Chapter 5

My hands were slippery with sweat, and I'd combed my hair for the first time in ages. As if I were about to meet Sylvia in person instead of hoping to spy on her hanging out in the common room.

Jerry opened the door to his observation room with a toothy grin, standing up to meet me. The dude came up to just past the belt of my jeans, and I eyed the room behind him warily. It was definitely smaller than the breeding party observation rooms, and inwardly, I winced at the thought of being confined in such a small space.

Fuck, sometimes I hated being tall.

"You know the routine? Just keep an eye out for anybody acting weird or any danger. You know the rules. It's pretty close to the end of the cycle, so don't expect to see all that much of interest." Jerry's grin widened, and his eyes twinkled as he turned to leave. He meant I wouldn't be watching anybody fucking while he'd be doing nothing but. Like he'd gotten the better end of the deal by planning our trade at such a low point.

Inwardly, I chuckled, happy I wouldn't have to watch Sylvia getting fucked by other guys. Not sure it wouldn't send me into a rage and straight into the dorm, eager to test out my new muscles. No, I wasn't here for that.

I just wanted to see her.

Turning my eyes downcast, Jerry sneered. Like he'd suspected watching the breeders fucking in their dorm was all I was interested in.

Sorry, Jerry.

With a nod, the smaller man sidled around me, clapping me on the back.

"Cleanup is tomorrow afternoon when the breeders go home for family visits. Don't forget to bring a scrub brush. That shit gets really caked on." With a cackle at his own joke, Jerry headed down the hallway towards the breeding party observation rooms.

Shaking with eagerness, I stepped into the room. Something told me they'd chosen this room especially for someone with a small stature like Jerry. No way my long legs would fit comfortably under the desk. My body would be crammed into it like an extra sardine shoved into a full tin.

But I wouldn't be alone. Once I'd folded myself into place and adjusted the rolling chair to its pathetically inadequate height, I turned to the monitor, my heart hammering against my ribs. I'd see her today, watch the way she walked, talked. I couldn't be part of her world yet, but the thought of knowing her a bit better made me jittery. Three monitors, all pointing inward, were on a curved desk. Each had a different view of the common space. No cameras in their rooms, though, that was private. As if nobody got naked in the common room. I rolled my eyes, searching the space for any sign of Sylvia.

But the girl of my dreams was nowhere in sight. I got a glimpse of everyone's face using the three camera angles and not one of them was her. I didn't even need to see her face. I'd recognize her just from the way she stood or maybe her gait.

Convinced she wasn't about to sprint up on the monitor, I took out my drawing supplies. I'd brought ample sheets of paper and a few other mediums, pencil, and coloured wax, expecting to see her. But this was just the start. I had set Jerry up for the next three days, and Sylvia had to come out at some point.

She didn't.

I kept watch long past midnight when all the other breeders had cleared the space and only one couple making out on the couch in the dark remained. What were the odds she'd come out for a midnight snack? I didn't know, but fuck if I was going to miss it. Pulling out my duffel, I unzipped it to be hit in the face with the rich aroma of coffee beans. Fucking heaven. Chocolate-covered coffee beans would be enough to keep me alert. The handful of beans I tossed into my mouth were probably too many, but I crunched them with relish, savouring the sweet chocolate and its bitter undertones. I'd rather be exhausted than miss this opportunity of seeing Sylvia again.

At some point in the night I did nod off, waking to find I drool on the smooth amber wood of Jerry's desk, the moisture pulling up at the laminate.

Shit, well, it wasn't like we were best buds. Jerry was probably messing up my desk with his own fluids right now, anyway. Shaking the image of Jerry coming all over the desk and leaving it for me to clean up out of my head, I searched the monitor but again found no sight of Sylvia. They were supposed to be going home for family time today. She was probably getting ready to go. She had to be. That would explain her absence.

Good thing I was a patient man. With a shoulder popping stretch, I reached my hands into the air and stood up to get some blood flow back into my legs. There were two weeks left to get myself into shape for the program. I figured I might as well use this time to break myself a little more. The floor space wasn't long enough for pushups, but I was able to position my body under Jerry's desk and wheel the chair back far enough that I could use the edge for pullups. My eyes scanned the monitor with each pull until my trembling muscles gave way, and I could do no more.

Breathing strained, I climbed back into the chair, searching the monitors again as if I'd missed her in the minute it had taken me to reemerge.

Fucking nope.

So, I started drawing. Her face. Her body. Her in different poses—as if adding a personality to the images would make the woman herself appear before me.

Then, I glanced up, and like magic, she was there.

I paused, my pencil poised over the image I'd been drawing of her.

She slipped smoothly into the room with that big, beautiful smile on her face. The same one she'd worn for the coordinator.

None of the drawings I'd done did her justice.

Blue. Her eyes were blue, just like mine. My heart clenched, and I reached for the colour. Shoving the stupid cartoon I'd been drawing out of the way, I watched as she went up to a guy at the counter and took a seat. I switched to stare at the rightmost monitor where her face was on full display, the camera on that side positioned lower.

Beautiful. Every line a lesson to the artist inside me. Every stroke a challenge to duplicate such perfection. Her face was round with a pointed chin complimented perfectly by the chin-length cut of her sandy blonde hair.

She laughed, and I swear I could hear her clearly through the crackling audio. Though only the loudest sounds made it to my ears. What was her voice really like? When she talked normally, would it be low and husky like in my dreams, or soft and lilting? Only the thought of joining her soon kept me from punching the piece of garbage monitor for keeping her from me.

My clumsy fingers sketched her face, heart stuttering as she tucked a strand of hair behind one delicate ear and chewed on her lip. I pushed the paper out of the way and started a new drawing, trying to capture that exact expression. Was that nervousness? Nervousness about what? Seeing her family? Did she not get along with them?

I thought of my own impending visit, and I could well understand any trepidation she might be feeling. But her records had shown she had eight siblings. Surely she must get along with at least one of them?

Fuck, it was a mystery and not one I was likely to solve until I was on the inside. For now, all I could do was draw pictures of the girl on my screen. Useless scraps of paper that could never do her justice, but were the only connection I had to the girl who was both so close and so far away.

She laughed, throwing back her head in a way that made her breasts bounce, and my cock stiffen. I hadn't gotten off since I'd watched her breeding party, though I'd observed three parties since then, and now I knew why.

None of those women could hold a candle to her. She wasn't in the same room as me, wasn't strapped to a bed. It was her simple laugh and the way her delicate shoulders shrugged. Her plump bottom lip jutting out in a mock pout grabbed a hold of me like she was in the room, whispering words in my ears and stroking my cock.

Shrugging off the needs of my body, I focused on drawing her, knowing I'd have an opportunity to relieve myself later. Sylvia would be called soon to head home. Just my luck. She wasn't out in the common room for five minutes when she was called to the door, her hips swaying seductively as she sauntered out of the room. Fuck, the confidence to be so unhurried when I could see the coordinator tapping her foot and waiting at the door. It did things to me.

But then she was gone, and I had to watch the rest of the room slowly clear out. When the door shut from the last Breeder, I scrubbed my hands over my face and stood, wincing at the tightness in my legs from having fallen asleep in a contorted position.

Time to clean. With a spring in my step, I went straight for the stairwell, going down to the first floor where the dorms were and seeking out Pack 103C.

Across from the door was a general cleaning closet, and I lined up behind the other cleaners, keeping my eyes down and my shoulders stiff to avoid unwanted conversation. A fair number of the coordinators were women. Something about putting the breeders at ease. All the watchers were male, which made my cleaning group composed of a bunch of guys I'd never met and wanted to actively avoid getting to know.

I took a bucket and a few pumps of soap along with a heavy-duty cleaning cloth and headed into the dorm. Everyone seemed to be starting with the common room, which worked out perfectly for me. I tried to piece together where the cameras were located based on my experience in the observation room. Moving to the wall behind a foosball table, I was sure the angle on the couch matched it. And sure enough, my scan of the opposite wall revealed a framed piece of art featuring a vibrant splash of oranges and blues with a small camera jammed into the corner of the frame. The black lens blended seamlessly into the design. I wondered if someone had designed the art with a camera in mind, or if they'd salvaged it from some old human home and placed the camera to fit it.

Continuing to explore the room while cleaning, I located the other two cameras in the room. One was set into an art piece just like the oranges and blues, but this one was a portrait of some colourful flat-faced cat that annoyed me just to look at it. The other was more skillfully placed in the crack of a kitchen cabinet, aligned with the hinge and peeking out the other side, hidden in shadow. Well, not unless you knew the exact angle it recorded and went searching for it. With a smirk, I cleaned the fridge next to the cabinet, frowning like I'd seen something worth washing.

Everyone avoided the couch at all costs, cleaning the table, wiping the TV, but never the couch. Not until a tall skinny guy with pale skin and a shaved head shoved a short, bespectacled ginger guy towards it.

"We saved the couch for you, Cam." The asshole laughed as the ginger eyed the couch warily and adjusted his glasses.

Pissed off at the sight of the shover smirking and demanding the ginger do his bidding like he was any better than any of us when he'd been assigned the same role, I went straight to the couch, glaring at the shover and thinking that his buzzed head and pasty skin made him look like the giant dick he was. The guy just shrugged his shoulders, still wearing that annoying smirk before moving off and heading back towards the kitchen.

Silently, I moved to help the ginger. He peered up into my face in surprise. I tried not to look as I slid the soapy cloth across the smooth brown pleather, and fuck if I was going into the cracks of the cushions.

"Hey, thanks, man. Everybody hates the couch."

I chuckled. "The people who live here sure seem to like it."

He laughed, the sound jarringly nasal. "Yeah, that's why we hate it."

He winked at me, the freckles covering his skin standing out, and I decided I liked the guy. There were worse things than being assigned a watcher. At least I was big enough that I didn't get hassled.

"The name's Cam," he said.

I nodded, making a point of not offering mine. As much as I might like to make a friend today, any connection to the people watching these rooms wasn't a great idea. Knowing where the cameras were placed would help, but the more familiar with me the Pack 103C Watchers were, the more likely they'd be to recognize my face.

So, I cleaned the couch by his side, giving the occasional non-committal grunt when he tried to engage me in conversation. No, he hadn't seen me before. No, I wouldn't be coming back. The poor kid seemed desperate for a friend, and it made me feel like shit about rejecting his advances, but I had to—for Sylvia.

"I've got to take a piss," I muttered, heading for the bathroom I knew was at the end of the long hall off the common room. The guys were still busy scrubbing down the kitchen, which meant I'd have a few minutes to explore.

Breeders were tasked with cleaning their own rooms. We weren't supposed to enter their private spaces, but I just couldn't help myself. The desire to get closer to Sylvia hurried my steps as I scanned the nameplates on each door for hers.

Nope. No fucking Sylvias, but I knew she lived here. What the fuck?

And that's when I realized.

Sylvia was here, but none of the doors had her name hanging on their front.

Shit, she didn't go by that name. I turned back to a door I had dismissed.

"Syl." I said the name out loud, testing it on my tongue. She went by Syl. I'd been calling her Sylvia this whole time, imagining her as Sylvia, but that wasn't her name at all. I felt like shit, realizing even that small bit of knowledge I had about her was wrong.

But now that I'd figured it out, I turned the brass knob slowly, as though she was inside and not off visiting with her family like all the others.

The bed inside was empty, and I found myself staring around, drinking in every detail about Syl. A music box sat on her tall standard-issue dresser. She'd made some kind of cute circlet to place around her bedside lamp, and I saw another in matching blues and greens on the top of her dresser. As if she cared about how things looked. Well, of fucking course she did.

I imagined her as the kind of girl who took care of things, who knew where every article of clothing was, and it was true. Her clothes hung neatly in the closet, and a quick check showed them folded carefully in her dresser.

Eager for her scent, I opened the top drawer and found her underwear.

"Mm," I grunted my approval, pulling out a pink thong and picturing Syl wearing it. Clearing my throat, I adjusted my pants from where they were snagging on my rapidly hardening cock.

This was her room. Her private space, and I was invading it, pressing myself inside and exploring. Everything about being in here gave me a thrill, and I clenched the pink thong in my hand, tugging my pants down and bracing myself against the dresser.

Smooth as silk. That was the only way to describe the delicate material of Syl's thong. I gripped my cock with the fabric wrapped around my hands and moaned at how good it felt, and how much better it would feel if Syl was in front of me wearing it.

This was her bed. She'd been sleeping here just a few hours ago. I stared at the pale pink of her coverlet, imagining her splayed out before me, and gave another tug. Panting, I yanked hard.

Syl, not Sylvia, Syl. I could see her in my mind. She smiled at me. Opening her legs, she laid back on the bed. She wore her pink thong for me. Just for me. Only for me. With a growl, I moved to the bed, lying down and burying my face in her pillow, trying to scent her on the freshly washed sheets.

Fuck, why did she need to be so tidy? The silky fabric of the thong took my thrusts as I rammed myself into the bed, imagining her beneath me. She moaned, just like she'd done in the breeding room. Sweet little panting breaths tickled my ear as I buried myself in her wet heat like I'd watched the others do.

I'm coming, don't stop.

I wouldn't stop. I would give her what she needed. I would give her every last drop.

With a roar I trusted would be muffled by the room's soundproofing, my release took me, and I moved against her mattress as I came back down.

The mess I'd made of her thong and sheets should've bothered me, but I couldn't bring myself to feel bad. Syl was mine, even if she didn't know it yet, and some animalistic part of me wanted her to walk back into the room and find I'd defiled it.

It'd be a message and a warning.

I was coming for her.

I was already hot at the idea of her sleeping in the cum-soaked bed.

The thong was another story, and I looked at it, realizing there was no way to hide how I'd used it in such a satisfying way. I tucked it in my pocket, knowing this moment would be the stuff of my dreams until I could have her for real.

Satisfied and languid, and safe in the knowledge that I'd be visiting this room again soon, I looked around the room for any other signs of Syl. Any other clues as to the woman I'd only seen on my monitor.

Her nightstand drawer was ajar, and I frowned down in surprise. Everything else in here seemed intentional, but the drawer was cracked open enough to see the darkness within, as if she'd slammed it in a hurry and it had bounced back. Smiling as the scenario played out in my mind, filling me with more insight into the beauty who was to be mine, I pulled the drawer open to see what she'd been in a hurry to hide.

What?

Inside was a thick stack of what appeared to be human magazines from before the bombs. The woman on the cover wore an enormous flower larger than her head on the side of an extravagant dress. Syl liked this?

Curious, I pulled the first magazine from the stack, being careful with the brittle pages as I opened it for any clue for why Syl would have amassed such a collection.

Notes. There were messages in the margins on many of the pages inside, details and thoughts on the outfits the smiling women wore.

Scooped neck, not V would be better.

Draped here to follow the flow of her leg.

All the comments were much the same—minor adjustments to the clothing within the book and the deepest thoughts of the woman I was desperate to know.

Greedily, I continued looking through the magazine, eager for more, when I came across a page ripped in half. There were no comments on this page. Not a word from Syl's scratchy handwriting, and I could see why. The tear cut straight down the middle, leaving half the dress to the viewer's imagination.

Or a watcher's. I smiled to myself. This was exactly like Reg's comic books—a piece of patchwork for me to unravel. I could see how the lines would continue and match them to the other side. Fortunately, I always carried a few folded up pieces of paper and a pencil in my pocket in case I came across something to sketch. Not charcoal. Shit was messy, but a pencil would do if the inspiration struck, and it would certainly do for this.

Sitting down on Syl's bed with a creak, I sketched out the figure, imagining her missing hand placed elegantly on her hip. The outfit was tricky. I could match it to the other side, but some designs Syl seemed particularly fond of were asymmetrical. Once I'd matched the way the dress hugged the woman's figure to flare out at the bottom, I added one of the enormous flowers Syl seemed fond of on the missing side.

Pleased, I made a few final adjustments and slipped the paper in behind the figure so it nearly lined up perfectly. Half the woman was in faded colour, her navy dress standing out against pale skin, and the other was a pencil sketch, making her look like a patchwork human. Half real, half fake. I liked it, and it gave me an idea for a project I was working on. Syl was by far the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, but she was also complicated. There was a depth to her she let few others see. I wanted to show that, to paint her unique beauty in a way that would do her justice.

A thud came from somewhere outside the door. The soundproofing in here was probably too powerful to hear voices. Shit, I'd stayed too long.

Slipping the magazine back on the top of Syl's stack, I closed the drawer, leaving it open a crack the way I'd found it. Smiling as I imagined her opening the magazine and my quick sketch falling out, I stood and went back to the cleaning crew.

I had a feeling the fucking bathrooms were next.