Page 12 of Brood (After the End #5)

Chapter Five

A month later, I wake up in the wrong bed.

Something feels weird—even before I open my eyes. I sit up with a gasp, blinking around the dark room.

My mind hasn’t caught up yet. I should be back in my old quarters with a small, simple bed tucked against the back wall. This room is wrong, and anxiety rises into my throat until I blink through the confusion.

I’m in the right quarters after all. The bigger, fancier one I share with Will now. That’s why the bedroom is separated from the rest of the space by the archway and why the area feels vast. With hidden corners and lofty ceilings.

I am, however, in the wrong bed.

That’s why I’m so disoriented. My bed is positioned without a view to the rest of the suite, but this one is pointed right at the arched entrance to the bedroom.

I didn’t move to my own bed last night after we had sex.

Embarrassed by this oversight, I scoot to the edge of the mattress, but a sharp pang in my vagina startles me as I shift my thighs. With another gasp, I brace myself instinctively.

It’s supposed to be the bed I’m using for support, but it’s actually Will’s stomach I push down on.

He grunts and makes some breathless sounds that prove he’s waking abruptly. I scramble off the bed so he won’t catch me here several hours after the time it’s appropriate, but that jab of pain halts me again.

“Ouch,” Will grumbles. He’s fully awake now. I sense his eyes on me in the dark.

“Sorry. I was trying to get up and didn’t realize you were there.”

“Where else would I be but my own bed?” His tone is typically dry. Difficult to read. But he’s never wanted me to sleep in his bed. He’s made that perfectly clear. Early on, he would always tell me directly to go back to my bed, and then later the expectation was implicit.

“I know. I woke up confused. I fell asleep over here.”

“Why did you do that?”

“It was an accident.” It’s hard not to feel defensive. We’ve been married now for four months. I shouldn’t have to face interrogation for a simple mistake. “I was tired and fell asleep before I realized it.”

I ignore the pain as I haul myself to my feet and limp over to my side of the room. I collapse on my bed, pulling up the covers over my naked body. I didn’t even pull on my panties and camisole after we had sex last night.

My sheets and duvet are crisply cool. Not nice and cozy like his.

“What’s wrong with you?” he mutters.

“I’m a little chilly. That’s all.” I sound and am annoyed now. It’s always cool in this room at night, and he kicked me out of his warm bed. What does he expect?

“You were limping.”

I don’t know how he even saw. It’s too early for them to start gradually increasing the wake-up lights. “Oh. It’s nothing. I must have pulled a muscle or something last night.”

We had sex like usual—with him taking me from behind—but then he got going again before I moved beds.

The second round was longer and more vigorous, and we changed positions a few times.

Including a new one where he had my bottom lifted all the way up off the bed and my ankles hooked on his shoulders.

That would explain the soreness in my ab muscles too.

“You need to tell me if something hurts. Keeping it to yourself isn’t going to help anything.”

I take a minute to breathe deep and slow.

Will is like this a lot. Kind of bristly and terse.

I should be used to it by now, but it’s actually more frustrating now than it was at the beginning.

Early on, I assumed this was his entire personality, but it’s not.

Occasionally, he’s warmer. Once in a while, he even laughs slightly.

And it’s hard to understand why he can’t be like that more often.

After all, I’ve been a good spouse to him.

I’ve skirted around his moods and done my best to accommodate his preferences.

I’ve had sex with him every single day except during my period.

The only thing I’ve failed at is getting pregnant, but that’s something I can’t control.

“Are you pissed?” He sounds more curious than angry.

“I’m not pissed.”

“Seems like you are.”

“I said I’m not.”

“Prickly.”

I clench my duvet with both hands and grit out, “I wasn’t keeping anything to myself. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“Then why were you limping?”

I do some more deep breathing instead of answering.

* * *

An hour later, I’m still awake in my own bed, trying not to stew.

Will is awake too—although he’s been as silent as I am. I can tell from his breathing and the way he shifts in his bed that he’s not asleep.

I’m relieved when the lights illuminate in a dim glow the way they do a few minutes before the first-shift warning chime. Pretty soon I can get out of here and away from Will and his silent, brooding tension.

It’s not my fault Vanessa died. It’s not my fault he got stuck with me instead of her. A decent person wouldn’t take his displeasure in our situation out on me.

It would be nice if he liked me for something other than sex.

I could like him too if he let me.

I’m too restless and antsy to wait for the chime, so I semi-limp to the bathroom. There, I sit on the toilet for a minute and cry silently into my hands. It’s mostly a release of emotional tension, but I don’t want Will to hear.

He already thinks I’m silly and prickly and immature. Crying over nothing would only convince him I’m not up to handling the basics of life.

When I’ve regained my composure, I splash water on my face and use a washcloth to clean myself up.

I really want a shower, but I need to save that until after I exercise this afternoon.

I get clean panties and a camisole from my bathroom drawer, but I didn’t grab my trousers and top from the closet before I came in here.

I brush out my hair and adjust the lighting to gold as usual so it looks more blond than white.

My face in the mirror is pretty enough but also kind of strained this morning, with shadows under my eyes.

I smile at my reflection, relieved at the more familiar face that smiles back.

I loosen my braid a bit since I don’t like my appearance with tightly restrained hair.

A couple of fine strands escape the braid, but that doesn’t bother me.

It softens my face even more.

My primping doesn’t improve my mood, so finally I give up and return to the bedroom. I don’t glance at Will’s bed. Just head for the closet to get my clothes.

I’ve pulled on my top when Will says, “Come here.”

Glancing at him over my shoulder, I frown.

He’s standing. Wearing nothing but his underwear. Scowling at me. “Come here. Let me see what got hurt.”

“I told you it was nothing.” I thought my mood was under control, but it’s clearly not.

“If it’s nothing, then there’s no reason not to let me check.”

I can’t swallow an exasperated groan, but I walk to him. He gestures toward my bed, so I sit on the edge.

He kneels in front of me and spreads my thighs.

I gasp when the move strains the sore muscles and jerk my legs closed again.

He frowns up at me. “This is more than a little bit sore.”

“No, it’s not.”

More gently now, he eases my knees apart, rubbing the inside line of my right thigh as he widens my stance. When he finds the pulled muscle, I take a ragged breath. He rubs it, slow and easy. “Right here?” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

He rubs the muscle for a minute, gradually opening me wide as he does. Eventually, his fingers slide up toward my groin. He pulls aside my panties so he can see. He’s peering at me there like he might find signs of damage.

“I’m fine there,” I tell him. “Sorer than normal, but nothing too bad.”

His eyes shift to scrutinize my face. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” With effort, I manage not to roll my eyes. “Your penis isn’t a weapon capable of carving me open, you know.”

“You’re supposed to tell me if I’m too rough.” He looks as displeased with me as I am with him.

“I would tell you. I have a couple of pulled muscles, and you’re overreacting.”

He spreads my thighs again.

I don’t like that he’s kneeling in front of me like this. I don’t like that he’s acting like my body is his. During sex, it feels fine. Natural and even kind of exciting. But this…

This makes me naked. Vulnerable. Decidedly shaky.

I move his hands away. “I’ve told you a dozen times now that I’m fine. I’m going to be late for work.”

He finally stands and takes a couple of steps back so I can get off the bed. I button my shirt quickly and find a clean pair of pants to pull on.

I know he’s still silently watching me, but I don’t look at him at all as I finish dressing and leave the room.

* * *

All morning, I’m in a bad mood, and when I’m finally done with my first shift, I desperately want to crawl in bed and hide my face under the covers.

More often than I used to, I spend afternoons in our quarters rather than in the Meadow. Occasionally Will stops by for a short break. Sometimes I find myself waiting for him, and I have the impulse today.

Maybe if he would come by, we could settle the tension from this morning. Life is so much better when we’re getting along.

But that impulse—the hopeful expectation, the desire to see his stoic face and rumpled beard—worries me. Makes my stomach churn. So I don’t stay in our room after I take my shower. I grab my tablet and head to the Meadow to read for a couple of hours before my second shift.

I don’t have any success in concentrating today. My mind keeps drifting to Will’s scowl. To the gentleness of his fingers when he was rubbing my thigh this morning.

These unsettling thoughts are interrupted by Danny. He’s on his short afternoon break and drops onto the bench beside me.

Over the past few weeks, he’s relaxed with me again. He’s still disappointed by our change in circumstances, but he’s resigned himself. He’s actually looking forward to marrying the girl from Level Two soon. He’s met her twice now and likes her.