Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(5)

The patient in front of me hugged her clipboard and walked to one of the many empty chairs behind us. The way clear, I stepped forward.

Tiffany whispered, “Cutting it close, I see.”

“It’s been busy at home.”

“Give me just a minute. I’ll have it ready for you.”

“Thank you.”

Tiffany walked to the back room, and I listened to the soft music playing through the speakers. That was one thing I looked forward to when stopping by the clinic. Music was forbidden at home, but I loved the soothing melodies that echoed through the clinic. I didn’t know the names of the songs or the people who created them, but I enjoyed them just the same. Every month when I visited it was different, never the same song twice. I wondered how many songs there could possibly be. Hundreds? Thousands?

My mind drifted, remembering the first time Tiffany had helped me . . .

? ? ?

When the prophet had revealed that I was to wed Lehi Cluff, I’d had a full-blown panic attack, although I didn’t know that was what it was called. Worried, my older sister, Jessa, had taken me to the clinic. Tiffany had taken pity on me and led me to an examination room. While Jessa waited in the reception area, Tiffany had sat next to me, taking my hand in hers, rubbing my back with the other.

“You’re having an anxiety attack.”

“What is that?”

“Your body is reacting to something that scares you. Did something happen?”

“I’m getting married.”

“Ah.” She shook her head. “I see.”

“What? I’m not afraid.” I frowned at her, drawing away. I couldn’t betray my future husband, my family, my prophet.

“Of course you are,” she said, her voice soft and comforting. “That’s perfectly normal. Do you even know him?”

I shook my head.

“Damn them,” she muttered, pursing her lips together.

“Please don’t—”

“Listen to me. Are you ready, ready for all of this? You can run away. You don’t have to stay there.”

“What?” I recoiled. “Where would I go? What would I do?”

“You could stay with me. I have an apartment above the pharmacy.”

“No, I—I couldn’t do that. I’m expected to marry Elder Cluff.”

“Elder Cluff?” She gasped. “He’s old!”

“He’s not that old.”

“Oh, Brinley.” She frowned and patted my shoulder. “I can help you. Just say the word.”

Two months later, I did return to the clinic, but not for an escape. I was looking for a delay. A delay to the inevitable. I simply wasn’t ready for the next step in my commitment to Lehi. But no one would approve of my desire for a delay.

No one but Tiffany.

? ? ?

“Here you are,” Tiffany said, interrupting my reverie as she placed a small bag on the counter. Quickly, I removed the plastic disk and shoved it into the hidden compartment of my purse.

“Thank you.”

“Any problems?”

I shook my head.

“Good. My offer still stands, you know.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, my head still moving in denial that had become automatic.

Tiffany sighed. “If you ever change your mind, tell me. Don’t let pride stand in your way.”

“Thank you,” I said, waving good-bye as I walked out the door of the clinic, and back to the compound.

Back to my home.

Back to my cage.


Chapter 3

For years I had prayed that sex with my husband would bring me some sort of pleasure, a deeper connection to the man I married. For years I’d asked God to fix whatever it was that was wrong with me, because I knew it must be me. I must be the problem.

Rebecca said she used to “lose herself” in Burt, overflowing with the passion that built between them before they exploded together. Those whispered confessions of hers late at night made my heart yearn to experience that intensity of emotion. I wanted to lose myself in Lehi, to feel something when he grunts? collapses onto my chest, and grows soft inside me.

But I didn’t.

All I felt was relief.

When it was over, he would talk to me for a little while and would ask about my week. It was those moments I craved. Those moments when someone asked me about my day, about my life. It didn’t happen often . . . only when Lehi shared my bed. When he fell asleep with his arm draped over my belly, I was left alone with my thoughts.

And lately, those thoughts were always about Burt and Rebecca. About their all-consuming love and how desperately I wished I could feel that way for Lehi.

? ? ?

Last night was our first night together since the reassignment. As always, Lehi knocked on my door after making his rounds and saying good night to his other wives. I was sitting, staring into the mirror of my vanity while I touched up my makeup, knowing that Lehi preferred a painted face.

Although makeup was not allowed in our community, Lehi requested that I wear it privately on the nights he joined me in my bed. Once every week, behind closed doors, I dabbed at my nose with powder, applied scarlet color to my lips, and lined my eyes with jet-black liquid eyeliner.

That was Lehi’s preferred image of me. The different colors brought out my features and gave me a more exotic appearance. But I didn’t feel like me. I was being painted for someone else . . . like I was a prop, a toy, a possession. It made me feel as if I weren’t a person with feelings, thoughts, or desires of my own.