Page 72 of Longing for Liberty
Around he went, hitting the men and boys, shouting. And while I agreed with some of the message, the method left much to be desired.
They took so many hits that Wright started to sound tired. He was quiet for a long moment, as if catching his breath, and several of the boys were sniffling now.
“Being one of the chosen comes with its benefits of immediate forgiveness for the hierarchy,” Wright said. “But a true man practices willpower. You’re lucky I heard from the academy dean and came when I did. I had a feeling, and I was right. Disgusting.” He made a spitting sound. “Boys, you will come with me.”
“Yes, Elder,” they all murmured.
“Women, your husbands will be notified to punish you accordingly.”
They said nothing, so neither did I. I remained still while the sounds of shuffling feet and footsteps rang out, then thebeepof the elevator and theswishof it closing.
Two seconds later, a hand was on my shoulder. I looked up at Amos’s fallen face.
“Let’s go,” he said in a low voice. I stood and followed him to the elevator, afraid to look up at any of them. When the door slid closed, he kept his eyes forward, his body upright and stiff, but there was a tremor in him. We got off at his floor and went into the penthouse.
Inside, we stood there awkwardly, not looking at each other.
“I can go,” I whispered softly.
“No.” His hands went to my shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.” He lifted my chin to look at him, and I couldn’t help it—there was so much pain in his eyes—I started crying again. I didn’t want to think about how they were raised and brainwashed and beaten into submission. Taught that they were “chosen,” therefore better than others. It was all so gross, and the opposite of mercy. The opposite of faith, even, which wasn’t something that could be forced; it had to come of free will. I didn’t want to feel sorry for Amos or any of them. These people had worked together to lie to the entire world, tricked us all to fulfill the sick goal of their own utopia, with them seated at the top.
I wiped my face.
He pulled me to his chest, and I gently wrapped my arms around him. We’d never hugged before. It felt strange, but my nervous system was so overstimulated that I accepted the momentary comfort of resting my cheek against his chest while we both calmed.
“You’re no harlot,” he whispered.
Well, that was up for debate and highly subjective. But that was the least of my worries at the moment. I had so many questions, so many things I wanted to say, but I knew it wasn’t my place as a woman in this society to be inquisitive.
He pulled back and took my hand, leading me to his bedroom where I’d spend the night with him for the first time. I was nervous. There’d been no time to disassociate after what just happened in Roan’s penthouse. I’d done well to put up walls when it came to Amos, but tonight I felt vulnerable, and I didn’t like it.
I didn’t like the way he gazed at me as I lifted the dress over my head and let it drop. I didn’t like the way he looked when he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it. Or how, when he turned to place his belt on his dresser, I saw the red welt lines across his back. I didn’t like how he took my face gently and kissed me with reverence, like a man falling in love for the very first time.
I wasn’table to disassociate until hours later, after he’d had me twice and finally fallen asleep with his arm draped over my waist. I lay on my side, wide awake. Jeremy knew I couldn’t fall asleep if I were being touched. It was one of the many things Amos didn’t know about me. While I listened to his deep breathing, feeling out of my element in that room, in that bed, with that man, my brain and heart finally separated enough to let me think clearly. And the final, determining thought that settled in my mind was that if Amos Fitzhugh was willing to fall, let him fall. Let them all fall. And let me help make that happen, no matter what it looked like.
What I was doing went against everything I believed in—everything that made meme. I didn’t recognize this woman who was able to manipulate and brazenly lie. But I was willing to embody her. To do so, I would have to deny myself the empathy I’d always held dear. That instinct to nurture and help every wounded thing I encountered would have to be saved for the victims of the OM. Because these men were walking wounds. They festered. And the few places inside of them that had healed in unhealthy ways were now crooked and covered in rot.
I wanted to believe there was hope for Amos, but hope had been my downfall before, and I wouldn’t let that happen again.
THIRTY-THREE
STATE NEWS: NEW HAIR AND MAKEUP TUTORIALS FOR WOMEN OF THE STATE!
I’d disassociated sohard that no matter how good the morning sex felt, I wasn’t able to bring myself to climax. Like the night before, I had to fake it. Amos held himself over me, breathing hard from his own real pleasure, and whispered in my ear, “I could get used to this.”
I made a cute sound, something between a moan and a giggle, before he kissed my mouth and got up and disappeared into the bathroom. I got up too, readying myself in the hall bathroom. It was surreal not to have seen Jeremy last night or this morning.
Last night, before he’d finally rolled to his other side and allowed me to fall asleep, a deep sadness had come over me. I didn’t think there was room in my soul for any more sadness. Turns out that sadness could layer. Layer upon layer of sadness was packed down inside of me. I didn’t want to study the new sadness or even address it in any way. So I simply accepted it as part of me and let the dull heaviness lull me to sleep.
Today, I felt groggy and was dragging. If Amos noticed, he didn’t say anything. He’d set up his laptop at the table and looked to be reading and responding to messages. Every now and then he would lean back, then wince and sit forward again, reminding me of what Wright had done. It gave me a chill every time I thought about goofy, incompetent President Wright as the cunning Elder Wright in disguise, preparing the way for his son. That whistleblowing report all those years ago had barely scratched the surface.
Thedingof Amos’s State video chat startled me out of my thoughts as I cleaned the kitchen floor.
“What have you got, Charles?” Amos asked.
“Secretary Fitzhugh, sir, we interrogated the prisoner at length, and he never strayed from his story, even under duress. We believe he evaded the roundup in Charlotte by moving south on foot and has been living isolated by himself.”
“Then how does he explain having a set of blank State Force dog tags on him?”
