Page 10 of Aine
“Nice to meet you,” I mumble, wincing as she pushes my chair over the doorway a little too hard and the wheels bounce and jostle my body.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” She slows to soften the chair’s movements. Small huffs fall from her lips as she struggles to ease me down the stairs and over the rough terrain that leads to a small cabin just opposite Damien’s home. I didn’t notice it when arriving with Jenna, the building hidden between the trees and hard to spot.
It doesn’t look like much, and the wooden exterior is covered in dirt and grime. Is this where I’m to live?
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” I say, feeling guilty she’s being forced to undergo such strenuous work.
She pauses to catch her breath. “I’m happy to do it!”
We stay still in silence for a moment, and I listen to the birds chirping at one another from the treetops. The sound has me relaxing, but the peace doesn’t last for long as Olivia releases a loud exhale and starts pushing me forward once more.
“Why were you executed?” she asks.
I freeze, panicked as I try to think of an excuse. “I, uh—” I stammer, my face heating up. “I’m gay.”
The lie doesn’t roll off my tongue as smoothly as I’d like, and I sink my teeth into my lower lip as I wait for her response.
She snorts. “Don’t let Damien hear you say that.”
Her chuckle doesn’t take long to turn into a full-blown laugh, and before I realize what’s happened, she’s stopped pushing me and is hunched over cackling, her hands resting on her knees in an effort to keep herself upright.
“I’m sorry!” She gasps. “It’s not that funny.”
A nervous laugh slips from my lips. Why does she find that so funny? After a couple of seconds, she straightens back up and wipes at her cheeks.
“I really needed that today.” She grabs my chair and pushes me the last couple of feet to the cabin.
It’s tiny, and as she wheels me inside, I’m shocked to discover that only a bed and small round table sit inside. I search for a bathroom or kitchen, disappointed as I realize there isn’t one.
“Where will I go to the bathroom?” I ask.
She offers me a small smile, her expression conveying pity as she jerks her head toward Damien’s house. “You’ll have to go to the house for that.”
Her eyes drift to the chair I sit in, her eyebrows furrowing as she takes in my current injured state.
“I’ll remind him to come over every few hours to bring you to the house and help you use the bathroom,” she says.
My jaw drops, indignation washing over me. While I may need some help getting to and from the house, I am perfectly capable of using the bathroom and bathing myself.
“I don’t need help using the bathroom!” I exclaim, desperate to defend myself.
She looks me over once more before nodding, although it feels like she’s doing so more for my benefit and not because she believes me. Glancing around the small room, she lets out a quiet sigh, her shoulders slumping as her eyes land on the table. I’m curious about the reasons behind her reaction, but before I have the chance to ask, she straightens herself up and plasters a wide smile on her lips.
“He’ll stop by later today to get you,” she says, her voice unnaturally high. “I need to get going.”
Without waiting for my response, she pivots on her heel and leaves, the flimsy door slamming shut behind her. I stare at the wooden object for a moment, my eyes tracing the gaps between the doorframe and the actual door. This place is poorly constructed, and I can already tell it will offer me little protection from the elements.
Nonetheless, I’m glad to have my own space and am excited at the prospect of fixing it up once I’m healed. I’m still wary of Damien, but I’m taking his disinterest in me as a positive. The fewer wifely duties I’m expected to provide, the better.
Even as I think that, though, I’m reminded that just because he doesn’t seem to care much for me doesn’t mean he doesn’t hold expectations. I shake those thoughts away, my lips pursing as I continue looking around the room.
The bed that sits pushed up against the right wall is small, but it looks like it’ll be able to hold my weight just fine. Thin, beige sheets sit on top of the mattress, looking clean despite the rattiness of the fabric. There’s no comforter or heavy blanket to keep me warm, which isn’t exactly ideal, but I’ll survive.
To the left, underneath a cracked window, is a small, two-person table, the round surface not large enough to hold much. On it sits some pieces of scrap paper and a pen, and next to that an empty cup.
Other than that, the room is entirely empty, and I hold back the tears that well in my eyes as I come to the realization that I have nothing. While I’ve never been a particularly materialistic person, I do enjoy my knickknacks and comfort items.
Particularly the ones that keep me warm at night.