I have nothing to hide, but Cole’s clear avoidance of mentioning our past has me wary of sharing with strangers. I don’t know if it’s just to protect Marie’s feelings, but I agree no one needs to know the extent of our business or lack thereof now.
Cole and Marie leave, hand in hand, and although I’m curious about where they’re going, I can’t see past nausea cramping my stomach. We’re usually not allowed to leave our assigned duties until the end of the day—one of many of Shepherd’s rules that leaves me vaguely uneasy.
I haven’t even been alone with Enzo long enough to discuss this place, but I’m increasingly worried about the endless ways in which Shepherd controls us all. We’re not allowed to have men in our rooms after dusk or, heaven forbid, cohabitate. We can’t leave our posts until the day is done, precisely 4 p.m. every day. We’re not allowed to leave the compound unless we’ve gained a certain status within the group.
The only lessons I’ve observed for the children include Bible scripture and some weird teachings that Shepherd creates himself. If you displease him, he takes great pleasure in humiliating you in front of the entire group, which speaks to another level of douchebaggery.
No one speaks up against him. They all drank the Kool-Aid or hide their ill at ease as I do. But I don’t see actual fear, leading me to wonder if we’re in danger, even though I’m not aware of anyone being harmed.
The woman who was staring at me wanders over, tearing me from my musings. I tense in anticipation because it’s easy to see this bitch isn’t going to let a good bit of gossip go, and I just handed her a juicy tidbit on a platter. I can only hope my expression was one of dislike rather than pain.
Sandy, I think her name is, stops next to me and starts arranging the toys. I eye her quietly, praying I’m wrong, but I feel no vindication when she asks, ever so casually, “So, you knew Cole before?”
With a silent sigh, I respond as noncommittally as I can, murmuring, “Yes, we were both at the ranch before it burned.”
“Hmm. How well did you know him?” she asks, her brows rising.
“I didn’t, not really,” I evade, looking directly at her to ensure she bought my lie. Sometimes being confident gets the job done. This time, though, she doesn’t look convinced.
“You know where they were going?”
“No,” I reply. “I thought we weren’t supposed to leave until 4 pm?”
“We aren’t, but they have special permission to go for an ultrasound at the clinic for the baby . . .” I don’t hear anything she says after that because white noise fills my head, and I’m instantly dizzy.
Although she continues to speak, I can’t focus on anything but that last fucking word she uttered—baby. And nausea from before surges wildly, pushing at my throat.
It’s been a handful of months, and he’s already impregnated her? What the fuck?
Biting back a sob, I rub my brow, but I can’t feel my face, my heart is racing, and my chest is so tight that the familiar sting of an anxiety attack claws at my lungs.
I used to experience these episodes all the time, a lot more in my youth, but I know that once it comes barreling down on me, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I don’t want to have one in front of everyone; I don’t want to expose this weakness, but it’s too late.
Bending at the knees, I suck in air, my brain fighting with my lungs to allow the smallest passage of oxygen through. Intellectually, I know I can’t die, but it doesn’t stop the roiling panic as my chest constricts and I struggle to take deep, dragging breaths through my mouth and nose.
I have a brief moment of clarity where I hope I’m not scaring the children before I go back to focusing on sucking lifesaving air into my lungs. And after what seems like a lifetime, the attack finally eases, and my lungs slowly open.
Although I’m relieved it’s over, now the ache of betrayal surges to the forefront and with pain still clenching my chest tightly, I drop to my butt and bury my face in my hands.
Someone comes over, crouches before me, and strokes my hair, and I want so badly to tell them to fuck off, but I know I can’t make waves here because my free passes for freaking out are long gone. Now I have to toe the line if I want to survive, which, let’s be clear, is iffy right this second.
“C’mon,” Faith says, helping me to my feet. She’s one of the women who found us at Sam’s Club and brought us back here, and resentment rises inside me that she found us at all. At this point, living in blissful ignorance sounds pretty fucking good. But I allow her to lead me from the building while the others close up and head for dinner.
Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything because I’m not sure I have it in me to pretend. Instead, she guides me down the street with her arm around my shoulders. But I balk as soon as I realize where we’re going. I can only assume Cole and Marie were headed to the same damn clinic not so long ago.
I can’t go in there. I can’t see them. I can’t.
My lungs tighten once more, and I stop abruptly, but she pulls me along, and I’m too weakened by my attack to protest. My arms and legs are shaky, my head feels fuzzy, and my breathing, although greatly improved, is still labored.
My hair sticks to my face in sweaty strands, and I focus on my feet, moving forward one step at a time rather than the specter of what might greet me inside. Right, left, right, left.
Faith pulls me through the doors and leads me back to a room, thank God, before ordering me to sit and leaving just as quickly.
The bed crinkles under my weight, and absently I note that some things never change. Even in the zombie fucking apocalypse, there’s fresh paper lining the bed. Now that I’m alone in my misery, I lay down on my side with a wretched sigh, but the painful pinch in my heart won’t relent. Pulling my legs to my chest, I rock gently, staring at the wall, and if I could cry, I would, but there’s nothing left in me.
“You must be Lola.”
Blearily, I glance up a short while later to an older gentleman with silver-gray hair and kind blue eyes looking down at me. I must’ve dozed off, and I gaze sleepily at his face when he holds out his hand. “I’m Dr. Stone.”