Chapter 9RoseVox

Chapter 9

Rose

As I sneak back into my room, I sit on my bed and stare at the phone Vox gave me. My hands are still shaking.

So much just happened, I don't even know how to process it. Between him carrying me to his bed, waking up to his hand stroking my face, showering in his house, then arguing with him and then the phone. God, I never even thought I would be able to argue with him given my inability to speak but Vox doesn't seem to care about that. He actually doesn't treat me like a disabled girl, this is just normal to him. Like we have our own language and he doesn't care about it. And when he signed to me, god, those words.

You are beautiful.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

He finds me beautiful.

And knowing it makes everything ever more confusing. Learning about what he does at the club, I understand better why he told me he wasn't a good man.

He deals with guns, Rose.

A part of myself is repulsed at this idea, but another part can't forget the care he keeps giving me, treating me with more respect than I’ve ever experienced.

How can this man be also a ruthless gun dealer?

By the way he avoided my gaze when he mentioned the guns, I guess there's a lot of other things going on at this club. And when I think of what he's accusing our leader of doing… The man I've known and looked up at all my life cannot be a criminal. He's our holy leader, the voice of reason, the one who will guide us to the highest point of consciousness, the Ascension. Vox must have mistaken him for another man.

Does Vox look like someone who would make that kind of mistake? How could this be true?

If it was, then all I ever believed in would be a lie. Our community, our customs and traditions, our goals and roles.

What if it was all a lie from the start?

No, you're wrong, this is your life, your beliefs, you don't get to give it up just because Vox told you he saw something .

But that's not the first time I noticed, well, inconsistencies in our community. The expensive cars, the punishments, the rules dedicated to women, the few girls that disappeared…

Could Vox be right?

No, no, he can't, he's mistaken.

I flinched when he talked about the making of children, because I actually know how it works. Even shielded from everything, I got to hear a lot of things at the Institute, eavesdropping on my girl classmates. I’ve never done anything but I got the picture. And from what I gathered it seems like a painful and dreadful experience that you have to share with your husband to create life. I'm not gonna lie, imagining having to do such a thing with my, ew, fiancé makes me want to vomit.

But imagining it with Vox, well, that’s a different story.

I sigh and let my back fall on the bed, remembering his hands on me when we hugged before I got out of his home. Just like I felt in the shower, the same foreign feeling comes back, churning in my belly like hot lava searching for a release. His touch isn't something I try to push away anymore, now it's something I long for. I wish I could have gotten even closer from him at that moment, crawling under his skin until we became one single piece of flesh.

God, Rose, get it together.

I wonder if he felt it too, the electricity around us, how right and natural it was t o be as close to him. I long for his touch, for his forehead kisses and the way he squeezed me in his arms like he wished I stayed there forever.

Does he do this with every girl? Or is it just, hum, us? The idea of him being so close to another woman feels icky. It's silly, what right would I have to claim this man? We barely know each other, and yet he fills my every thought .

I need to stay focused and prepare myself for the day. Maybe if I try to forget about the last events with Vox, I'll manage to stay focus on my classes.

Yeah, right .

Sure .

I take my notebook, pencil case and Ascendium before getting back downstairs to find my parents eating their breakfast, visibly not noticing that I only came back a few minutes ago.

“Morning, daughter,” my mother says as she takes a mug and puts it in front of my father, reading one of our authorized books on how to spread our message to the outside world.

“Morning,” I silently say, knowing she can read it on my lips.

“I'll take you to the fabric store after your classes,” she says, resting her hips on the countertops of the kitchen, her long black dress hiding most of her body from ankles to wrist.

I frown, signing, “Why?”

“To make your bridal gown. Rose, aren't you well awake!?” she asks, exasperation in her tone.

My bridal gown?

Well, more like a large piece of white cotton looking more like a grandma nightgown than a bride dress like I saw in a shop window once in town. I should love this idea of picking up the fabric to make my special dress, but somehow it makes me freeze, as if I was stuck in a block of ice.

“Isn't it too soon?” I sign.

“Too soon? No!” my mom says, while my father interrupts her.

“It's in a month, we must be ready. You're not marrying an average member of our community, you are marrying our leader, and people will expect us to be as prepared as possible,” he says, watching me over his book with daggers in his eyes.

“I just think we still have time. I'm not even done with my studies at the Institute. If I become a wife in a month, I won't be able to finish the year,” I sign to my mom.

“And why would it be an issue?” she asks, putting her fist on her hips, tilting her head.

“Don't you want me to graduate?” I sign.

“No, if you become a wife, Rose, that's the only thing that really matters,” she says, as if she couldn't understand my point of view for something so obvious.

I sigh, looking at my feet.

Why would I even try to argue? It's already been decided for me.

Opening a drawer, I take out a bowl, ready to make my oatmeal. As I sit and eat my breakfast, I can't help but remember the last time I saw a bridal gown in our community.

It was supposed to be a happy day.

Yet, it became one of the many memories haunting me at night.

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