Page 13 of Longing for Liberty

SEVEN

STATE NEWS: LAST CELL OF ANTI-STATE TERROR ORGANIZATION HAS BEEN ROOTED OUT AND DESTROYED IN COMMUNITY FOUR!

Days passed without seeing the Secretary.

I watched the mass of roses change each day, falling open to reveal their insides, reckless in their immodesty.

Until one day they were drooping, heads heavy, a sad sight of dead petals, dry and crackly on the glass surface of the table.

I stared at them for a long time, feeling heavy, as if they were a direct reflection of lost things, before I threw them away.

Each day a breakfast awaited me. Like day one, I ate until I was full and then came back throughout the day to eat more.

Every bite had me wishing I could take it and share it.

Every bite made me wonder why some should nearly starve while others had a belly full.

Every bite was a reminder that Amos Fitzhugh and I were worlds apart.

Still, I couldn’t help but be grateful, because with every bite I felt a little stronger. A little more energy.

Too bad my newly acquired strength and energy didn’t equate to my feet feeling less sore.

I found myself stopping frequently to roll my ankles and lean against something to take the pressure off my feet for a moment.

Each year got a little harder to be on my feet all day in heels with no support.

As I neared thirty-six, the pain became a daily part of my life.

But I wouldn’t let myself sit while at work.

And I never stopped. My parents would be proud: my mom, a middle school social studies teacher, and my dad, an Air Force veteran killed in a car accident a year after he retired.

I’d been pregnant with Summer, so he never got to meet any of his grandkids. I had no siblings.

I’d been close with my mom and thought about her a lot lately, missing her and desperately wishing I could talk to her.

We’d always been open about everything; nothing was TMI for her.

I told her every single gross thing that happened during my pregnancies, and we’d have animated conversations about the wonders of the female body.

On days like today when I felt like a total wimp, I yearned to hear her say, “Oh, yes, I started to feel changes in my mid-thirties…” I wanted to feel normal.

I missed being able to talk about…well, anything.

As I removed the Secretary’s bedsheets that morning, a large inhale had me taking in the rich, masculine scents of Fitzhugh, imagining him sprawled here in sleep.

An unexpected tingle went through my body, landing with warmth between my legs.

I stilled for a moment before shifting in place, pressing my thighs together for a second before realizing that made it worse.

During the first few years after the bombs and losing the children, my libido had tanked.

Jeremy, saint that he was, never once made me feel bad for not being in the mood.

I’d been a zombie, and his spirits were low too.

Slowly, though it was never the same as it had been before, I began making an effort to regain our physical intimacy.

It was strange at first, not having any privacy and knowing State Force could look in our windows at any moment.

It proved that people could acclimate to anything.

But I’d been feeling this a lot lately…randomly turned on throughout the day. Probably just my age and hormones, and the fact that I was getting adequate nutrition again, but the timing was not great.

Stupid, stupid body.

I went about my day. As hours passed, my feet hurt more, but the warmth in my crotch turned to an incessant heat that would need to be taken care of the moment I got home.

There’d been a few times recently when a peck from Jeremy had turned into me kissing him full-on, giving him that look, taking him by surprise.

Of course, he never discouraged it and would happily stop whatever he was doing to take care of me.

As I switched the laundry from the washer to the dryer, I slipped off my shoes and wiggled my toes, rolling my ankles and imagining myself straddling my husband on his dining room chair tonight right after dinner. Mmm.

“ Ahem .”

I screamed and spun, slapping a hand over my mouth in horror at the sight of Amos Fitzhugh standing right there, too close, and then his scent hit me—that honeyed spice cologne. He had his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he watched me curiously.

“I’m so sorry, sir.” I fumbled to push my foot back into my shoe.

“Stop.”

I glanced at him to find him staring down at my shoes. Oh, no. This was so bad. Taking off my shoes was improper.

“Do your feet hurt?” he asked.

I shook my head fast. “I shouldn’t have taken them off, sir.”

He stepped closer, his voice remaining calm. “Do they hurt?”

“I—” I swallowed. “I’m fine.”

“Yes or no, Liberty.” His tone was sterner now, making my heart race.

“A little.” I shook my head again and rushed on. “But I’m fine.”

“Keep them off.”

When the Secretary gave a command, it was clear he wasn’t accustomed to any arguments. I stared at his tie, fear coursing through me. Why did the thought of being without my shoes in front of this man feel wholly inappropriate? I was beyond uncomfortable.

“Do you understand?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, sir.” But I didn’t. I didn’t understand at all.

“And I can’t have you slipping on the tiles, so take your stockings off, too.”

My eyes flicked up to his, and I felt them widen to find how intently he watched my face. I quickly dropped my gaze back down to his tie. “Okay. Yes, sir. I’ll just…” I pointed toward the bathroom door nearby, needing to pass him.

“Take them off here.”

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.

I stupidly looked around as if I might find a private place to move, knowing damned well there was nothing in this space but the machines and hampers.

“Look at me, Liberty.”

I felt myself shaking when I peered up at him.

“Take them off.”

His hands had not come out of his pockets. He stood two feet away, his scent and energy wrapping around me as his command finally hit home. I couldn’t move. We stared at one another, and the heat inside of my body buzzed, sending a vibration of tangled need and fear through me.

His voice lowered and got quieter. “Now.”

I managed a tiny nod of acquiescence as I bent enough to grasp the bottom of my skirt, lifting it to my thighs enough that I could reach the elastic band around my thigh and run my fingers along the edges to grasp the band.

I pushed the thin material down and then lifted my foot to pull it off.

Then the other side. Swallowing again, I wiggled a little to lower my skirt back into place.

When I finally looked back up into the face of Amos Fitzhugh, his eyes were not lowered to my legs; they were directly on my face as they’d been before, but this time, there was a fire there that made my core pulse. I accidentally took in a small gasp and held it as I stared up at him.

“Very good,” he said. And with one more intense moment of staring, he casually turned and walked toward the dining room, leaving me standing there with my stockings in my hand, feeling unmistakably turned on.

No, no, no.

I turned, my mouth parched, and finished shoving laundry into the dryer. My hand shook as I turned the dial and started the machine. There’s no way I was aroused by the Secretary. He just caught me at a vulnerable moment. That was all.

Dizzy again, I leaned on the machine, trying to calm every single stupid nerve ending that was firing off in my body. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be safe with Jeremy. An hour and a half to go.

It took all of my willpower to force myself back out into the hall with my bare legs and feet. I set my shoes and stockings neatly by the door and hurried into the kitchen, not looking at the Secretary as I passed where he sat with his laptop at the dining table.

I felt overly exposed, knowing he was making surreptitious glances my way while he worked. My feet felt so much better though. Without the heels, tension seeped from my back, and without the distractions of that pain, my aching core pulsed again, reminding me it was still a needy, annoying issue.

Not once did I look at the Secretary as I finished my work.

“Would you like your dinner now, sir?” My voice slightly trembled.

“Yes.”

I brought it to him at the dining table and caught sight of the paper he held. In bold at the top, it said: Community Four Establishment Timeline . Under it was a bullet point list of Month One, Month Two, down to Month Twelve.

Oh, shit, I shouldn’t be looking at that.

My heart raced as I set down the plate and quickly took my stockings and shoes to the bathroom to dress again. I stood beside the door with the basket in my arms, staring down at the floor.

“Am I free to go, sir?”

My heart thundered as I heard the chair scrape back and the sound of his shoes approaching.

“Look at me, Liberty,” he said in that steady tone.

I raised my eyes, my body feeling all of the things as he ensnared me in his sight.

“How do your feet feel?”

“Better, sir.” My voice was embarrassingly raspy. “Thank you.”

He studied me, and I had never felt more nervous. Was he going to reach for me? My breathing was too fast and shallow, and I was certain he could tell. I gripped the basket like a shield between us as I braced myself.

His blue eyes flicked down to my legs and slid back up to my face. “From now on, take them off when you arrive.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned away then. That was it?

“Good night, sir,” I quickly said to his back before I turned and got the hell out of there.

* * *

On the bus, my mind was scrambled. The older man beside me played solitaire on his phone, his clothes hanging off his frame.

On my other side a young woman scrolled through the lottery app at the possible prizes to be won.

A blare tore from their devices at once, making all of us jump.

As one, everyone on the bus pulled out their phones, including me, and looked at the alert, this one written like a banner across the screen.

Breaking News! The last cell of the anti-State terror organization has been rooted out and destroyed in Community Four!

Efforts and funds can now be fully allocated to building neighborhoods in C-4 to the same high standards as Communities One, Two, and Three.

As always, if you see any suspicious activities, notify a State forceman immediately.

Several people cheered, and it unnerved me to see sincere smiles from many people on the bus. I forced myself to make a bright-eyed expression as I slipped my phone back into my purse and thought about the paperwork Fitzhugh had been reading.

After the fall of America, when so many of the states had been bombed and then condemned for safety hazards and possible nuclear radiation, the remaining areas had been broken into four communities that made up one State.

I’d yet to see a map of the new State. And though I didn’t trust the government, I wondered…

was there really a resistance group? I refused to call them terrorists.

And if so, were they really eradicated? I’d be lying if I said the text hadn’t made my hope dry up a little.

In the back of my mind, I needed to believe that somewhere, somehow, someone was still trying to fight for our freedom.

I peered around the bus at all of the white faces, and wondered for the millionth time…

where were all the people who didn’t look like me?

Because they weren’t in Community One. I hadn’t seen any diversity since that day.

The day we were to flee the country. The worst day of my life.

My heart squeezed as if my rib cage were tightening around it as I remembered.