Loving the Cult

by Nicole Tillman

  She turns to me, letting her mask fall, and I see how tired, how used up, she really is.

  “Five years. Five babies.”

  I wish I knew her better. I wish I was one of those women that could wrap someone in their arms and whisper comforting words until they were soothed. I also wish I could take Daphne's hurt and wrap it around Joan's throat like a noose. But most of all, I wish like hell this place didn't exist.

  “How can you do this?” I whisper. “How can you live knowing what's going to happen to your babies?”

  “We can't, Tess, that's the point,” Lyla snarls. “We need you. We need your help”

  Lyla's words are plated with determination. Pressing her forehead against the cool glass, as if her body is already missing the baby she hasn't given birth to, she stares at the nursery.

  Silently, she reaches for my hand and squeezes for all she's worth. I look at this tiny woman gazing off into the distance and see something I haven't seen from her before. Anticipation. Her eyes are ablaze with it.

  She has a plan.

  “How am I supposed to help you?”

  Leaning over the edge of the stairwell, the girls look to make sure we're alone. Then, they turn their backs to the camera dangling from the ceiling before pushing me into the corner. Both their faces are so close to mine I can practically smell the anger on their breath.

  “Jameson. I think Jameson will help us. He isn't like the others, Tess,” Lyla says. “He understands. He hasn't even taken a partner before you because he thinks it's wrong. The only reason he agreed to you is because Joan forced him to. He doesn't want to be here.”

  Lyla's words have two very different effects on me. As she's speaking, the hope I've been carrying doubles in size. If what they say is true, and I think it is, maybe I can sway him. Surely he wants to help. If he has a heart at all, he'll help these women.

  But another thought occurs to me. If Lyla and Daphne can see how he feels here, so can other people. Joan, for instance. Surely, she wouldn't be the one to bring him down, but there are others. Also, my actions here don't only reflect on me, but Jameson as well. So combined, we're a walking target. I have to stop instigating him and everyone else here.

  We have to blend, we have to fade into the background, and we have to draw as little attention as possible. I'm okay with being a rebel, but Jameson and the girls are already neck deep. If someone catches wind of what they're thinking, what they're doing, it could be disastrous.

  “What would happen to Jameson?”

  “If they found out?” Daphne says, exhaling anxiously. “They can't find out. Whatever they would do to him would be ten times worse than our punishment.”

  Thought so...

  Lyla takes my hand and hugs it to her chest. “He wouldn't be walking away from it. There's only one way you leave this place, and it's not out the front gate.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Once I bid the girls goodnight, I shower and then decide to do the most unproductive thing imaginable. I pace the length of the room, over and over again, waiting for Jameson to get back from wherever it is that he spends his days.

  I'm so caught up in my thoughts, trying to sort out what's what, that I don't hear him until he shuts the door behind him.

  “Jesus, Jameson! Where have you been?”

  I know that I shouldn't be demanding answers, but after the mass of information I've been given, I honestly feel vulnerable without him around. I could be killed. I could have some guy old enough to be my dad forced on me. Or I could bear a child and have it ripped from my arms.

  I'm not sure which of those is worse, but I've wanted to talk to Jameson all day in hopes that he could help me sort out my feelings. Stupid, for me to expect that from a virtual stranger, but I have to trust him.

  “Learn anything today?”

  Instead of answering his question, I take him by the arm and lead him to the foot of the bed, pulling him down to sit beside me.

  “Can I ask you something?” My question is irrelevant, but it's been festering in the back of my mind, and I figure it could be a decent segue. “If you hate monogamy so much, why do you sleep with one woman at night? Why not five?”

  His eyes go wide as he lets out a nervous laugh. “Wow, not quite the greeting I was expecting.”

  “Yeah? What were you expecting? A peck on the cheek and a tray of freshly baked cookies? Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not one of those girls.”

  “Yeah,” he says, looking around at the unmade bed and discarded pile of clothes beside the nightstand. “I can see that.”

  “You didn't answer my question.”

  “Because it didn't make any sense. You were assigned to me, so you're here. That's how it works.”

  “See!” I yell, jumping from the bed to continue pacing. “We're still monogamous. We're not married, but it's a monogamous relationship.”

  “Eh, not really. I mean, it won't always be.”

  I stop pacing and swear my heart just developed a murmur.

  “What? What's that mean?”

  “I mean, no one here stays with their first partner.”

  It's all I can do not to either pass out or strangle the life out of him. My back is so tense, I'm wearing my shoulders as earrings and he's laying back on his elbows, legs crossed, just as calm as can be.

  “We're only paired together so they can see how our genes combine,” he explains, lacing his fingers together over his chest. “Once you've had your first, you'll be given to someone else.”

  “Had my first what?”

  Jameson shakes his head, but I don't miss the way his eyes flicker to my stomach.

  “Child, you mean? When I have my first child I'll be given to someone else? What the hell is wrong with you people?”

  I don't know whether to be outraged or scared shitless. Either way, I feel as if I'm about to lose breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  Closing my eyes, I sink down to the floor, clutching my knees to my chest.

  “This is so wrong.”

  I'm one step away from a full-blown freak out. I'd love it if I was one of those women who could go postal and yell and cry and fall into someone's arms and then miraculously move on. But I'm not.

  Jameson sighs, something he's quite fond of doing in my presence, before he slides off the bed and joins me on the floor.

  “It's not that bad, Tess. It will get better, I promise.”

  Chuckling, I swipe my wrist under my eye to catch a lone tear as he pulls me into his arms. He's hesitant, moving cautiously so he can gauge my reaction, but I'm tired, so incredibly tired of pushing him away, of being isolated, and of being so damn lost in this world that's so different from my own. So, instead of pushing him away, I move my head to rest against his chest, relaxing once the even tempo of his heart reaches my ear.

  “You're so full of shit, Jameson. You may have everyone else fooled, but I see right through you.”

  He chuckles. “I know.”

  “And it's still monogamous, you know,” I say, moving back to our argument.

  “No. It's not.”

  “It's one man and one woman together for a period of time. That's monogamy, Jameson.”

  My head almost rolls off his chest with the colossal sigh he lets out. I'm starting to pity the man, really I am. I know how difficult I can be on any given day, but under duress, I'm probably ten times worse.

  “What you see now,” he says, “how the men behave with their women, it's all new. They're... territorial. It didn't used to be that way. Men used to share. They didn't care who belonged to whom. Now, there's a little more science that goes into it.”

  I huff. “Science, right.”

  “Believe it or not, that's what they think.”

  We both fall silent, realizing what he's just said. I can hear his heart rate increase as his breathing grows shallow out of fear.

  “They?” It's the quietest I've ever whispered, but I know he's heard me because he lets out the breath he was holding.

  “
That was a mistake, Tess.” He's so close to my ear, I can feel the heat from his words, and it causes my own pulse to quicken. “That can't happen again.”

  I've pushed him too far. Maybe we shouldn't talk about this when we're together, because if we get too comfortable with the topic, one of us is bound to slip. I don't think we're as good of actors as Lyla and Daphne.

  Even with everything going on around us, everything that's at risk, I know in my heart that I can trust Jameson, both to protect me and to be honest with me. So I don't hesitate to relax my body into his, using him as a human pillow as we sprawl out across the carpet, content to just brood in the comfortable silence.

  “This is nice,” Jameson says after a while.

  “Nice?” I ask, craning my neck to look him in the eye. “You have a woman laying on top of you and 'nice' is the word you use to describe it? Boy do I feel cheated.”

  “Well, to be fair, the woman is fully dressed.”

  I smile at him, both surprised and dumbfounded.

  “Jameson Foster, did you just make a joke?”

  “Wow... I might have,” he answers with a full smile, looking around the room as if thoroughly confused.

  As much as I don't want to admit it to myself, Jameson really is attractive, in a dark and depressing sort of way. When he lowers his guard and the life comes back to his eyes, it's swoon-worthy. The corner of his eyes crinkle with the deep rumble of his laughter. He has a great laugh.

  If given the chance, I think he could be fun. If it weren't for this particular roof over our heads, he could be so much more.

  Suddenly remembering a particularly sick moment in the day, I pocket my smile for the time being and sit up so it's easier to talk to him.

  “When are you, I mean- we, when are we supposed to... you know, start trying?” I cringe once the intimate question leaves my lips, half-ass constructed as it may be.

  That impenetrable sadness that lingered in his eyes before returns in full force. I can tell he doesn't want to answer, and I know why. I've ruined the moment. I snatched back what little reprieve we had from this place and forced him back into reality.

  I'd like to stay there too...

  He cracks his knuckles and then his neck, stalling for as long as possible before answering. “As soon as you go to see Omar.”

  “And when is that?”

  Staring at his palms, as if they hold the answer, he replies, “Wednesday.”

  “Wednesday? As in the day after tomorrow? That Wednesday?”

  “Yup,” he nods, trying to retreat back into that emotionless blob he was just two days ago. “Wednesday morning.”

  Two days... I have two days before my fate is sealed. What can we possibly accomplish in two days?

  Nothing, that's what.

  “Okay,” I say, as if I'm not scared out of my wits. “Wednesday, then.”

  Jameson surprises me by quickly pushing off the floor and offering me his hand.

  “Come with me.”

  “What? With you where?”

  “Just in there,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom door.

  “Jameson Foster,” I prop my fists firmly on my hips. “I may have to breed with you in two days, but I am not taking a shower with you right now.” Honestly, I probably would if he were actually asking, but I know he's not.

  The corner of his mouth tilts up in a mischievous smile before mouthing the words 'trust me'. I have to. I have to trust him or we have absolutely no hope of anything, no hope of leaving.

  Once in the bathroom, Jameson turns the cold water on full blast and closes the toilet seat, gesturing for me to sit down.

  “Awe, who said romance is dead? Nothing like sitting on the crapper to have a conversation with your future baby daddy.”

  His nervous laughter dies off after a split second and he kneels at my feet, crossing his arms over my legs.

  “This is the safest place for us to talk,” he says softly. “They can't hear us in here.”

  “Can they hear us in the bedroom?” I'm suddenly very scared for both of us. If they have someway of spying on us, we're screwed, all of us.

  “I don't think so, but I'd rather not take any chances, so listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you.”

  I nod vigorously, hoping he's about to reveal some huge secret, a flawless plan, or at the very least, someway to dupe Joan and her posse.

  “I don't want to do this and I know you don't either,” he starts. “But there's honestly no way around it right now. They'll know if we don't.”

  “You can't be serious,” I scoff. “How would they know?”

  His face flushes and I know this isn't going to be good. It's going to be hell.

  “It's a ceremony.”

  Yeah. Hell.

  I'm on my feet in an instant, pushing him back against the closed door, as my finger jabs roughly into his chest.

  “There is no fucking way, Jameson. I'd rather die right now than have sex on some ceremonial table covered in goats blood or whatever while the entire cult watches! I should be surprised that it's some weird shit like that, but at this point, I don't think anything could surprise me about you people.”

  Jameson grabs my arms and forcibly moves me back until I'm sitting on the toilet seat again.

  “If you would shut up for one minute and let me finish, you would know that's not going to happen!”

  “Then how do they know?”

  Jameson grimaces before quickly spilling the details.

  “It's not everyone, it's just the council, and it's not out in the open. We'll be in here and they'll be outside the door.”

  “Oh, my God, Jameson, that's disgusting! That is the most perverted thing I've ever heard! You know, people get arrested for less.”

  “I know. So, we have to be quiet with these.” He reaches into a drawer under the sink and pulls out a box of tissues, handing them to me like they're the most sacred artifact on earth.

  “Tissues?” I ask, confused as ever. “This is what you wanted to show me?”

  “Look under the tissues,” he growls, quickly losing patience with me and my big mouth.

  “Fine, fine, fine, what's under here,” I say, shoving my hand inside the box and fishing around until I come into contact with a stack of small foil packages with serrated edges.

  Without withdrawing them, I raise my eyebrows in question, waiting for an explanation.

  “I know it's not the best solution,” he says, refusing to meet my eyes as his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “But it will buy us some time.”

  Silently, I hand him back the tissues and watch as he slips them back beneath the sink. Jameson leans back against the basin, arms crossed over his chest, and waits patiently for me to react.

  “If they're not actually going to be in the room with us, can't we just, I dunno, act like we're doing it?”

  “Are you that good of an actor? Because I know I'm not.”

  I shake my head no. I'm really not. Plus, I think pretending to have sex with Jameson would be more embarrassing than actually doing it.

  “How much trouble could you get in for having those?”

  “Actually,” he chuckles nervously. “I have no idea. I don't think anyone's ever been caught with them.”

  “That's not surprising.”

  Jameson stares at his hands, and I'm unsure of what else to say. I'm not sure what he expects from me, but I am one hundred percent behind this plan. It's bad enough that I'll be forced to do this, but I feel like I'm being taken care of. Jameson knows I don't want this, he knows it isn't right, and he's doing everything he can to make it right.

  “Tess, do you understand what I'm doing here?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And do you realize what my punishment would be?”

  I nod. It's clear these people have no qualms about killing their own. Jameson is risking everything by doing this for me.

  “I don't have a foolproof plan yet, but this will at least buy us some time. After a few mon
ths, once nothing's happened, that's when they'll send Robert in. We just have to figure out what we're doing before then. Okay?”

  I've cried tears of sorrow and tears of happiness, but never have I cried tears of gratitude. But that's what's contained inside the tiny droplets tracing their way down my cheekbones.

  Gratitude.

  “Why are you doing this now?” I ask. “You're risking an awful lot for someone you hardly know.”

  “Yeah,” he says, moving to rest his fists on my knees. “I am. I know this is going to be humiliating for you, but there's no way we can back out of it without repercussions.”

  “Humiliating for me?” I ask, smiling because I know way more about him than he does about me. “I'm not the one who's never had a partner.”

  And there's the blush I've been waiting for. He tries to turn away from me in an effort to escape embarrassment, but I decide to spare him by changing the subject.

  “How did you even get those?” I motion to the condoms hidden beneath the sink.

  “The last time I went out on assignment, we stopped at a gas station. I waited til everyone else was in the car before I bought them.”

  “Clever boy,” I nod, appreciating his foresight.

  “Thanks. I guess.”

  Jameson reaches in to turn the shower off but I stop him.

  “Wait.”

  He pauses and tiny droplets of water begin to ricochet off his arm.

  “I just want to ask you a question.”

  “Sure, shoot,” he says, leaning against the glass door.

  “How long have you been planning this?”

  “A while,” he shrugs.

  That's too vague. I want to know the moment he knew he didn't belong here. The minute he knew he was going to defy authority and do whatever in the hell he wanted to do in the first place. That's what I'm expecting: rebellion.

  “I mean, how old were you?”

  He lets his head fall forward, probably exhausted by my interrogation. I expect him to brush off my question or at the very least, give me a guarded answer.

  Instead, I get honesty, sincerity, and another small rush of hope.

  “I've always known I didn't belong here.”

  I reach for his hand, and he meets me halfway, lacing his fingers around mine and pulling me next to him in a strictly platonic embrace.