Page 32 of Savagely Yours
At the end of the corridor, I did an about-face, waited until he started his rounds, and mirrored every single step he took. If he truly was affiliated with an underground revolution, he knew where Larke was. Organized retribution had my girl’s name written all over it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LARKE
The hands I’d once kept manicured were raw and blistered, my palms red. My joints never stopped hurting. The soles of my feet were tender, and my fingertips cracked and bled—daily. However, I’d at least stopped crying every night about a week ago, and I no longer had intrusive thoughts about ending my life every second of every day.
Humans had an uncanny ability to adapt, and I didn’t realize how developed that ability was until I was placed in an overwhelming, exhausting, and oftentimes dehumanizing position.
This was my punishment for being unmarried, for being a member of the “Intelligentsia,” as if it were equivalent to trying to enter the White House as a former member of the KGB. My achievements were being weaponized, and every day that I woke up on a disgusting mattress, aching in every bone and muscle, it was as if a voice screamed:“This is all you truly were ever worth, you pretentious, spouseless, empty-wombed bitch.”
I shared a three-bedroom ground-level unit with eleven others, but we had our own beds. Then we had only one day off, but Ana, the first woman I met after intake, rotated our schedules so that we had one “easy” day, which was sort oflike a day of rest. As if summoned, she knocked quietly on the bedroom door before peering inside.
“Mija?”She entered the room. “Baby, how do you feel? Any better today?”
I forced myself upright on the bed. “I feel like I was hit by a small car instead of a bus,” I said. “So, yeah. Better.”
“Need me to rub you down again with some of the Alcolado?” She took a seat at the edge of the bed and raised a hand to my forehead. “You still feel feverish, mama. You can’t work today.”
It wasn’t like I had a choice.
We didn’t have sick days.
Plus, as members of Sanitation, we weren’t permitted to use the healthcare facilities and had to resort to our own healing methods. Only if things got bad enough did they allow us access to traditional medicine to avoid accidentally spreading illnesses to the Essentials.
Ms. Tess, a Guyanese physician and holistic practitioner, was our appointed healer. Three days ago, she prescribed me a potent mix of lemongrass, ginger, and turmeric medicinal tea, and it seemed to be doing the trick to knock out whatever I’d picked up on the job. The Essentials gave her whatever herbs and oils she needed as long as she never requested medicine.
Medicine had to be granted or gifted.
Medicine, we had to beg for.
Ana’s expression softened. “Baby, please rest. We don’t mind picking up your work until you are better. You have done it for us.”
“ButImind,” I countered. “And you keep calling me baby, which I think is adorable, don’t get me wrong, but I’m in my thirties, Ana.”
“So are two of my babies.” Her focus briefly shifted to the wall behind my head. “I pray they’re safe wherever they are.”
“Me too.”
She smiled. “Thank you, mija. Now, if you insist on working, I’ll put you with Tamra. She’s in the Woodhaven building today. You two will be cleaning up after mid-levels for the most part, but I added a couple of Class Ones since the Elites are on perimeter patrol today.”
“What about LaSalle?” I asked.
“Are you up for it?”
My illness took a backseat to renewed vigor.
This, I could do.
This, I needed to do.
“I am.”
She cupped the side of my face in a way that made me ache for my mother like a stolen child. “Okay, I will believe you. If it becomes too much, you find me, okay? Now, you and Tamra can set off after breakfast. Althea made biscuits. The Essentials sent down gluten-free flour. Perfectly fine gluten-free flour. No nits to pick out or anything, and the biscuits are delicious.”
Althea was a former teacher who enjoyed cooking and baking but never did either professionally. How a teacher could be a Non-Essential, I didn’t know, but she was also of the spouse-less and empty-wombed designation, regardless of the fact that she was only twenty-three. Ana had children, but they were adults, and she was a widow. That gave her just enough status to be our manager of sorts.
Ana stood. “All right, my love. I’ll leave so you can get yourself together. I also brought a fresh pail of water I heated up on the big stove, and it’s cooling in the bathroom. Need me to bring it in here?”
