Page 21 of Worth the Ruin
A dark, lonely, fucked up part of me had wanted him so badly it made it hard to breathe.
I bang my head softly against the door several times.
“Fuck, fuck, fuckkkk,” I whisper. I sigh heavily and finally push away from the door. I change into some sleep shorts and crawl into the luxurious bed. I’m not ready to grieve the loss of Jonah yet, so I just try to think through everything I’ve seen since arriving and wonder what might be in store for me in the days to come.
Not much time has passed before I hear Traeger’s door open and close once more. Was he leaving? No, someone had come inside. I hear low voices, muffled so I can only make out that they’re talking, but not the words. A few seconds later I hear a loud thud through our shared wall, in what must be his bedroom. The door hitting the wall maybe? A second later, another thud sounds, though this one is a little softer, more like…bodieshitting the wall? Followed by…moans.
Oh my God.
I bolt upright in the bed and tilt my head to listen. Is he…Are they…? Muffled groans and grunts and cries of pleasure fill my ears, and soon enough, the unmistakable sounds of people getting busy, the headboard thudding against the wall just on the other side of mine.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter as over the top screams begin. Whoever he’s with right now is very theatric.
“Yes, Traeger. Oh God, it feels so good! Don’t stop! Oh God, you’re so good! Yes, baby!”
I roll my eyes so hard they nearly get stuck. One of the infamous concubines there to earn her keep, I guess. So…why hadn’t he wanted me to do the same? And why do I care?! I should begladthat he isn’t forcing me to do that shit. Him not being a fucking rapist on top of everything else should be agoodthing. What the hell is wrong with me? I pinch the bridge of my nose, deciding that the whiskey isn’t helping my thought process at all.
I lay back and try to ignore the sounds, but I can’t. More moans, more pleas, more ridiculous praise and begging for him to keep going. Why the hell are these walls so thin? Did echo-friendly mean zero sound proofing? I turn over to lie on my stomach and slam a pillow over my head, but even that doesn’t drown them out completely.
Austin Traeger is apparently very far from a one-pump chump, and it seems to go on for hours. Good for whoever he’s with, I guess.
Finally, exhaustion pulls me under into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MELODY
The next morning,I expect the torture and cruelty to begin, but it…doesn’t. Renee arrives to bring me breakfast.
“After today, you’ll eat in the restaurant with everyone else,” Renee tells me while I eat—eggs, bacon, fruit. I’ll give it to FOS: the food is top notch. “We call it The Skillet, but it’s essentially our cafeteria now. When you’re done eating, I’ll give you a full tour of everything.”
I eye her suspiciously but just nod and finish scarfing down my breakfast. I’m eager to get a good look at the place, look for weaknesses or potential escape routes should it ever come to that. I dress in dark jeans and a tank, gritting my teeth when I realize that putting on my thigh holster or weapons belt would be useless since I have nothing to put in them. I toss them back onto the bed and lace up my boots, muttering curses under my breath. I couldn’t have weapons within The Cove technically, either, but I wasn’t surrounded by potential threats twenty-four-seven there.
Renee takes me on the promised tour and the more I see, the more confused I get. Everyone seems…happy. Healthy. Whole.This doesn’t make any fucking sense. This place is supposed to be abysmal, the inhabitants are supposed to be all but slaves. Rumor said that disfigurement was often used as punishment—or just for entertainment, that women and men alike were used in unspeakable ways or forced to work themselves to the bone for their master and his goons.
But I see none of that. Sure, I’d been correct that the structure by the lake was indeed a whipping post, but The Cove has one too. That particular punishment had strangely come back in style with the end of civilization, so I can’t really be surprised by its presence. Other than that, there are no outright signs of abuse or misconduct. People smile and wave, kids run around and play, theylaughfor fuck’s sake. Couples kiss and hold hands. A younger guy struggles to keep a wheelbarrow upright and Holloway, the man from the team that brought me here, rushes over to help steady it for him, even flashing the guy a smile.
I rub my temples, trying to make sense of it all.
“Everyone has an assigned job,” Renee says, gesturing to the sprawling gardens and additional greenhouses that I hadn’t noticed before as we walk by the lake. “Some are in charge of harvesting or scavenging or hunting; others are on security, manning the outposts and doing patrols and runs; cooking, cleaning, plumbing, maintenance, teaching—everyone contributes and keeps this place running.”
I finally can’t take it anymore. I turn to Renee, holding up my hands.
“Ok, ok, just stop. I don’t understand.”
“About the jobs?” she asks, though there’s understanding in her hazel eyes.
“None of this makes sense. This place is supposed to be a living hell, but it looks to be the opposite.”
Renee gives me an innocent smile and hikes a shoulder. Is she not supposed to give me any straight answers or something? Maybe everyone is brainwashed or driven by fear to act the part of gleeful citizen to keep Traeger happy. It’s like a cult or something. I eye her but decide to let it go for now. I’ll find out what’s really going on sooner or later. I’ll find the skeletons.
Renee continues the tour, introducing me to people along the way. When it’s time for lunch, I find myself seated at the end of a long row of tables with Renee and a handful of other FOSers in the restaurant, The Skillet she’d called it. I stay alert, ever skeptical, and though I’m not rude, I’m tight-lipped when they speak to me until they mostly give up on including me in the conversation. A guard has been trailing us all day, and another stands just across the room.Keeping an eye on me?Making sure I don’t lose my mind and attack someone or try to escape?I can’t totally blame them for that, I guess. If I was in charge and the situation was reversed, I’d definitely have eyes and guns on any new potential threats for a while, just to be safe.
After lunch, Renee says, “Now, I understand that you might eventually be shifted to hunting or security—or both. A lot of people have multiple roles—but for now, you’ll be on harvesting duty.”
“Um, alright then,” I reply, a little uncertainly. I’d rather be outside than cooped up in the kitchen or doing laundry, so I’m fine with it, but again, I didn’t really expect to just…be a part of the community. If I’m not going to be locked in a stockade or starved in a cell, shouldn’t I at least have the terrible jobs that no one else wants, the ones that are a grueling or disgusting, as part of my torture?
The rest of the afternoon is spent in one of the gardens collecting tomatoes. A short man with gray hair and kind eyes tells me how to tell if they’re ready to be pulled or not, and gives me a wide smile when I select the right ones while he watches.A guard watches my every move as I work, but soon, I find my mind relaxing as I focus on the task at hand. The other people working nearby smile and chat as they fill their baskets, and though I don’t respond much, it doesn’t seem to bother them, they keep up the chatter all the same.
