“Ivy. You’re up early,” she says, obviously surprised to see me there.
“I…” I quiet as a maid slips past Antonia into the kitchen. “This is embarrassing, but I got my period, and…um, there isn’t…” I clear my throat and tell myself to grow up. It’s a fucking period. “I need tampons.”
After the briefest of moments, Antonia nods, but I swear I see something on her face in that split second of time that gives me pause.
“Of course. Come with me, dear.”
I follow her as she walks past the kitchen and down several corridors to a door farther away from the center of the house. That door, which she uses a key to unlock, which I knew was locked because I’d tried it on one of my explorations of the house, leads to a corridor different from any in the house. For one thing, it’s lit with electrical lights, and for another, it’s nowhere near as ornately or beautifully decorated as the main part.
“What’s here?” I ask, appreciating the brightness.
“Staff rooms. Three maids live on property plus security and myself, of course. These are our rooms.”
“Oh,” I say, remembering Santiago’s rule that I not enter the servant’s quarters. I roll my eyes at the memory.
“Here we are,” she says, unlocking a door. When she opens it, a light automatically blinks on, and I see it’s a laundry room. I smell detergent and watch one of the washing machines already spinning its load.
“This is like a hotel,” I comment.
She smiles and heads to a shelf where I see several boxes of tampons. “The house is old and requires a lot of upkeep. I’m just glad your husband does it, although he has closed off some rooms since he became head of the household. With only him and Mercedes, it made sense, but now...” She trails off.
“How big is it?” I ask, watching her count out five tampons.
She holds them out, and I hear her talking, but I stop listening because I realize something.
This wasn’t an oversight.
“I’ll just take the box. I’m sure I’ll need more than five,” I say, irritated not by her but hearing my tone, nonetheless. I know she’s just doing what he’s told her to do.
Antonia’s gaze falters, and she takes a deep breath in. “I’ll give you what you need. Just ask me, Ivy, but...” She trails off.
“He wants to know,” I say, feeling a little sick. Feeling my eyes fill up. Feeling powerless and hated and trapped all at once.
“He’s just anxious to start a family. That’s all.”
I snatch the tampons out of her hand. “Then when you tell him, make sure he knows how happy I am that he’ll be disappointed!” I spin around, wiping the back of my hand across my face to get rid of the idiotic tears that wet the skin around my eyes at this fresh humiliation. Because what did I expect? What did I think? That he felt bad about what he did that night he took me to the compound? The night he had me crawl naked on my hands and knees for everyone to see? I don’t even know who was there. Don’t know who saw me being led like a dog by my husband. Being fucked by my monster.
God.
I hate him. I hate my husband.
And the worst part, the stupidest part is that I don’t want to. That I thought—
Fuck!
I find my way back to the main part of the house and have to pause at the bottom of the stairs when a dizzy spell overtakes me. It’s always worse around my period. I clutch the handrail and hold on until it passes, ignoring the girl asking me if I’m okay. I squeeze my eyes shut and beg for it to pass quickly. Not to come until I’m back upstairs in my room. In my bed. Until these vultures won’t see more weakness to exploit.
“Ivy!” It’s Antonia.
“I’m fine!” I force myself to move, sweat making my grip on the wide handrail slippery as I concentrate on getting away. Just getting away. Not letting myself stop until I’m back in my room and in the bathroom, the only door with a lock on the inside where I drop to sit on the cold tile floor, my back against the door head between my knees, stupid tampons scattered at my feet.
30
Ivy
I lie in bed most of the day, staring at the rectangle of waning light coming into my room. I flushed some of the food Antonia brought down the toilet so she would think I ate and leave me alone. He’s managing that too. Probably getting daily reports. Hourly, maybe. He’s just controlling enough.
I am a body to him. A body he can humiliate and fuck and ultimately use to make babies. Then what? What happens when I’m all used up?