Charged by G. P. Ching

Author:G. P. Ching [Ching, G. P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-940675-13-8
Publisher: Carpe Luna Publishing

17

I finish the laundry and hang each of Korwin’s garments on the drying line. Several of them look almost new. Compared to the mended rags I remember Pit wearing, they might as well be luxury goods. In some ways, I’m glad Korwin ended up here. He’s surviving, safe from the Greens, and hasn’t compromised his integrity by rejoining the Liberty Party. Still, I stare at the shirts, seeing the faint remnants of sprayed blood I wasn’t able to work from the fabric, and fresh tears anoint my cheeks.

Our lives have spun out of control, as distant from the life we’d planned as night from day. The future I imagined, white house, farm, a baby on my hip, church on Sunday, it all dissolves in a flash of blue light. Still, he has claimed me. Despite the Ordnung’s rejection of him, and my delay in coming to find him, he still chose me. He still fought for me. That, at least, tells me that things between us aren’t completely broken.

I run a finger under the red collar around my neck. My father would explode if he saw it. A child of God treated like a common pet. I should be livid. I should stand up for myself. Who would stop me if I tried to leave? No one I couldn’t burn like forgotten toast. So why do I stay, hanging laundry with a collar around my neck?

It comes down to hope. Maybe, if I do this for him, stay and be his woman here, we can regain what we lost. If I can reach the Korwin I remember, the kind and decent man who lives under the harsh, violent exterior, I can bring him back from this godless life. I resolve to win his love again. And when I do, we can return home and leave all this behind us.

“Good, you’re done,” Sophie says as I hang the sheets. “Let’s go get you dressed for dinner.” She clip-clops to a mirror on the wall and fluffs her hair.

“I only have what I’m wearing,” I say. “And another outfit like it.”

With a disapproving scan of my outfit, she shakes her head. “Oh, honey, you can’t wear that.” She takes me by the elbow and leads me from the room. “It’s your keeper’s duty to provide you with something more… eye catching. You’re his woman now. He’ll want you to dress the part.” She pats my arm. “I’ll get you started in the bath and find you something.”

She ushers me down the hall to an unassuming gray door. Inside is a small room that doesn’t belong in the concrete bunker. There’s a fireplace with a lively fire burning and a painted cast-iron kettle resting near the flames. At the center of the room is an antique porcelain bathtub on an exquisite woven rug. There’s a small sitting area.

“This is… unexpected.” I trip on the word, as if it isn’t quite adequate. The room is surprisingly posh, with velvet curtains and textured walls.

“Add the entire kettle,” she says.

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