Beyond His Control: Chapter 15

It’s been a while since I’ve been back. A few weeks, I think, but there’s no way of tracking time since there aren’t any clocks or calendars. They let us out of our rooms after a few days, and now we’re finally allowed to roam about the property again. Mostly just the temple, especially now that I’m pregnant.

Noah’s only allowed outside whenever he has to attend an event, but he never comes back happy. I’m still forced to sleep in my own room. We can’t spend nights together even though I desperately want to. The guards only listen to the president. Noah can’t control them anymore, which worries me.

Ever since we’re back, he no longer has the power he once did, back before I escaped. It’s as if in order to let me in, he’s had to shun the rest, which has consequences. I don’t think the other patriarchs want to talk to him anymore. Not that I see them often; they keep us Matriarchs away from the business. Away from everything, if they could.

They only want us when they’re ready to fuck.

Ready to make … babies.

And the rest of our time is spent in solitary confinement with only books, knitting, and trivial games to keep us company.

There’s a common women’s room too. Today’s the day I join them for the first time, and for some reason, that makes me anxious. Even though it’s just a bunch of women, and I know they don’t carry the same power as the patriarchs do, they’re still dangerous. They’re married or are daughters to the most powerful men in this community.

Men who love them. Men who cherish them, even if it’s only for their bodies.

And those men will do anything to keep their prized possessions intact.

Maybe they’d even hurt another patriarch’s wife to keep their own safe.

I wonder …

Agatha escorts me to the room, which is in the back on the ground floor of the building, a place that was previously closed for me. Agatha has a key. I’m surprised the women are okay with being locked inside.

“There you go,” she says, opening the door.

I smile at her. “Thank you.”

I step inside in my long, yellow dress that Agatha made for me and fits snugly. It’s more like a conservatory than a room, as there are flowers and potted plants all over. The floors are covered with pink and white tiles, and it smells tropical in here, as though someone danced around spritzing bottled perfume. In the corner to the left are six cozy-looking, rosy-pillowed seats, two of which are vacant. One belongs to my mother, no doubt.

In the others are five women, all dressed in puffy, pink, red, purple dresses that look an awful lot like mine. Does Agatha make them for all the women here?

The door behind me closes, and I’m acutely aware of the fact that I’m now locked in a single room with these women, who are all looking at me like I’m an unwelcome guest.

Then one of them smiles and gets up from her seat. “Darling … welcome.”

Her silvery-white hair cascades down her shoulders as she approaches me, and she gives me a kiss on each cheek and then a bow.

I just stare, and when she does too, and I realize it’s becoming awkward, so I bow too.

“Finally, you’ve joined us,” she says.

I smile. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, no, you don’t have to apologize,” she says with a sort of French accent. I wonder if she too was stolen from the outside world or if she’s just putting on a front. “We’re all family here.”

“Right …” I reply. “I wish I could’ve joined you guys sooner.” It’s a lie, but it’s one I’ll happily tell in order to keep them from stabbing me once they find out I want their husbands dead.

“I’m Abigail,” the woman says. “You must be Natalie.”

I nod. “How did you know?”

“Word gets around in this place …” She winks. “Us women don’t have a lot to do, so we notice … things.”

Her brows rise in such a peculiar way that I can’t help but snort a little.

“C’mon,” the woman says, and she grabs my hand and guides me to where the others are seated.

“Yeah, we don’t bite,” another one with silky blond hair says.

Why do I find that hard to believe?

“Sylvia,” the woman says as she too gives me two kisses and a short bow.

I introduce myself to each of the ladies. There’s Meghan, a brown-haired girl barely of age, Trisha, a dark-skinned beauty with a killer smile, and Ashley, a girl with short brown hair, who’s about the same age as me, I guess.

“Sit, sit!” Abigail insists as she pours some tea. “Here. It’s rose petals and honey flavored. My favorite.” She pushes a teacup in my direction.

I eagerly take a sip but am taken aback by how sweet it is. “Nice,” I lie.

No one says a word; everyone’s looking at me like they’re waiting for me … but to do what?

“Do I have something on my face?” I ask.

“Oh, no, darling, we’re all just so intrigued,” Abigail explains.

Sylvia leans in from right next to me. “Yeah, we want to know all about you. What did you think of the temple? Do you like the patriarchs? Have you enjoyed your time with the common folk?”

“The common folk?” I mutter.

“Yes, the people in the huts,” Meghan says. “You came from there, right?”

“Yeah …” I reply.

“I can’t believe she spent time with them,” Trisha says, checking out her nails. “I’m so glad I was born into this.”

“Not everyone’s as lucky as you are,” Ashley says, rolling her eyes.

“Are you not from here, either?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “Trisha’s dad is a current patriarch. She’s not married yet.”

“What about you?” Trisha asks me.

“Oh, I … um … I’m not from here.”

“A lot of us aren’t,” Ashley says.

“No, I mean … I’m not from this community,” I say. When they all just stare at me, I continue. “I’m from the outside. Beyond the fence.”

Ashley’s eyes widen. “Oh my … an outsider?”

“I thought you were too,” I mutter, confused.

She shakes her head. “I wasn’t born in the temple; my parents live out there in the huts. I haven’t talked to them in years, but I know where I came from. This community is my home.”

“What’s it like out there?” Meghan asks, leaning in.

“Meghan.” Abigail eyes her down. “We don’t talk about those things here.”

She pouts and lowers her eyes. “Aww …”

“You know the rules,” Abigail says. “They keep us alive.”

“You’re right,” Meghan says, sighing. “I just wish we could know more. It’s so boring here sometimes.”

Trisha raises her brow at Meghan. “Maybe you should do more chores then.”

“How? Where?” Meghan retorts. “It’s not like they let us do anything. Unlike when you live in the huts.”

“Girls, please,” Abigail interjects, raising her hand. “No need to fight over simple things.”

“I’m not fighting,” Trisha says, leaning back with her arms folded. “I’m just saying, people should be grateful.”

“I am … I’m very grateful for my position as a matriarch,” Meghan says.

“Then you should act like it,” Trisha replies.

“Ah!” Abigail barks. “No more.”

Well, that escalated quickly.

I wonder if it’s always like this, or if it’s just because I joined that they’re now suddenly unhinged. She was right; I am an outsider … a catalyst to the storm yet to come.

“So I heard you were pregnant,” Abigail says to me. “How are you feeling?”

My lips part, but I don’t know how to answer. Sylvia beats me to it. “Oh my, really?” Her eyes sparkle with joy. “Can I feel it?”

Before I know it, she’s already gotten up and has placed her hand on my belly.

“Me too!” Meghan quickly says, and she immediately lunges out of her chair to touch me.

But there’s nothing to feel yet. The baby isn’t far enough along yet to kick. But they don’t know that, and I don’t have it in me to tell them that.

“How far along are you?” Trisha asks.

“I … uh …” I don’t actually know, but the question makes my head spin.

“Can you feel him kick yet?” Meghan asks.

I can’t even answer before the next questions pour in.

“How do you feel?”

“Are you gaining weight yet?”

“Have you guessed what gender it’s going to be?”

“Do you have names already?”

Soon, all of the women are circling around me, each touching my belly and giggling to themselves as though it’s something to be jolly about. But should I be?

This baby … I want to love it, but at the same time, I’m terrified.

Acknowledging it means it’ll come into this world.

It means that I’ll have to give it love in this heinous community.

And that I’ll have to actually give birth …

I hadn’t even thought about it. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but I know it has to happen. This baby has to come out one way or another, and my body already tried that once.

Last time, it couldn’t. I lost the battle and kept the scar as a prize.

What will happen to me now?

What will happen to this baby if I fail?

Nausea overcomes me, and I get out of my seat and stumble around, feeling dizzy and unwell.

“Are you okay?” Abigail asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I shake my head. “I think … I need to go lie down for a second.”

Suddenly, my legs cave underneath me, and I fall to the ground headfirst, knocking myself out.

Noah

The moment Agatha told me Natalie had collapsed in the women’s room, I immediately rushed to her side. She was out for a few minutes, so I grabbed her limp body and carried her upstairs to her room.

The women looked at me like I’d lost my mind for barging into their room, but I don’t care. I’m not letting them take care of my wife when she just fainted.

I lay Natalie down on her bed and check her pulse and breathing. She’s still alive, that’s for sure. Did she faint?

“What happened?” Agatha walks into the room calmly but with assertiveness. When she notices me sitting by her side, she adds, “I apologize for the intrusion, patriarch.”

“It’s okay. Check her for me, please,” I reply. “She fainted.”

She nods and immediately grabs her stuff from a cabinet just outside in the hallway and comes back inside. There’s a thermometer, a blood pressure cuff, and a stethoscope in her hand. She presses it against Natalie’s chest and checks her breathing.

“Lungs sound normal,” she says. Then she checks her pulse and times it. “Great pulse too.”

She wraps the pressure cuff around her arm and pumps it up. “One-twenty-five over seventy-eight. It’s elevated, but nothing too concerning.”

“What about her temperature?” I ask.

Agatha quickly shoves the thermometer into her ear and checks the number. “Ninety-eight degrees. Perfect.”

She gets up and smiles at me. “Maybe she’s just too stressed.”

“Could that explain the fainting?”

She nods. “It’s best if she rests for a day. See how she feels afterward and keep her out of trouble, if possible,” she says.

I scratch the back of my head. “She was in the women’s room when it happened. That’s not stressful.”

“Could be,” she says, shrugging. “To her, it might be. Maybe the women asked her questions she couldn’t answer. Or maybe it just didn’t feel right to her. These things can happen when a woman is pregnant. Growing the baby takes up a lot of energy.”

I let out a sigh and sit down next to Natalie. I briefly glance at Agatha, and say, “Thank you. You can go now.”

She smiles and walks off, leaving us in peace. I grab Natalie’s hand and press a soft kiss on top. Right then, she groans, and her eyes blink a couple of times.

“Hey …” she mutters. “What happened?”

“You fainted. How are you feeling?” I ask.

She smashes her hand against her forehead. “Ugh, my head hurts.”

“That might be from the fall,” I explain. “You probably hit your head against the tiles.”

I check the back of her head to make sure there’s no wound or blood. But she’s in the clear.

“I felt so … dizzy all of a sudden,” she says.

“What were you doing?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” She licks her lips. “I think they were touching my belly … and then all of a sudden, I thought about having to birth this baby and bringing him or her into this … this … community.” She shivers.

I grab the blankets and pull them up higher. “Don’t think about it.”

Her eyes widen. “But I have to. One way or another, this baby is going to come into this world, and I have nothing to say about how or when it will happen, or even where it gets to grow up.”

“Not everything is in our hands, Natalie,” I say. “You have to understand that. Sometimes we have to let nature take its course.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she says, grabbing my arm. “I could die. What if it gets stuck? What if it has to be cut out of me again? Do you even do those things here?”

I frown. “No …”

Her face turns as white as a lily flower.

“Then I’m gonna die. I’m going to die,” she repeats, shaking her head. “I can’t die here.”

“You won’t,” I say, holding her down before she attempts to get out of bed. “You have to calm down.”

“I can’t! What if the same thing happens again, Noah?” she asks, ripping away the blanket and pulling up her dress. “See this scar?” She points at her belly. “He came out there. Dead. I never even got to see him. Talk to him. Love him.”

Tears fill her eyes, and it hurts so much to see the misery oozing from them. I never knew what it felt like to wish for someone else’s pain to disappear so badly, but now I know.

I reach for her face and caress her cheeks. “This will not be like this. This baby will survive. I will promise you, right now, I will make it happen.”

“How?” she says with a shaky voice.

I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead. “You have to believe me. It will be different this time. You’re stronger now, more capable. Your body has learned how to cope with this. It knows what to do now. You can do this. I believe in you.”

She leans against my lips, the weight of her responsibility showing. She sighs and closes her eyes. “I need you.”

“I’m here,” I say.

But I know I won’t be able to support her when it’s time to give birth even though she might want me to be there. In this community, men aren’t allowed to be present during the birthing process. Men only provide blessings for the child once it has arrived, and that’s it.

Women take care of their children.

Women do … all the hard things us men couldn’t ever dare.

She places her hand on top of mine, the gentle squeeze setting my soul ablaze. “Thank you.”

I nod in agreement even though I know I probably won’t be allowed to do what she asks …

But a man can’t say no to the woman he loves.

And love makes you say things without thinking them through.