Page 49 of Malachi
“Do you have six hours to talk it all out?” he laughed derisively.
“I’ve got all the time in the world, Malachi. I just want your honesty. That’s… I thought that’s what we had. I want to be angry with you, but mostly I’m hurt that I thought we were building something here. You were opening up to me, and we were starting something. So finding out that you had been hiding things and still treating me like the fool hurts, beyond compare,” I admitted, feeling small as my truth fell from my lips.
“How much of the conversation tonight did you hear?” he asked.
“I heard everything. I followed you out there,” I admitted. Perhaps I should have felt at least marginally ashamed at such an admission, but compared to his deceit, I felt no chagrin whatsoever.
“I’m not even sure where to start,” he stammered, running a hand over his face.
“Well, from what I understand, there’s a lot going on that I don’t know about. There is a plan and somehow Levi messed that plan up, but now there’s FBI and — what the hell is going on, Malachi?” I asked, feeling overwhelmed, confused, and about fifty other emotions all at once.
“You’re right so far,” he agreed.
“Why is Levi talking with the FBI?” I asked, ceasing the errant pacing I had begun as I turned to look at him.
“My brothers and I made a plan about a year ago to leave Zion,” he admitted quietly, his hands fidgeting in his lap.
“Why do you want to leave Zion?” I asked.
“For many reasons. Each of us has reasons that are specific to the life we want. But overwhelmingly, we agree Zion is not a place we want to be. It’s toxic and dangerous.” His words renewed the feeling of dread that had begun when I had overheard them all talking. I had attributed most of it to confusion and the anger and hurt I felt towards Malachi, but now I fixated on the words I was hearing.
“Dangerous?” I repeated in a whisper.
“Yes. Very dangerous. The Reverend and the Elders are not the people they claim to be,” he admitted, a grimace marring his handsome face.
“But your brothersareElders.”
“They are, but only because they have to be. Originally, the plan was just to leave. It was obvious to all of us that the way they run things here is just not right for us. Everything about Zion has an underlying hatred towards women. The inequality is sickening. As I told you before, we discovered things in St. George that led us to wanting something more in life than what we can have here,” he admitted. I nodded along, remembering his story of how they were introduced to kink.
“After that, Levi came up with the idea that we should not only save ourselves from the Zion life, but that we should offer it to more people if we could. The easiest way to do that, in Levi’s opinion, was to go through with the arranged marriages our parents were so blatantly pushing on us. Once we were all wed, we would tell our wives the truth and offer them a chance to leave Zion as well, whether to leave with us and stay with us or to start their own lives individually.”
“So now that we are married, your brothers told their wives?” I asked, trying to follow the logic of his story.
“Well, that was the plan, but like good intentions do, they got completely ruined long before you and I were wed. Levi told Ruth during their honeymoon, as did Ollie, Zeke, and Gideon. One by one, the truth came out. I don’t know how, but each of them fell in love with their wives and seem to have found genuine matches here,” he chuckled, though he seemed confused by his own words.
“So they are staying? And how does the FBI fit into this?” I questioned as my mind struggled to connect the dots.
“I’m getting there, I promise.” I plopped down onto the floor, my legs criss-crossed as I listened to his story. “The plan was never, and will never, be staying in Zion. We can’t be happy here.”
“That part I understand, far more than you know,” I scoffed under my breath.
“You truly feel that way?” he asked, sounding surprised by my admission.
“Absolutely. It’s not that I don’t love my home. I grew up here. My family is here. But this isn’t the life I want,” I admitted with a smile.
“What life do you want, Eden?” He posed the question with such interest, such genuine sincerity that it made my breath catch in my throat for a moment before I answered.
“I want what I’ve been telling you what I want. Since day one, Malachi, I’ve been trying to show you that I’m not your average Zion woman. I want to see things outside of this small patch of mountain land. I want to explore and live and experience things. Here, I’m meant to be a good little wife and pop out as many God-fearing babies as my body can.” I looked down at my hands, folded in my lap, as I spoke.
“What do you want to do, Eden? I want to know,” he urged me. Again, his sincerity hit me square in the chest, making my heart flutter. I didn’t know what to say for a moment as the myriad of options flittered and fluttered through my mind.
“I want to wear pants,” I finally admitted, full seriousness written on my face. There was silence for only a moment before his loud guffaw of laughter echoed in the living room space.
“Pants. All the things in the world that are available and you want to wear pants,” he repeated, shaking his head.
“Yes. I want to wear pants. I want to not be hindered by a skirt at every turn. Sure, they are nice sometimes. I do like the feel of the fabric whipping around my legs as I run through the trees. But I want to play in the dirt while I garden and not worry about keeping my skirts tucked down. I want to have the freedom to choose. That’s what I want more than anything. Freedom,” I admitted impassionedly.
“That, that I understand,” he agreed with me, his eyes lifted, locking with my own. That look stole my breath as we shared a moment of understanding with each other, a shared desire that was so profound and so real I could not ignore it.
