Page 34 of Storm

What just happened? Pinching myself, I make sure this is real life. It is.

Pulling myself together enough to function after Melek’s profession, I help Mary and Sunny hang tinsel in an utter daze. I still can’t make heads or tails of what happened in the kitchen with my husband. The way he delivered his admission was at total odds with the commander I imagine in my head, but in truth, totally aligned with the man who caters to the whims of our five-year-old child.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Soon, caterers are milling the halls of our lavish manor, readying everything for the holiday dinner party, which signals Mary ushering Sunny and me away to get dressed.

Sunny is wearing a mini replica suit of his father’s, black with gold and silver embellishments, Halo colours. The me of yesterday wasn’t the same as the me of today, I’ve decided, now that I’m wearing the full-length, figure-hugging black velvet dress. It shows off my slightly protruding stomach with retribution. As far as I’m aware, I’m the only pregnant woman at this party. The other women will have a fit; the swine, pregnant again, when they find it hard on Halo interventions. I am wearing this as a slap in the face to all of them. The seamstress who’d come to take my measurements and discuss a style had scrunched her nose up when I’d told her what I wanted, but Melek had given her an express warning not to anger or fluster me in any way, for the sake of the baby.

So, she’d gone along with the design and the low-cut nature of the tight dress that was now pushing my growing breasts out the top half, like two bouncing marshmallows. I really pushed the envelope with this number. If I can’t get away with this when I am pregnant, when can I?

Escape somehow grows farther and farther from my mind with my swollen abdomen. Every time I think there’s a possibility I might run, it’s taken. I dare not hope any longer. Soon, Sunny will be waving at me behind gilded academy gates, and I’ll have no recourse to stop him with a squirming baby in my arms.

It was always the next year. I’ll find a way out. I’ll stop basking in my grief and do it. I’ll do the thing. I’ll free us. Easier said than done.

Giving in to Melek was my ultimate undoing. I see that now, and I saw it then. I’d let my emotions run my life. I had the opportunity to feel good, and I took it. Is it enough? My own personal war.

Small fingers trail over the edges of my bump. “I’ve never met a baby before.” Sunny’s voice is a tickle of warm breath against my side as we sit together at my vanity in the walk-in closet. Reconciling the lightning farmer to the newest version of myself here with my son dressed in fancy clothes and well-fed… It’s like I’ve been reborn. Just not into the version I thought I’d become.

This—this is something I never could’ve imagined. Yet, I never imagined him. Both my husband and Sunny.

Grinning down at him, I hold his much smaller hand on my stomach, pressing it down so he can feel the tiny movements his sibling is making. “You’ve seen babies when we’ve gone out before.”

“Yeah… Not so close,” he says, like it’s some big secret.

Finishing my make-up with a red lip, I kiss Sunny’s forehead, leaving my mark. “You’ll be the best big brother ever.” As I look down at him, instead of seeing bright grey eyes, hearty brown ones replace them. It’s Nix, and we are back at the farm, and damn it, I’m crying again.

Sunny notices my tears and stands, a boy on a mission. “I’ll get papa,” he says calmly before darting out of the dressing room. I think he gets that calmness from his father. Not me. Pregnancy hormones are no joke, I’ve learnt. Melek is calm. Nothing wavers him except me.

Through watery eyes, I fumble around, pulling open the top middle drawer, looking for a black container. One that used to hold a face powder. My fingers encircle around the cool plastic circle, pulling it out and unscrewing the cap. On the top lies an old creamy-toned blending pad. A tear drips down, making a soft splash. The glint of silver peeks out from underneath, and my breath starts to even out.

Lifting the small round puff, the rest of the locket is revealed to me. The very same sterling silver heart-shaped necklace that Mam and Nix gave me on my birthday. The one and only treasure I’ve managed to keep hidden from everyone, including my inquisitive son.

Holding it in my hand, time ceases to exist, and I’m the nineteen-year-old girl on the climbing rods, working for the next strike in my worn overalls. Not this clean woman with a child and a husband, wearing the most gorgeous dress only a fairy could conjure.

Silver gleams in the light coming off the bulbs lining the mirror before me. My fingers tremble running over the smooth silver, unsure if I should open it and see his scribbled attempt at a word on smudged paper.

A click comes from outside ‌the closet, followed by firm, measured steps. Melek. Jumping to stand, the necklace falls from my hands, salt water continuing to stain my cheeks. The locket makes a cracking sound on the table before falling to the carpet below.

Knees knocking, I turn to the man I know is standing at the arch connecting our bedroom to the moody, darkened area that is our walk-in. Think, Storm.

My horrendous acting skills are to be desired. However, my tears morphed into a torrent upon holding the last gift from my family, so I play to the grief running down my face. “All I did was look at Eli, and his face made me cry. What’s wrong with me?” My head darts up to the ceiling, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping the dribbling from my nostrils will stop, even if it is helping the show.

Melek is on me in moments, looking down with his hands on either side of my face, licking his lips. “You look good in that dress, wife.”

I drop my hand to the side and smile warily up at him.

“It’s not too much?”

“With these lips”—he gives me a lingering kiss—“gorgeous blue eyes and these boobs”—he grips my sore breasts, and I whine—“the rest of the council is going to be calling you indecent, but that’s only because they don’t have the privilege of feasting on your body every night.”

Any nervousness I harboured about the locket now works its way down south. I melt into his grip. Why is he saying all these things to me today? All these strangely endearing things. Endearing for Melek. Any other year, it’d be a, “I’d fuck you,” or “I don’t care what you wear.”

“Are you dying?” I ask.

Melek is taken aback, and for the first time, I see surprise on his face. He steps back and begins to laugh. The commander pounds on his chest and coughs, light in his soulless eyes.

“Fucking hell, wife. No. I’m not dying.”