Beyond His Control

by Wild, Clarissa

  I giggle again. “That’s normal. It’s just a trolley pulling us up.”

  “A what?”

  “Like a bucket being pulled out of a well,” I explain.

  It’s as if the light switches on in her brain. “Oh. Well … that makes sense.” She immediately stops clambering for the walls and stands up straight, and it only makes me want to giggle more.

  “Stop it,” she says.

  “Is this how you felt when you saw me stumble in the community?” I ask, raising a brow.

  The doors open, and I walk out, but she shoves me a little. “Still sassy as ever.”

  I throw her a cheeky smile before walking through the hallway and knocking on a door I’ve not knocked on in a very long time. When the door opens, a very mystified apartment building owner stares at me.

  “Wilbur … Hi,” I say, waving when there’s no response. “I’m back.”

  “Natalie?” he mumbles. “I thought you’d moved out of the country?”

  I don’t know how to answer that one. It’s a lie Noah told him, but I’m not ready yet to tell anyone what really happened to me, let alone the man I rented an apartment from.

  “I … did, and now I moved back,” I say with a stupid laugh. “I was wondering if you still kept my apartment intact, like I left it?”

  “Ah … yeah. No one seemed interested in the apartment. They all said it was too much work,” he says, opening the door a little farther.

  “Could I possibly rent it from you again?” When his brows furrow, I add, “I promise, I’ll pay back whatever I still had due with you. I’m a little tight on cash right now, but I’m working on it, and I’ll get it to you as quickly as I can.”

  He raises his hand. “It’s fine. Some guy already paid it off for you.”

  I frown. Could it have been Noah?

  “But I do want an advance for next month in case you bail on me again,” he says. “I’ll give you three weeks.”

  “Got it,” I say. “I’ll do my best.”

  He throws us a mistrustful glare before turning away and fiddling in a closet somewhere next to the door. He fishes out a key. “Here you go.”

  I snatch the key, saying, “Thank you!”

  Then I spin on my heels and walk in the opposite direction up a flight of stairs while Emmy quickly follows.

  There’s my door, my apartment, straight ahead.

  I blow out a breath and march toward it with the key in my hand. But the closer I get, the more my hand begins to shake. With every step comes more tremors until my entire body shivers too. Even though I’m right in front of my door, I can’t bring myself to stick the key into the lock.

  All I can do is stare at the wood and imagine the world of pain that lies beyond.

  I can’t face it all alone.

  It’s as if I’ve been holding my breath all this time, walking this way in a trance, as though something otherworldly pulled me back to my old life. But standing here now makes me question my sanity, my reality … my life.

  I place a hand on the wall and lean into it as the tears begin to fall. They pour out of me as my face scrunches into an impossible, visceral emotion.

  I’ve come all this way … only to break down right in front of the goal.

  The cry that emanates from my body isn’t one I recognize, but I feel it in my bones. It’s a cry of suffering, a cry of immense injustice, and a cry for the person I once was … who is now gone forever.

  Trauma does something to the mind. It changes people from within. It molds us to become a newer version of ourselves, so like a lizard shedding its tail, I’ve been reborn. But not in a way I ever expected, and it terrifies me to the point of being frozen to the ground.

  Suddenly, two warm hands wrap around my waist, covering me with love and acceptance.

  Frizzled hair tickles my skin, and lips draw closer to my ear. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here.”

  Emmy.

  I forgot she was here.

  She’s kneeled on the floor right beside me, and she pulls me into her embrace and places my head against her chest while softly shushing me as I cry out all the tears I need to shed.

  “You’re not alone. You’re going to be fine,” she whispers, patting my back. “You can handle this. You’ve been through much worse. You’re a warrior Natalie.”

  She’s more than I thought she could be.

  I lift my head and wipe away the tears. “See? You can do it.”

  I nod and brush aside what’s left of my agony, letting it slide off my shoulders.

  It feels good to know someone’s here, and that I’m not alone in this, even if it is … Emmy. Maybe we don’t choose who we need the most. They just happen to be there when the time is right.

  Sighing, I lean back, and say, “I’m okay, I think.”

  “You sure?” She raises a brow.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I have to be.” I get up and pat myself down. “I can’t waste time on falling apart.”

  After taking a long, deep breath, I stuff the key into the lock and open the door to my home.

  It’s dry and dusty inside, but everything’s still the same as the way I left it, even my furniture and stuff.

  “Wow …” Emmy mutters, walking around. “Is this … your house?”

  “Yup,” I reply. “Before I was taken.”

  She gives me an awkward smile. “It’s lovely.” She looks at the television and cocks her head. “What’s that?”

  I grab the remote and turn it on. She immediately jumps back. “Natalie! There are moving people inside that thing!” She grabs the television and starts inspecting it up close, checking the back to see where the little people are.

  I laugh. “No, they’re not really here. It’s a transmission.”

  “A what?” she asks.

  “They send signals from far away to this box, and then I get this image,” I say. “It’s called a television. It has shows and news and stuff like that.”

  “So there are no people stuck inside?”

  “No,” I say, covering my mouth to stop more laughter from spilling out. “It’s not a tiny suffering hut.”

  “Oh …” She breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. I was starting to worry.”

  “Did they ever put you in there?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “A friend of mine did, though. She got kissed by a boy who wasn’t her husband. She said they slapped her with a stick, and it was the worst experience ever.”

  I nod. “Sounds about what I experienced.”

  “I’m sorry they put you through that,” Emmy says, clearing her throat.

  I lick my lips, and say, “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “But it was,” she says, approaching me. “They put you there because I pushed you to your limit and made you hit me. It’s not fair.” She grabs my arm. “I wish I’d understood it back then. That I knew about this place. This … vast world.” Her eyes sparkle with joy.

  It’s hard not to smile. “Now you know,” I say. “And there’s so much more for you to see.”

  She smiles from ear to ear now. “I want to see it all.” She walks to the window and slides the curtains aside. “It’s so beautiful here, and there are so many lights everywhere.”

  She continues staring out the window while I grab a glass from the cupboard and pour myself some water. After coming all this way, I’m thirsty as hell, and I’m pretty sure whatever’s still in the fridge has wasted away.

  Maybe I’ll do some shopping with Emmy tomorrow. She might enjoy that.

  We only have a few more bucks left, though, so I have to be careful not to spend it all. I should go search for a job so I can support us. Maybe she’d be able to work too, though I’d probably have to help her understand how things work.

  So many things to do, and I’ve only just gotten back.

  I shake my head and go toward the bathroom to freshen up. However, I stop in my tracks the moment I come face to face with the door again. That same door that
used to bother me so much.

  My hand hovers over the door handle; my heartbeat steady as I stare at the wood. I’ve already been through so much … I can do this too.

  With swiftness, I push it down and open the door.

  There it is … the room that was once my personal nightmare.

  On the walls hang several pictures of colorful butterflies and twinkling stars with a matching closet in the back of the room. To the right is a changing station and to the left, a crib.

  I sigh and stare at the abandoned room that’s been untouched for so long I don’t even remember when I last set foot in here. All I know is that it was before … before Noah took me to the community … before Steve left me … before my baby died.

  I walk into the room and close my eyes, saying a prayer to myself.

  This is where I left all my hopes and dreams. Where my heart shriveled and dried up. Where all my wishes turned into dust.

  My hand instinctively reaches for my scar, and I rub my belly. It was too hard to face the truth, so I opted for ignoring it altogether. If I just didn’t go in here, it wouldn’t be real. If I didn’t see this room, things would still be okay. I would be okay. My baby would be okay.

  It was a lie I told myself to survive each day.

  “Is this … from your previous baby?” Emmy mutters, sneaking up behind me.

  I glance at her over my shoulder. “Was.” I pluck one of the ultrasounds from the wall and gaze at his tiny little feet. “My son … died shortly after birth.”

  “Oh … I’m sorry,” she says, clutching her arms.

  “It’s fine. It was a long time ago,” I say, rubbing my scar again. “He’ll always have a piece of my heart.”

  “You were brave to go through all that pain,” she says, and she places her hands on my shoulders. “That scar you carry is proof of your courage.”

  I grab her hand. “Thanks. But I’m not. Not really, anyway. This is the first time I’ve been able to step into this room since.”

  “You’ve overcome so much already,” she says. “You can handle this too.”

  I nod. Why is she so wise for her age? It’s almost as if she’s seeing things in a totally different light than she was when she was still at the community.

  Suddenly, I feel nauseous, and I cover my mouth with my hand and run for the bathroom. I puke in the toilet and quickly flush it before Emmy walks in too.

  “Whoa. That was … sudden,” she says while I close the lid. “Are you okay?”

  I wipe my face with a paper towel and throw it away. “Yeah … I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” she says.

  I sit down on the toilet and rub my belly again as it’s cramping a little.

  Her eyes narrow as she gazes at me, and then they suddenly widen. “Are you … pregnant?”

  My lips part, but I’m at a loss of words.

  I hadn’t thought about it since I last held that stick in my hand.

  I nod slowly, completely taken aback by my own ability to ban things to the back of my head just so I don’t have to deal with them anymore.

  But it’s real, and it’s here.

  A baby is coming.

  And Noah has probably found the stick by now.

  Chapter 4

  Natalie

  “Oh, Natalie, I’m so happy for you!” Emmy gives me a big hug.

  “What? No,” I say, and I push her away. “Don’t.”

  She frowns. “What? Be happy? Aren’t you?”

  I look away. “I …”

  How am I supposed to answer that? I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. There’s a baby in my belly, but it’s Noah’s, and there’s so much twisted history behind this baby’s conception that I don’t know if I could ever be happy with it. But I can’t tell Emmy that because she’d never understand.

  “I don’t wanna talk about it.” I walk off and start prepping the pull-out sofa.

  “Is this why you wanted to escape the community?” she asks.

  “No, yes, maybe,” I say, shaking my head. “All of it.”

  “But that baby was made out of love, right?”

  Staring at her, I breathe out a sigh because I don’t even know what to say to that. “I already told you I come from this world, that we have choices here.”

  Her brows rise. “So you can choose not to be pregnant here?”

  I make a face. “Well … it is an option, yes.”

  She grimaces, and I turn away to continue making her bed.

  “There.” I pat it down. “You can sleep here tonight.”

  “And where will you sleep?” she asks.

  “In my bed, in the other room,” I say, pointing at the door. “I don’t share, sorry.”

  She smiles. “It’s fine, thank you. I’m just glad I have a place to stay.”

  Talking with her like everything is normal is so weird. “You don’t have to thank me for everything.”

  “Right.” She blushes and then yawns.

  “We’re both tired. Let’s just rest up and see what tomorrow brings, okay?” I say, and I go into my room. “Good night.”

  As I close the door behind me, I pause and lean against the wood. I can’t stop thinking about what she said about being happy for a pregnancy. My hand reaches for my belly, but this time it’s not out of concern … it’s out of fear.

  Something is growing inside me, and I don’t know if I can face that.

  I already had a baby once.

  My baby died.

  How could I ever feel happy about that?

  How could I ever love a baby made in a community such as hers?

  How could I ever want a baby born in fear?

  I shiver as tears run down my cheeks, and I sink to the floor, burying my own guilt and shame until I no longer feel a thing.

  * * *

  By the time morning comes, I have barely slept even though the bed felt amazing. I couldn’t stop thinking about the baby, and how I can’t even be alone while making the toughest decisions of my life.

  Emmy is like a constant shadow, following me around wherever I go. She’s like an everlasting memory of the Family and what they did to me. Maybe it would help if I’d let her experience more of our world. She might feel like less of a threat to me then. I know it makes no sense, but at least things would be a little bit more normal, even if only in a weird way.

  I get out of bed, and the minute I step out of the room, there she is, all dressed and ready.

  “Geez, you scared me,” I say, clutching my chest.

  “Sorry. I’m used to getting up on time,” she says.

  “You don’t have to do that here,” I say. “At least not until you have a job.”

  “Job?”

  “It’s where you work for money,” I explain. “Like the Clothing Creation Hut, only now you get money for what you do.”

  Her brows furrow. “Money?”

  I roll my eyes. “This.” I grab the stack of cash lying on the table and show it to her. “This is what you get when you work, and you buy stuff with it.”

  “Oh … interesting. What can you buy?”

  I sigh. “Guess I’m going to have to show and explain literally everything to you, won’t I?” When she doesn’t answer, I add, “C’mon. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Noah

  At the Prayers, I sit in my chair and wait until President Lawrence is finished talking. It’s tiring having to sit through this without my Wife accompanying me, especially when there are so many happy girls all standing in a line to be Blessed for marriage to the man who claimed them.

  However, there’s one man in the crowd who constantly interrupts the Prayers with his sniffling, and it’s becoming hard to ignore him.

  When the President is done speaking, I stand and say, “Wait one minute with the blessings.” The President gives me a deathly glare, but I ignore him. “You … come here.”

  I point at the guy who’s sniffling, and he steps forward after questioning to himself it I was
really speaking to him. He goes to his knees in front of the stage. “Yes, patriarch.”

  “What is your problem?” I ask. “I know you’re not sick.”

  “It’s my wife, patriarch.” He looks up at me. “She’s gone.”

  The people around us gasp in shock.

  His wife must be the girl who fled alongside Natalie.

  “She disappeared the same day the fire happened,” he says, lowering his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

  I have to take the lead now or this whole thing will fall to shambles. “Calm down. Approach the stage, please.”

  “What are you doing?” my father hisses in my ear. “No one’s ever come up here unless they’re a patriarch.”

  “I have to nip this in the bud,” I hiss back, and I redirect my attention to the man again.

  Lowering my voice, I tell him, “We’re working on it.”

  “So you know where she is?” he asks.

  I rub my lips together. “No, but we are tracking them down.”

  “Them?” When I frown and narrow my eyes at him, he adds, “Of course, patriarch, I apologize for being nosy.”

  “It’s okay. But know that we will do our best to get your wife back into your arms.”

  “Thank you,” he says, gazing up at me with teary eyes. “Thank you so much. Please, find her for me. Please.”

  I nod and he bows a few times before stepping back into the crowd.

  “You cannot give them hope if you don’t know what you’re doing,” my father whispers into my ear.

  “Yeah, well give me some tips then because you sound like you’ve dealt with this before,” I reply sarcastically because I know nothing of the sort has ever happened in this community.

  No one has ever escaped, which makes this case all the more unusual … and dangerous.

  No one can know that this happened under my nose because anarchy would ensue. We must keep this contained and within these walls.

  After the prayers are over, all the patriarchs leave the room, but my father pulls me aside.

  “What are you going to do about that escapee wife of yours?” he asks. “The guards came back with nothing, and the President is getting impatient. Especially with that stunt you just pulled.”