Page 25 of Born for Silk
The man leans forward onto his knees, murky brown eyes narrowing. He is dirty, yes, but youthful in a way that saddens me. “You’re not what I expected from a Silk Girl. I’ve jerked off to the idea of the perfect little breeding girls you are. Pure. Unopened by a man. Adore, pleasure, provide, am I right? Nothing in your pretty heads except that.” He hums in thought. “But you’re… talking about beheadings, sitting there all stiff and alert, like you’re going to try to take us all on. Is that it, little girl? You’re not even that squeamish. Your friend couldn’t stand the sight or smell, but you…” He studies me harder. “What are you?”
“I’m different.”
“How different?” he poses, a challenge skittering along each syllable. “How different are you, little girl?”
“I’m just like you. Surviving.” I look at his leader—at least I think he is— and remember the way he belittled him. He snores on his mattress. Quickly returning my gaze, I say, “With people ordering me around. Like the Wardeness. Those who think they know better than me. Or are smarter. Prettier”—I flash a look at Iris— “I’m just trying to survive in The Cradle. It’s made for them, not us.”
Fuck. I feel sick. I want Meaningful Purpose as much as any Trade citizen, and my words are profane.
We are staring at each other, and I feign intimacy, push it into the length and depth of our eye contact, using every inch of strength to not recoil or grimace.
His eyes drops to my throat.
I swallow as he leers, dipping his heated gaze lower to my chest and then my lap, where his vile thoughts are almost tangible fingers removing my clothes.
“Her red hair distracted me,” he offers, as if I really care, as if I’m jealous he chose her first. “You’re by far the prettiest girl I have ever seen. Ever.”
I blink at him. “Thank you. You’ve been surviving for a long time. Since you were ten?” I steady my breath, stay calm. I’m not afraid. “How old are you now? Have you got a House Girl?” I know the answer, but I need him to say it, for the conversation to continue as I plan.
He finishes the meat in his hand. “Twenty-two, I think. It’s hard to tell when the sun decides not to shine and the moon sleeps for too long. But I believe I’m twenty-two.”
“And girls?”
“Women don’t survive in this lifestyle. No. They don’t live long enough for me to keep.”
I stare straight into his eyes. “I could. I would.”
“You think?” Hesitant, he stares at the other men stirring on their mattresses. “You want to survive with me?”
I hold my panic inside.
What am I doing?
With his blade in his hand, he stands up and crosses the flaming barrel to get to me. He reaches down for my wrist, and I try not to flinch. He gazes at The Silk Girl Sigil in disdain, growling, “You want this thing on you? A womb. That is all you are to them. A womb.”
“I had no choice.”
“Prove it.”
I look at the drain.
Where does it lead…
They’ll be looking for us. Near the broken van? Near the mill? When we are announced missing, will the Mothers tell them of our secret visit? Will they track the broken glass? Will they find evidence? Will it be too late? There’ll be little pieces of me missing, digested and then waste in that drain.
The drains are manned by Trade workers.
“I’ll cut it off for you.”
His words land a hard blow. “Pardon?” My voice strains with the thought of removing his mark. No. No, I can’t. I won’t. Will he eat it?
He sneers. “So, you’re a liar, then?”
I panic. “No. You just have to prove you don’t think of me as live meat and dispose of it. Do not eat it. Do not eat me. Put it down the drain or,” I swallow, “something.”
A smile moves across his lips. “When Shank told me our Snakes saw a Trade van on the road, I thought he was crazy. Trade vans don’t travel ‘ere.”
My pulse hammers. “What’s a snake?”