Pearls and Manners - Part 2

Her mother had told her this day would come. Said it plain, like weather.

“Mia, you just too soft, chile. You let folks run clean over you. Ain’t no doubt you gon have to submit a man to the Wakening one day. Most women do. I swear, if we had it back when I was young, it would’ve saved me a heap of heartache. Back then, we let ’em get away with too much.”

Mia never believed in the Wakening. She thought it was unnecessary and outdated. It had been twenty years since the Decree, and people knew better now. Or they were supposed to.

Still, here she was, preparing for one.

Back at the house, she sat on the porch and watched the morning rise like it always did. Trash lids clanged shut. Engines coughed to life. A woman across the street shook out a rug. Birds sang without shame. The roses along the fence were red, too red, almost, and she stared at them longer than needed. After today, nothing would be the same. She wanted to remember what it felt like before knowing.

When she stepped inside, the house was quiet except for the sound upstairs.

Muffled.

Wrong.

The drugs would wear off soon. She’d hoped they wouldn’t. She had slipped them into his food the night before, waited until his breathing deepened, then tied him down while he slept. She climbed the stairs slowly, each step creaking beneath her feet, each sound settling heavy in her chest. At the bedroom door, she stopped and breathed.

Then she opened it.

“Good morning, Gabriel.”

His hazel eyes locked onto her. He thrashed against the restraints, the bed frame rattling as his body strained forward. Veins rose along his arms and neck, dark and angry. The tape over his mouth swallowed his screams, but she knew what he was saying. She jumped when he jerked toward her, then stilled herself.

Skin like honey. A mouth sweeter still. He had talked her out of this before, laughed it off, called it foolish, called it fear. But now she didn’t know who he was. The face she loved looked unfamiliar, like something borrowed. The room felt smaller with him awake in it.

She tightened her grip on the red garment in her hand.

He saw it then.

His eyes went wide and stayed there. Tears slid down his temples, disappearing into the pillow. She crossed the room and wiped them away with the cloth. Her fingers lingered on his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw. For a moment, she almost untied him. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch like he always had.

“I really thought we were happy,” she whispered.

He nodded. Hummed through the tape. Me too.

They stayed like that for a breath too long.

“I’m sorry,” she said, standing. “I have to do this.”

He bucked hard against the restraints, shouting her name, the sound raw and broken. Mia turned and fled down the stairs before she could change her mind. Her hands shook as she opened the front door. She hung the red garment on the handle, the way she’d seen other women do, quiet, careful, deliberate.

She closed the door and leaned her back against it.

The house held its breath.

Upstairs, the bed frame rattled once, then stopped.

Mia slid down onto the floor, the wood cold against her legs. Her hands smelled faintly of soap and iron. She pressed them into her skirt until the shaking passed.

Outside, a car slowed. Then another.

She did not look out the window.