark.

  Luke leans in and kisses my eyelid. I’m not sure if that is the spot he intended or if his aim is affected by the darkness. “I know you wouldn’t have, Kelsey. At least, I know now. But I was unsure then. And not because I thought you didn’t ever want a baby. But, we were using condoms for a reason. Neither of us wanted a baby going in that night, and if you felt that way still, I didn’t want to stand in your way. Plus, I’ve seen enough of Dr. Grant’s patients to know that pregnancy is nothing to sneeze at. It can put you at tremendous risk. If you weren’t ready for that, I wanted to give you the space to make that decision.”

  “Luke, I didn’t need space. I wouldn’t have —“ I start, but he cuts me off.

  “Shh. Kelsey, I realize that now,” he says. He pats my shoulder. “I also realize that pregnancy is not necessarily easy. I’ve seen the complications Dr. Grant’s patients have. Some are very dangerous. I considered that maybe being pregnant, after what happened to your mother, after seeing her in her last moments like you did, that maybe it made you wary of pregnancy.”

  Luke always thinks of everything, considers every perspective. Perhaps, I should be more ambivalent at the prospect of pregnancy after what happened to my mother. But I’m not. The prospect of me, Luke and baby makes me happier than I’ve ever been. Yet he understands that it might not make me happy, and he’s able to accept that, too.

  Then it hits me, like being doused with cold water. “The baby, is that why you wanted to wait to come to Peoria?”

  He swallows, and the arm he has wrapped around me feels a little heavier now. He waits a few seconds before speaking. When he finally does, his voice isn’t the strong, sure Luke I’ve always known. It is an emotion-filled whisper. “Kelsey, I could understand — in my head, at least — I could understand the reasons you wouldn’t want to be pregnant. And I couldn’t begrudge you any of them or any choice you made about your body. But while my head could get it, my heart never really could, you know. I decided I would let you go down there without knowing, and I would come two months later. You know, if I showed up, and you weren’t pregnant, I could tell myself you never were. If you were, then I’d know that you were genuinely happy with the choice. What I couldn’t take was going down there with you and having you tell me a week later that you didn’t want to have our baby, that you were going to end the pregnancy. It was your choice, but I wasn’t prepared to face it: you not wanting to be pregnant. So I wanted the two months.”

  He pauses, takes a breath, then starts again. “That night when I got down on my knee and proposed, I would have bet my life that you were going to smile that beautiful smile of yours, wrap your arms around me and say ‘yes.’ I was wrong about that. You didn’t tell me ‘yes.’ You gave me an answer I didn’t expect at all. And that’s fine. I could take being wrong about the proposal. I couldn’t deal with being wrong about how you’d feel about a baby. So, I gave myself the two months.”

  I pull him tighter. “I’m sorry, Luke,” I say. “I’m so sorry I put you through that.” I’d been such a fool. I wish I hadn’t been. I shouldn’t have cared what his reasons were for asking me to marry him. Shouldn’t have worried about whether he would change his mind later. Luke is always there when I need him, and he’ll make a wonderful husband. He isn’t going to change his mind. He isn’t going to regret his decision. Neither am I. And I should have realized that when he asked me that night. But, it isn’t too late.

  “Yes,” I say.

  He caresses my arm lightly. “Yes, what?”

  “Yes is my answer to the question you asked me that night. I should have said it then.” He leans in and kisses me, his lips finding mine perfectly. “I’m sorry I made you wait.”

  “No, it was my fault. I should have known the perfect time to ask you would be in complete darkness in a holding facility while you awaited your hearing. Things are clearly much more settled now.”

  We laugh, and sit there holding each other. After a few minutes, Luke says we really shouldn’t live dangerously and he returns to his spot on the floor.

  Almost as soon as he does, the lights flick on. A beep emanates from Luke’s belt. I don’t look up to see exactly what he does, because I don’t want to draw attention to myself, but he must pick up his guard’s radio.

  “Geary,” he responds in a militaristic voice he’s never used with me.

  “Thomas here,” crackles the voice over the radio. “You OK in there?”

  “Yeah, just moved to the floor to keep a closer eye on her.”

  “Need the light on all night?”

  Luke laughs. “So the senator could claim we’re torturing his kid? No thanks.”

  The lights disappear. Just like that, blackness is back.

  “’K,” says the radio man. “I’ll check in later.”

  I wait a few minutes, then say. “Close one.”

  “Yeah, get some sleep, Kelsey.”

  I close my eyes, intent on obeying my fiancé’s request.

  Chapter 20: Javelina Boy

  I am groggy when Luke wakes me. It is still dark. Barely able to open my eyes, I feel his hand on my shoulder.

  “Lights come on in about 10 minutes,” he whispers, his breath warming my face. “I have to leave at 8 am, because guards can only work twelve-hour shifts. I just wanted to tell you good-bye. I won’t be able to later.”

  My mind manages to click on, to claw it’s way from the fog of sleep. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry,” he whispers, then pecks me lightly on the cheek. “I’ll be back tonight.”

  “Alright,” I whisper, but it’s not alright. I don’t want him to go.

  “I just want to let you know the day guard may not be so nice. Some of the guys who do this are assholes, OK? No matter what he says, don’t get upset. It would just give Slate more ammunition, alright?”

  “OK,” I say, not wanting to think a minute more about Luke leaving. “I’ll be fine.” I reach out and touch his shoulder reassuringly.

  “Alright,” he says, his voice more cheerful than earlier. “Go back to sleep, if you can. You need your rest.”

  I close my eyes, and, amazingly, fall right back to sleep. I am tired. When I awake, Luke is gone, as promised. The guard who has replaced him whilst I snored is short and rotund, with a face resembling a pig. Even though overtly high-fat, unhealthy foods are banned in FoSS, some people still overeat and don’t exercise enough. This guard is one of them.

  His complexion is ruddy and pink, and his bulbous nose has wide nostrils. He has little black eyes with wild, bushy eyebrows sprouting above them. When he sees that I am awake, he does not smile, wave hello, or even nod. None of the things I have been so used to in polite society. Instead, he looks me over from head to toe with complete disdain. He stands in the same spot as Luke, and I fear he chose that spot for the same reason as Luke — it is hidden from the camera. The man’s jowls quiver slightly, and I think for a second he is about to spit on me, but he merely purses his lips slightly and stretches his neck, as if stiff. Then he returns to watching me with his cold, wicked eyes.

  I look up at the clock. It is 8:50, and I won
der how I could have slept for 50 minutes with a man filled with such contempt standing so nearby. It radiates from him like heat — only it’s cold, chilling me to the bone. I stare at the ceiling, trying to ignore him, trying to forget he is there. I imagine how Luke would look changing a diaper. I mean, he is the baby of the family. Would he have any clue? Gosh, what am I talking about. I am the only child of my family. I’d have as little clue as he. We’d be ignorant together, fumbling around trying to figure it out. But, we’d laugh and enjoy it because we’d be in it together.

  I do not realize I have begun to smile, as my thoughts instinctively filter down to my face muscles. “Imagining how you’ll kill your baby, are you?” the guard says coldly. “Or is it someone else you’re imagining killing? Is that why you’re so happy.”

  I turn to look at him, wishing he would move out of Luke’s spot, tarnishing the one bright spot I have in this place. I remember Luke’s words: Don’t get upset. I say nothing, just put back to him, so I now face the wall.

  “You want to kill people?” he asks, his voice thick with venom. “Not just the people you deprive of life by running off, but others too?”

  I wish I could run over there and slap him across his face. I know it is violent and wrong, but I wish it right now. However, I do nothing. I say nothing. I lie still.

  “I’ve been a guard for 25 years. I’ve seen people like you before. Pretending you’re exercising some choice, some wonderful thing you deserve. But, all you are doing is being selfish. You’re a selfish whore is what you are.”

  He chuckles. Must be his idea of a fabulous joke, calling someone a selfish whore. “I hear you’re knocked up and not married. A real piece of work you are, Ms. Reed. Not fit to be the state’s first daughter. Do you even know who the father is? Probably some piece-o-shit, no good pro-choicer, too.”

  Luke told me not to get upset. I have failed. I am upset. However, I will not fail the spirit of the advice. I will not do something to make myself look any worse than I already do. I close my eyes and begin to hum, trying to tune him out. He speaks louder. “You know, my great-grandmother was the only survivor in her family. Twelve years old and the only person of the 100 close and extended relatives she knew to live through the pandemic. Entire family was wiped out. She thought life was worth saving. She made a video for her children to watch. Made them promise to show it to their children, and them to show it to theirs and so forth. She thought it was important that our family never forgot how precious life is. The world almost comes to a standstill. But, people keep surviving, we keep moving on. We keep struggling and living and striving to do right, to keep society alive. Finally, we get a world where people do everything to make sure each other can stay alive, and sick bastards like you come along to ruin it. Sickos like you come along and try to drag us down, drag us back to the brink of extinction.