Hemmingway

Miller gave me a white, oblong tablet that was as big as a horse pill earlier to help me relax and catch some sleep until it was time for me to pump milk for the babies again. I wasn’t able to provide as many ounces as he wanted me to earlier, most likely from the lack of vitamins, water, protein, and other vital nutrients needed to lactate.

The pain from the knife wound is now infected as I already suspected and was making it next to impossible for me to keep up with our titillating conversation. It became harder for me to maintain the illusion of my supposed, dutiful compliance. Luckily, he thought I was becoming more snippety with him due to the excruciating pain I was in and not me losing the pretense of reconsidering my options. The fact that he believed me, that he was idiotic enough to think that I’d lost my moral compass and was considering following him and the Admiral down the proverbial rabbit hole—that I’m convinced leads the person who walks through straight to hell—was his inept ignorance to read between the lines, or in this case, between the fingers as I envisioned shooting him the middle finger.

In my medically induced slumber, I could’ve sworn I heard the floorboards creaking above my head, rousing me, but that’s next to impossible. It just can’t be, no matter how much I wish it were and that some stranger has found out about what’s happening and has come to my rescue. It’s a pipe dream, and I for one, don’t have time to live in a fantasyland.

I dismiss the thought that it could be one of my captors. Once the babies are down for the night, they don’t wake up for any nighttime feedings or changing. The Admiral, as well as Miller, never roam about after two o’clock in the morning—which, here lately, has been the kids’ allocated bedtime. Their routine has become off-kilter. There’s no longer a kept schedule for them, and I’m pretty sure the reason why, is that it has something to do with all the tension floating throughout the people shrouding them.

I can feel the angst and hostility all the way down here in my cellblock, and I only laid eyes on Miller once in a while. That is, unless the Admiral has decided to toy with me or brutalize me in some form or fashion. Honor and Haven, I’ve heard them wailing around feeding times, but I haven’t seen them, in person or with my own peepers, for quite some time. If I were being realistic and utterly honest with myself, I’m not sure that the times I believed I saw them, I was coherent enough to discern true, factual events from fantastical fiction. I may have been hallucinating from the extensive amount of blood I’d lost or was stuck in a delusional daydream where I was reflecting on my life and what could’ve been, wishing for the unattainable time with my babies that I’ve missed.

The fog from the sedative given to me still has itself stubbornly wrapped around me, trapping and imprisoning me, making me struggle to stay awake and keep my eyes peeled open. I begin to wonder if I dreamed the sounds because for an extended period of time, the house doesn’t make a single noise outside of what old, disheveled structures make as they settle and shift.

“Get a grip, Hemmi,” I scold myself. “You’re losing your damn mind here.” If I don’t get sufficient rest, I can’t be in top shape, mentally or physically, when Miller approaches me. He swore before he headed upstairs that he’d be back, wanting to revisit our prior conversation and go over my tenuous options. I know it’ll be then that he’ll expect me to give him my final answer.

Will I go with them? Or prepare to make peace with my choices and see my final day?

There is no choice, not for me, not yet. I will go with them, bide my time, and be the perfect Stepford wife for the unforeseeable future. Then, when they’re least suspecting me to pounce, I’m going to, destroy them, kill them and anyone else who stands between me, Honor, and Haven.

I’ll be damned if I’ll be controlled and bow down to these men and become their submissive. You’ll never catch me stepping back like a good subservient, allowing them to distort my children’s free will, and dilute their innocent nature and forgiving aptitude.

Honor will not be molded into another devout, aggressive weasel of an asshole for their cult-like crusade, unlike his sperm donor and eldest brother. He will be a good man and follow his namesake I bestowed upon him and be honorable. And Haven, she will never become meek and passive, not with me as her mother. She will never cave under the pressure or fall for any silver-tongued, self-proclaimed evangelist’s deception. I’ll dig my own grave and supply the loaded weapon to my executioner before I allow that to happen to either of them.

My babies will never become the mindless soldiers and docile girls that the Admiral is grooming and accumulating in mass quantities. All from the unwilling women they’ve raped, ravished, brainwashed, taunted, and blackmailed with the underlying threat that they’d harm or make the children disappear in a puff of smoke.

These unknown women have laboriously carried, loved, and birthed every one of the Admiral’s spawns, which makes them my allies whether or not they are aware of that. Just because our children were forced upon us, that doesn’t mean we don’t love them with our whole hearts and souls. They may have a part of him in them, but they have us running through their blood too. That’s the part that we choose to cherish and is our utmost motivator in excusing the fact that they weren’t made from a union weaved with love, respect, and a pledge of forevermore.

It’s not the children’s fault that they were procreated by immoral, pretentious men and brought into this cold, unforgiving world by said men violating their mothers. These women have had their humanity shred and their bodies stripped bare without expressed consent. The way I see it, when I think of my twins, it’s with fondness, and I understand that they are blameless when it comes to their father’s debauched sins, and have the right to be wanted, valued, and treasured for the irreplaceable gems that they are. There may be some mothers who can’t look past the way their children came to be, and that’s their right, but I’ll never be one of those who turn their backs on innocent children. I’d never be able to look at myself in the mirror again with any ounce of esteem. It’s my job, as well as my duty as their mother, to look after them, raise them, and teach them right from wrong. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do once I find a way to break the chains of this unlawful imprisonment.

Just as my eyes begin to flutter, growing heavy-lidded, and sleep tries to drag me back under, my body starts going limp, settling into, and hugging the darkness, I hear an unmistakable thud resounding from the upper level. This time, no matter how exhausted I am from the painkiller, my eyes pop open and my body goes on instant alert. My ears focus as my head tilts to the side, listening for any other noises. I find myself praying, again, that it’s a friend, someone who’s come to liberate me from my jailed detainment while removing the shackles around my ankle and emancipating me from this concrete encased, block-walled cell. I’m sick of this boarded up, windowless enclosure. I want to feel the sun shining on my face and the blowing wind kiss my skin with a loving caress. I’ve forgotten what freedom feels like. I’ve been longing and desperate to feel the weight of Honor and Haven in my arms.

Can this be an avenging angel coming to my rescue? One that I’ve been hoping and wishing for?

Or is it another devious tyrant here to pirate the loot from the Admiral? Fuck, this option would be my luck.

“Shit,” I hiss, cursing the fact that I’ve once again been rendered as an easy target. “Chained up like a problematic dog with no weapons in sight to defend myself with. If this is another man here to take me for his jollies, I’m going to give him a run for his money. Whoever he or she is, they have no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into if they lay one finger on me or try to take me. I’m done being the easy prey. From now on, I’m the predator.”

My shoulders square, my chin lifts high like a warrior, who’s ready to face his inevitable fate, and my attitude shifts from a poor me mindset, to an obnoxiously arrogant, and unflinching, I dare you to fuck with me mentality that’d make my brother stand proud, and ruffle my hair with a shouted, “that’s my girl!”

Sometimes, whether you feel invincible or not, you have to fake it. Because eventually, you’ll make it there as long as you’re a true believer. Anything is possible as long as you convince yourself it can be—wise words that were once shared to me from my father. A mantra I’ve repeated to myself on more occasions than I can count with my ten fingers and toes.

Especially here, recently.

As long as I’m a believer who’s determined to get out of here and live my life to its fullest, it’ll come to fruition. I have to trust this will come to pass. Because if I give up on that unshakable level of certainty, I’m putting myself in a position where I’ll be doomed to endure a lifetime full of a list of ailments. Suicide attempts, depression, and servitude while being ruled and dominated by a duo of egotistical freaks are at the top of the chart. I’ll be no better to them than an inanimate object that’s stuck underneath the thumb of their lecherous livelihood.

They got the better of me once, took advantage of my personal time while I was sitting on the porcelain throne, but the one thing they haven’t accomplished is breaking my zest or spirituality. It’s still intact and my aura shines with a vibrant, luminous glow.

“Damn, y’all are heavy little buggers, aren’t you?” I hear a man’s smoky voice say.

Leaning forward so I can hear the stranger with more clarity, my head slants sideways as I reach and position my ear to where it’s closer to the basement’s closed door. I swear the man’s tone I heard is somewhat familiar to me. I know I’ve heard that exact chest rumble before but I’m not sure where from. I can’t place it which is puzzling. Never in the past have I forgotten a person’s face or their vocal pitch, but his words came out muffled from the distance that’s between us and the house’s drywall, and its multitude of floors. It has me wondering if this is another case of my whimsical desires coming out to play havoc with my emotions and bury me in a case of the blues.

“Fuck. You’re a wiggly one, ain’t ya? You gotta be still so we can get down these stairs without falling on our asses,” the same person as before claims with a soft reprimand. Then I hear a baby’s gurgling with crystal sharpness and a gasp escapes my mouth as my palm comes up and cups it.

Could it be?

Does he have one or both of my babies with him?

I wish I had the benefit of possessing superpowers and could easily see through walls that are camouflaged by sheetrock and wood by simply squinting my eyes and looking through them like they’re made of translucent glass. I’d have the answers to my questions already instead of having to wait until they’re within my line of sight.

“Babababa,” a baby babbles.

“Sure. If you say so, kid,” the man answers with a harmonious chuckle, making it easier for me to visualize the smile he must be wearing. Children have that sentimental effect on everyone, even badass men who normally have scowls epoxied like glue to their faces. “But first, before I try to decode whatever it is you’re trying to tell me, I need to get my buddy, Master’s sister, outta here. Can you wait for a few minutes longer, kiddo, before we share our thoughts?”

“La la la,” I hear, and this time, a smile spreads from cheek to cheek on my face.

“Help. I’m down here!” I holler, wanting this man to hustle so I can see the two treasure troves he’s got nestled in the crook of his arms.

“Hemmi? I’m here. It’s me, Tyson,” he announces, causing my heart to stutter and my body to grow clammy. “Master sent me. As soon as I figure out where to put these rugrats so they’re safe, I’m coming down there to get you.”

“Bring them to me. Please, Tyson. I need to see them,” I beg.

“Why is it important for you to see them, Hemmi?” The hesitation and vexation pouring out from him is more telling than a conversation itself. He doesn’t know.

“They’re mine. My babies. Twins.” I giggle past the lump in my throat. “Tyson, meet my son, Honor, and my daughter, Haven… my everything. Please, Tyson, bring them to me.” Tears stream in rivulets down my face. My body shivers in anger from being trapped in place, and my breathing quickens with anxiousness. Anticipation and wistfulness swim inside of me, yearning to feel the bond as it snaps into place between a mother and her child. Desperate to make promises to them as they stare up at me, trusting that I’ll take care of them and love them with every beat of my heart.

There’s a reluctant pause and the quietness stretches. The air buzzes around me, my body becoming a live wire as if there’s an atomic bomb waiting to detonate. Then I hear the boom of his feet as they dart down the steps. Everything around me stills. I can see the definition of dust particles as they float through the arid room as I wait for the door to be pushed open and I’m granted my most desired wish… seeing my babies and kissing their chubby little faces.

Finally, what feels like hours later, but I’m sure it’s only moments that’ve passed, I have my heart’s most sought-after imagery standing before me.

“Damn, Hemmi. You look like shit,” Tyson groans. “Tell me what we’re looking at here.” The entire time he’s speaking, he’s taking me in from head to toe. His teeth grind when he notices the manacle attached to my ankle, the state of my unhealthy and ungroomed appearance. The crazed way he narrows his eyes on me, and the way they tightly crease in the corners as he squints at me, indicates that he’s recognized the pain I’m in by the way I’m clutching and coddling my side. “I need answers, Hemmi, before we move out.”

“Knife wound. It’s infected. I could use a round of antibiotics, a shower, plus a hot meal, and some water to quench my cottonmouth wouldn’t go unappreciated either. But I’ll be okay, Tyson. This isn’t my first go-around since being taken, or my first infection from their mistreatment. I’ll admit that it’s the worst I’ve succumbed to.” Tyson’s like my brother. He needs truth and facts laid out without being polished over.

I don’t sugarcoat my short, clipped answers because I respect him too much to make a mockery out of him. I don’t have the stamina to go toe-to-toe with a pissed-off biker, not yet anyway. They’re a harsh breed of men whose canines are lethal, sharp, and infused with a fatal dosage of venom. I don’t have the dexterity to see or to deal with them snarling my way anytime soon.

I’m weakened and would have to roll on my back and show my belly—which I’d only be willing to do in front of my brother and his men, they’re the only ones I trust enough to submit to or allow to see how powerless and fragile I am. However, it’s a feeble act that anyone who knows me would realize within seconds, that I’ve lost all of my virility and have been overpowered by my lack of resilience.

“Sit, Hemmi,” he orders. “I’ll hand you Honor and Haven, then go search for the key to release you.”

For the first time since hearing his voice, I begin to panic. “We have to be careful and quiet. They have a plethora of guns and knives,” I warn.

“They’ve been dealt with, Hemmi,” he soothes. “They can’t hurt you. I made sure of it before I grabbed the little ones.”

“Thank you, Tyson.”

When I wobbly fall to the bed, I reach out my arms which he promptly fills.

“I’ll be back,” he promises.

“Be safe,” I remark.

“I swear on my life, Hemmi, they’ve been detained and won’t be a problem.” With that proclamation, he hastily leaps up the stairs and disappears from my sight.

“Thank you,” I say, angling my head upward toward the sky. “Thank you for answering my prayers.”