“Of course. Come with me, dear.”
I follow her as she walks past the kitchen and down several corridors to a door farther away from the center of the house. That door, which she uses a key to unlock, which I knew was locked because I’d tried it on one of my explorations of the house, leads to a corridor different from any in the house. For one thing, it’s lit with electrical lights, and for another, it’s nowhere near as ornately or beautifully decorated as the main part.
“What’s here?” I ask, appreciating the brightness.
“Staff rooms. Three maids live on property plus security and myself, of course. These are our rooms.”
“Oh,” I say, remembering Santiago’s rule that I not enter the servant’s quarters. I roll my eyes at the memory.
“Here we are,” she says, unlocking a door. When she opens it, a light automatically blinks on, and I see it’s a laundry room. I smell detergent and watch one of the washing machines already spinning its load.
“This is like a hotel,” I comment.
She smiles and heads to a shelf where I see several boxes of tampons. “The house is old and requires a lot of upkeep. I’m just glad your husband does it, although he has closed off some rooms since he became head of the household. With only him and Mercedes, it made sense, but now...” She trails off.
“How big is it?” I ask, watching her count out five tampons.
She holds them out, and I hear her talking, but I stop listening because I realize something.
This wasn’t an oversight.
“I’ll just take the box. I’m sure I’ll need more than five,” I say, irritated not by her but hearing my tone, nonetheless. I know she’s just doing what he’s told her to do.
Antonia’s gaze falters, and she takes a deep breath in. “I’ll give you what you need. Just ask me, Ivy, but...” She trails off.
“He wants to know,” I say, feeling a little sick. Feeling my eyes fill up. Feeling powerless and hated and trapped all at once.
“He’s just anxious to start a family. That’s all.”
I snatch the tampons out of her hand. “Then when you tell him, make sure he knows how happy I am that he’ll be disappointed!” I spin around, wiping the back of my hand across my face to get rid of the idiotic tears that wet the skin around my eyes at this fresh humiliation. Because what did I expect? What did I think? That he felt bad about what he did that night he took me to the compound? The night he had me crawl naked on my hands and knees for everyone to see? I don’t even know who was there. Don’t know who saw me being led like a dog by my husband. Being fucked by my monster.
God.
I hate him. I hate my husband.
And the worst part, the stupidest part is that I don’t want to. That I thought—
Fuck!
I find my way back to the main part of the house and have to pause at the bottom of the stairs when a dizzy spell overtakes me. It’s always worse around my period. I clutch the handrail and hold on until it passes, ignoring the girl asking me if I’m okay. I squeeze my eyes shut and beg for it to pass quickly. Not to come until I’m back upstairs in my room. In my bed. Until these vultures won’t see more weakness to exploit.
“Ivy!” It’s Antonia.
“I’m fine!” I force myself to move, sweat making my grip on the wide handrail slippery as I concentrate on getting away. Just getting away. Not letting myself stop until I’m back in my room and in the bathroom, the only door with a lock on the inside where I drop to sit on the cold tile floor, my back against the door head between my knees, stupid tampons scattered at my feet.
30
Ivy
I lie in bed most of the day, staring at the rectangle of waning light coming into my room. I flushed some of the food Antonia brought down the toilet so she would think I ate and leave me alone. He’s managing that too. Probably getting daily reports. Hourly, maybe. He’s just controlling enough.
I am a body to him. A body he can humiliate and fuck and ultimately use to make babies. Then what? What happens when I’m all used up?
No. I don’t need to think about that. I know. He’s told me.
I turn over as the door opens. No knock. Mercedes strolls into my room like she owns the place.
“Well, aren’t you lazy,” she says, gaze condescending.
I sit up. “What do you want, Mercedes? I’m not in the mood to deal with you.”
Two women follow her in, one carrying a garment bag, the other rolling in a small suitcase.
The gala.
Shit.
“I’m not going,” I tell her before she can get a word in. I get out of the bed to go to the bathroom. Although my period’s lighter than it would usually be, the birth control shot has done nothing for my cramps.
“That’s not up to you,” she says, slipping the toe of her blood-red stilettos in the doorway so I can’t close it. “Or didn’t my brother mention that? You do as you’re told. Period.”
I stop pushing at the door, let it go and step into her face. She’s taller than me with those shoes while I’m barefoot, so I have to look up at her. “You and your brother can both go fuck yourselves. I have cramps. Get the hell out.”
“Cramps?”
“What? You don’t get the report about my cycles too?”
“What are you talking about?”
The fight goes out of me. I’m more depressed than angry, and it’s not her I’m angry with. “Nothing. Just go. You can torture me tomorrow.”
“I don’t think so. We only have an hour to get you ready, so do what you need to do in here,” she says, walking away to return a moment later with her purse and taking out a bottle of aspirin. She sets it on the counter. “Here. I’ll even give you aspirin. Not that you deserve pain relief.”
That anger is back, and now it’s directed precisely on her.
“What the fuck is wrong with the two of you? I barely even knew that you existed before I was forced to marry your brother. To live in this little corner of hell. What did I do to you that made you hate me so much?”
Her eyes grow darker, mouth tighter, and I see her hands fist at her sides. She’s gritting her teeth, and I know she wants to say something, but she’s holding back. “You’re lucky my brother stands between me and you, Ivy Moreno, because I wouldn’t be so gentle with you.”
“Gentle? You think he’s gentle?”
She snorts.
“Do you? Because you’re as deluded as he is if you do!”
“Don’t forget your place.”
“My place? Get out. Just get the fuck out of my room!”
“You’re in my house. Mine. You don’t tell me to get out.”
“It's Santiago's house. My husband’s house!” I don’t even know why I say it. Why I’m goading her.
“Oh! Your husband. That's right.” She tilts her head to the side and grins. “Do you have any idea why he made you his wife? Why a man like my brother would even look at you twice?”
“I wish I did. Get out, Mercedes. I mean it.”
“He hates you.”
Her words manage to hit something tender inside me. I don’t know why. I don’t care about her or what she thinks. And maybe it’s the day or the past few days. I don’t know. But before I can open my mouth to tell her to go away again, she continues.